Page 15 of The Arrangement
“Mimi, just open the bag.”
Instead of doing as I ask, she clasps both hands on the top. “You’re acting odd. What’s going on?”
“Nothing is going on. We just had a rough morning, and I wanted to brighten your day a little bit.”
“What are you not telling me?” Mimi asks, fear flashing momentarily through her eyes.
I pull my feet up and under me. “Nothing.I promise.”
She is uncertain. It hurts my heart that she expects every good thing to be tempered with something bad—even if I do the same thing.Always waiting for the other shoe to drop.
I motion toward the paper bag. “Open that.”
“It is getting warm on my legs.” She unfolds the top and peers inside. “Is this …” She jerks her face toward mine with eyes as wide as saucers. “You didn’t.”
She digs inside the bag and pulls out an Italian beef sandwich from Stupey’s, a little boutique sandwich shop. It has the best sandwiches I’ve ever eaten, and the Italian beef is Mimi’s favorite. But as delicious as they are, they’re equally expensive. We’ve not had food from there in months.
“What did you get for you?” she asks.
“I wasn’t hungry.”
“Chloe Grace …” She watches me sternly, almost as if she will refuse to eat because I don’t have something. “You must’ve spent fifteen dollars on this sandwich.”
She looks at the ceiling, perhaps considering her next words. Pride is a dreadful thing for strong women. There’s somethingabout watching her react,watching her struggle, that settles a lump in my throat.
We sit quietly. The only sound comes from the couple above us getting into one of their typical afternoon arguments. It’ll last twenty minutes, and then they’ll have make-up sex so loud that we’ll turn the television up to drown them out. Mimi used to take a broomstick and hit the ceiling, but they didn’t care. It only seemed to make them louder.
“I know you don’t want to hear it, Chloe, but thank you for taking such good care of me.”
I gaze at the bump on her head.Yeah. It looks like I’m really taking good care of you, Mimi.
“This isn’t easy. I know it isn’t,” she says. “You should be out there having fun instead of worrying about an old fart like me.”
“Are you saying you aren’t fun?”
She laughs. “I was fun once. And I wish with everything in me that I could’ve been young at the same time as you. Oh, the fun we could’ve had together.”
I reach for her wrinkly hand. “You’re my best friend, Meems.”
She squeezes my palm before I pull it back.
“Tell me about your day,” she says, lifting her sandwich and unwrapping the foil around it. “What happened? Give me all the details.”
I pull a throw pillow over my stomach and slow the smile stretching across my face.
“I had a good day,” I say. “I got a blueberry muffin from a bakery downtown, and it was divine.”
“Nice.”
“I’m finally caught up on work.”
“Because you’re brilliant.”
“And Jason might’ve overheard me talking about how hot he is—more or less.”
She grins wickedly, reading between the lines. “I knew a pilot once,” she says, taking a bite of her sandwich. “My gosh, Chloe. This is just what the doctor ordered.”
Watching her savor her dinner is the most satisfying thing I’ve felt in a long time. She’s been losing weight and has had too little joy. This moment means more to me than any moment of the day.
