Page 18 of Legally Ours

"Why am I here?" I asked him, glancing around the strange room. I looked back at Brandon, who was watching me carefully. "Why don't I just stay in the same apartment as Bubbe?"

Brandon pulled off his hat and shoved a hand through his hair, which badly needed to be brushed. "I don't really want to discuss it right now. I'd just feel more comfortable if you stayed with me, okay?"

I frowned. "No, it's not okay. Brandon, we need to talk."

Brandon sighed and rubbed a palm over his eyes. "Skylar...can it wait? I'm exhausted. I've been sleeping in a hospital chair for four days. All I want to do is take a shower, have something to eat, and watch the rest of the Sox game knowing that no one I care about is going to die. Can you deal with that?"

I opened my mouth to argue that if he wanted some peace, he'd probably get more if I wasn't staying here. But his eyes, un-shuttered and blue, silenced me.

"Please, Skylar," he asked quietly. "I just need some time, okay?"

Wordlessly, I nodded. Time was something I currently had in spades. Kieran had assured me that I had as much as I needed to recuperate, refusing even to bring over case files for at least another week.

"Want some company while you watch?" I asked hopefully.

But Brandon just shook his head. "I'd like to be alone for a while. Do you need anything? Sarah is going to come up in an hour or so with some dinner."

I tried to ignore the way my heart sank at his words. "No, I'm good."

Brandon looked at me for a moment, then stepped out of the room. "Okay, then. I'll be in my room if you need something."

"Okay."

I grabbed the remote for the TV mounted on the wall, and turned on something mindless. I barely noticed what was on.

Brandon stayed in the doorway for a few more moments, watching me as I worked very hard not to look at him. With one more forceful sigh, he left. I listened to one footstep after another as he padded across the carpeted hall. His bedroom door opened with a creak. When it shut, it felt like it shut on my heart.

~

A few hours later, after two episodes of Mad Men and another short nap, I woke up to voices in the hall. Bubbe had arrived with dinner and was busy flirting with Brandon.

I rolled over, grabbed for my glasses, and switched on the light next to the bed. The room had changed a bit since I'd fallen asleep. Someone had placed a small vase of flowers on the bureau below the TV, and my crutches and two loaded duffel bags were stacked beside the large wall closet, in which every piece of clothing I owned had been hung and color-coordinated. A few other keepsakes had been arranged on the bureau, including a photo of Brandon and me, taken less than a week ago, when we were in France together.

I traced a finger over the frame. It had been taken in Carcassonne, the big medieval castle, just a few minutes before Brandon had asked me to marry him. I hadn't said yes, although a part of me wanted to. I'd said, "not yet." Brandon had me wrapped up in his arms while he pressed a kiss to my cheek; I was grinning from ear to ear. We looked tan, bright, and impossibly happy. I wondered if we might ever be like that again.

I hopped over to grab the crutches and, upon catching a glimpse of myself in the mirrored closet doors, quickly re-braided my hair. I blanched at my rainbow-colored face––it was a far sight from the happy grin in the photo. I was still in the loose black sweats and NYU T-shirt Jane had brought for me to wear, but I wasn't about to go digging through my things just to impress my grandmother. Anyone else out there would just have to deal with my less-than-perfect appearance.

I shuffled into the large, open living space that including multiple sitting areas, a dining area, and a kitchen, bordered on two full sides by the picture windows that looked out over Boston at night. It was beautiful, but the overall effect of the apartment still made me feel like I was inside a very tall icebox, and I knew that Brandon felt the same.

Brandon sat at the breakfast bar in the kitchen while Bubbe bustled around, making herself perfectly at home. The television mounted over the central fireplace played the Red Sox game on low, but no one was watching. Sitting with his chin perched over clasped hands, Brandon conversed easily with my grandmother with a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye. The sight made my heart warm.

"Oh, bubbela, there you are!"

Bubbe caught sight of me from the kitchen, and Brandon swiveled on his stool, all signs of friendliness chilled, like someone had snuffed out a fire. And, of course, that someone was me.

"Hi," I said as I hobbled in.

Slowly, I managed to get myself up on the stool next to Brandon, but he slid away on the pretense of getting a glass of water.

"Well, I brought over spaghetti and meatballs," Bubbe said with a wink at Brandon. "Should last this one another day or two, if he doesn't keep sneaking tastes of my sauce. I made it from scratch, you know."

"It's wicked good," Brandon said as he dipped a finger into the pot for another taste, earning himself a smack on the wrist from Bubbe.

He backed up, dimples out in full while he sucked sauce off his index finger. His gaze met mine with another twinkle, and I couldn't help but grin at him. For a moment, he smiled back, but then, as if he had suddenly remembered that he was upset with me, his face shuttered once more.

Bubbe turned to me with a plate full of pasta and sauce.

"Eat," she ordered. "You look like death, Skylar, and I don't mean like those models who starve themselves. That food in the hospital––terrible!"

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