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"Yes, so let's do it. Let's get married on May first?"
"Baby, I love you, but that's less than two months away. Seems a little bit rushed to me."
"I wanted to wait for you with dinner. Are you scared?"
He was so shocked and lost in her eyes, I was not even sure he heard the question.
"The only thing I’m scared of is that you’ll change your mind. Baby, I would marry you tomorrow.”
Damn, my man, look at you growing up.
I knew how he was feeling. Looking at the woman at my side, I recognized in me the same feeling of possession and belonging that could be found on Zach’s face.
By the time eleven o'clock rolled around, I was exhausted. Chelsea had a newfound energy after her afternoon nap, and she just went down for the night, so I could treat myself to a tall glass of wine and think. My brain just ran a marathon.
So many faces, people, situations that I was trying to find a place for. So weird...
Shortly after we came to Chicago, James gave me a sketch book of mine that totally slipped my mind. When I finally looked at it, I had this strange feeling of recognition. I didn’t remember drawing any of them, but somehow, their existence made sense...but all those people?
Nothing.
No trace of them in my cloudy mind.
When Chelsea didn't puzzle in right away, I based it on shock, but now I was thinking that maybe I was just bad with faces. Anyway, it was a strange feeling, like I didn’t belong in my own life. In our hidden bubble, I could cling to the warm sentiment of being a family, ground myself into it, and ignore the fact that I might never feel whole again.
...And I only had myself and my paintings to talk to because I couldn’t put any more bullshit on James's shoulders, I just couldn’t. Between his self-imposed duty to guide me back to normality and drilling into people's brains, he was exhausted as it was.
The click of the door disrupted my train of thought, and the bags under James's eyes and his pale skin told me once again that he had enough on his plate. Fuck, his plate was probably full before my brain decided to clock out. Oh, we were way over the plate; his whole table was God damn crammed now.
"Hello, love. Jokes aside, you shouldn't wait up at this hour."
Always looking out for others.
"I can sleep in tomorrow if Chelsea will allow it. You, on the other hand, look like shit, papi."
"Do I now?" He walked over to me and chained my waist with his arms, allowing me to absorb the comfort of his chest.
"Yeah. You want to eat or go straight to bed and crash?"
"Crash? I'm really not that that tired. I was on my feet nine hours to remove a stubborn tumor, but I'm fine. How about we have a very, very late dinner, and we can talk about how today was for you."
My day was a little bit on the shit side, but I was not about to tell him that. I was expecting to feel something, have my senses shocked, but nothing came back to me.
"I made some pasta; don't worry, nothing spicy," I said and put my hands up in defense. "There's a plate on the stove for you; it should still be warm."
We walked to the kitchen holding hands, and he sat down with the food in front of him while I went for a sip of wine. Apparently, we had a taste for white in this house because it was the only type of wine I saw around.
"I know I said I'd wait for you, but I fed Chelsea, and my appetite kicked in."
"I don't expect you to wait for me, Rita, and I don't expect you to cook. I mean, I know you like doing it, but only if you feel like it, baby."
"Noted, next time I'll give you old bread and water."
"Why are you avoiding the subject, Rita?"
"Of cooking?"
"Of how today made you feel?"
