“DO YOU WANT THIS PIECE?” CECILIA POINTED TO THE last slice in the box. We sat on opposite ends of my couch—feet tucked under us and an entire large pizza, minus one scrawny slice, inside us.
“It’s all yours.”
“I’m done too.” She closed the box. “I got a couple new clients for you, by the way, or I should say Tyler did. They asked me to pass their numbers to you and for you to call them. They’re pretty overwhelmed, so I agreed.”
“I remember that. You can be so stunned you can’t reach out, even to help yourself.” I rested my plate on the coffee table in front of me. “As I’ve cleaned and built stock for Evergreen, memories keep coming, stuff I haven’t felt in years—like that one. Dad and I were zombies until . . . quite recently.”
“Very funny.”
“But you know I’m right. Jane, too, in her own way.” I bit the side of my lip, considering Jane. “Has she changed?”
“You both have.” Cecilia smiled and tapped my foot. “You two aren’t so different, you know.”
“I know.” I smiled back. “Will you miss it?”
Cecilia grabbed a pillow and squeezed it. “I think so. It sounds odd, but the Infusion Center is a special place. I enjoyed my time there, but that’s the thing about healthy boundaries—you’ve got to keep checking them. I need to move on.”
“Babies could be hard too.”
“I haven’t settled on neonatal yet. I’m talking to HR and a good guidance counselor. My reviews have been strong, and Donna gave me a wonderful reference. Who’da thunk?” She smiled. “I’m taking this one step at a time, as they say. But in the meantime, make up some business cards. People are asking about Evergreen.”
“I have to design them first. I tried to do that today and could only get one image to upload. My name was on the back and the front with nothing else.” I ran my hands through my hair. “Ugh . . . I can’t take it. I have to hire someone. Did you know Twitter only lets you use one hundred and forty characters, and if you use the name @chefelizabethhughesevergreen, you’ve used twenty-nine already and said nothing at all? Stupidest name or handle or whatever you call it. I’ve got to change that too.”
Cecilia laughed. “It’ll all work out.”
“That’s what you say, but it doesn’t feel like it. No wonder Paul hired Trent. This stuff matters.”
My cell phone rang. I glanced at the screen and mouthed, Nick, to her before answering. I couldn’t say hi before he launched.
“Elizabeth, I’m sorry to call. This isn’t your problem, but . . . can you come over?”
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s Matt. I don’t know what to do. We go through this every night. He was always so comfortable with you, and I thought since you lost your mom—I know it’s not the same, but please . . . could you come see him?”
I looked at Cecilia, my eyes wide with surprise and a good dose of panic. “Sure, I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes.” I hung up the phone. “Matt’s upset and Nick thinks I can help.”
“I’m sure you can.” She got up and gathered her stuff.
“I don’t want you to think of me waiting here. You should be all there. Call me tomorrow.”
“What could I possibly say to him?”
“Just be there. Maybe that’s all he needs.”
I nodded and gave Cecilia a quick hug before searching amid the boxes and mess for my keys.
Nick must have been watching for me, because the front door opened as my foot hit the first porch step. “I’m really sorry to bother you. I just . . .” He dropped his hands to his sides.
“I’m glad—that you called, not that Matt’s struggling.” I put my hand on his arm as I moved past.
He caught it and pulled me around. We faced each other for a moment before he whispered, “Thank you.”
Nick stayed in the kitchen as I headed upstairs to find Matt. I peeked into the first bedroom, clearly Matt’s, and found it empty. The door next to it was open, so I ventured there. Nick’s room. It had white walls with a huge single painting between the windows. No rug, just a dresser and a large armchair. It was so Nick. In the queen bed, tucked in to a white comforter and practically lost in fluff, I found Matt.
I sat down on the edge of the bed. Nick had left his bedside table light on. He had several books and magazines, a photo of Matt, an alarm clock, and . . . I reached down and touched the plastic bag. My spice mixture.
Matt was lying with his back to the light. I lightly ruffled his hair. “Hey, buddy, your dad says you’re having trouble sleeping.”
He rolled over. Tears rested on his long lashes, and his lip quivered. He nodded against the pillow. I wanted to scoop him up and hug him tight, but instead only pushed his hair off his forehead.
“Are you sad?”
He nodded.
“I felt that way when my mommy left. I was a little older than you are now, but it was scary and sad and I felt lonely. It took me a long time to realize that those feelings were okay and that they wouldn’t last forever.” Like a couple weeks ago flashed through my brain. I left out that detail.
“Where’d your mommy go?”
“My mom . . .” I almost lied, afraid to make things worse by telling the truth, but knew no good could come from that. “She died, and I felt very alone. Los Angeles can feel pretty far away, too, can’t it?”
Matt nodded.
“It is. I was in New York a few weeks ago, and that’s even farther away, but I thought about you a lot, and I bet your mommy does the same from Los Angeles.” I smoothed his hair again. “Do you know what I miss most about my mom?”
Matt shook his head.
“Her hugs. She really squeezed you tight. She gave bear hugs. None of that silly back patting, arms-only stuff that people do these days. Here, sit up.”
Matt pushed himself up.
“This is what most people try to get away with.” I squeezed him, then pushed him out, pulled him in, patted his back, pushed him out . . . I repeated this a few times until a tiny, soft giggle escaped.
“But not my mom. This is how she hugged.” I pulled him in and held him tight, talking as I squeezed him securely. “See, no pushing and pulling. It feels safe. This is a hug that lets you know you are loved, completely and forever. When I miss my mom, this is what I need.”
I let him go but kept my hands on him. It felt important to keep contact. I rested one hand on his shoulder and used my other to brush a tear from his cheek. “When you miss your mom, go to your dad, and I bet he’ll give you one of those. Did it help?”
“Do you need another?”
He nodded again.
“Come here.” I pulled him across my lap and felt his arms loop around me. I closed my eyes to hug him tighter and give him that elusive feeling of unconditional love and complete safety. The feeling we seek but, in this life and in this world, perhaps never quite find.
I whispered over his shoulder, still holding tight. “You’re good at this, kiddo. In fact, I may come to you next time I need one.”
He squeezed my neck. “I love you, Miss Elizabeth.”
Tears sprang to my eyes and my heart broke the tiniest bit. I hoped I hadn’t, in my attempt to help, offered too much and set him up for more loss. I closed my eyes and held him and tried not to travel a road not set before me. I could be Matt’s friend now, and maybe that was enough. “I love you, too, buddy.” I gently released him. “It’s late and you’ve got school tomorrow. Are you ready to sleep?”
He nodded again, this time surer and stronger.
“Shall we go to your room?”
I reached for his hand and closed mine around each short, warm, and wonderfully small finger as we walked to his room next door. It was full of Thomas the Tank Engine and dinosaurs and emergency vehicles. The rug was a road map, and trucks and ambulances were scattered across it like there had been a horrid wreck.
I stepped over a fire truck to get to his bed and tucked him in. His eyes were already closing. “God bless you, Matt. He will watch over you tonight and every night. You are loved and you are safe.” I kissed his forehead and left.
I walked down the stairs.
I found Nick sitting at the kitchen counter, papers scattered all around him. He looked as undone as Matt had felt. “I tucked him in. Maybe he’ll sleep.”
“I heard you.”
“I hope I didn’t say anything wrong.” I squeezed my hands tight to stop my fidgeting.
“You said everything right.” He turned to look at me, his eyes so full of sadness.
“You’re a good father, Nick. He’s going to be fine.” I shrugged and turned toward the door. “Call me again if you need me.”
“Wait.”
I turned with my hand on the knob.
“This is for you.” He shoved an envelope into my hand.
I held it up. “What is it?”
“A note.” He pushed his hands in his pockets, straightening his elbows. “Read it now, read it later, but read it. Please.”
I looked at the envelope, then back to Nick. His face revealed nothing so I turned and left, but I only made it a couple blocks before I pulled over under a streetlight and tore open the envelope.
“I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak to you by such means as are within my reach . . .”
Please don’t say I’m too late and that the damage I’ve caused is irreparable. I’m sorry for pushing you away and for not seeing you, the real you, and for not hearing what you were trying to tell me before you left—and for not begging you to stay.
Now you’re back and I will not make those mistakes again. I told you I’d wait for you and I will, but I’d give anything for a sign, some sign that you’ll open to me, as you have to Jane and Peter and the kids. I won’t hurt you, Elizabeth.
I loved seeing the light in your eyes as you talked about your work and the life you’re chasing. I want to be part of it. I’m chasing you, Elizabeth. Please see that. Please see me . . . “A word, a look, will be enough . . .”
I love you.
Nick
Without thinking, I turned the car around and drove back. I reached for the doorbell and hesitated. Afraid to wake Matt, I knocked.
Nick immediately answered. His eyes were shiny, and a red mark covered his forehead.
“Were you leaning against the door?”
He rubbed his forehead. “I hadn’t moved yet.”
“What is this?”
“A letter.”
“I got that, but . . . you read Persuasion? This is basically plagiarism, you know.”
Nick chuckled lightly. “I thought you might let that slide.”
“But why? Why’d you read it?”
“It’s your favorite book. I would have made that meal from Babette’s Feast, but I can only make a good chicken rub.”
“And I’ve got your mortar and pestle.”
“That too.” He reached for my hand, crumpling the letter between us.
I jerked away, pulling the letter from his grasp, and caught his flinch in my periphery. “Don’t crumple it.”
Nick let out a soft laugh. “So you did like it?”
“Who wouldn’t? It’s what every girl dreams about—an arrow straight to the heart.”
“But?”
“I think . . . I gave you up.” It was all I could say. It had taken courage to come back to Seattle, envision a new life, and chase it. It had taken courage to ask for forgiveness from Jane and my father. Did I have enough courage for Nick? He could crack me open and leave me gutted for a very long time if he walked again, if Rebecca grew bored of LA, or if someday Matt decided he didn’t like me. I’d seen the real Nick while he cared for me after I hurt my hand and while we cooked—and he was wonderful, clever, and giving, with his crinkly eyes, his smell, his patience . . . all of him.
I lifted my chin up, challenging him. “What do you see?”
“Fear,” he said, so simply and so softly.
“There you have it.”
“Then let’s start with something easy.” He flicked his head back toward his house. “I baked you chocolate chip cookies. Not nearly as good as your baklava, but I know they’re your favorite. Come try one?”
“I can do that.” I smiled and stepped forward.
He stepped back through the door, letting me step inside. As I passed, he leaned down and kissed my cheek, right below the ear, and whispered, “It’s a place to start.”