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“You were talking in your sleep. I made spaghetti while you were out.”
“You didn’t have to do that. I would have cooked. I want you to rest.”
“I can’t. I need something to do until surgery in two days.”
Olivia had two tumors in her colon that would be removed. The doctor was confident that no chemo would be needed. He also prepared her for her recovery, telling her that it could take anywhere from ten days to two months. Since then, she’s going stir crazy, and I watch her like a hawk, making sure her every need was catered to. She even started calling me a mother hen.
“And it will be here before you know it.”
“What were you dreaming about?”
“I don’t remember. Why do you ask?”
“You were whimpering, and at one point, you cried out. I was going to wake you, but you settled down.”
“I sometimes have dreams about Cassie,” I lie.
“I guess that is my fault. I brought her sickness to the forefront. I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault. I would have these dreams, whether you were sick or not. I can’t stop my subconscious.”
“But if I wasn’t sick, you might be fine.”
“Olivia, I prefer not to talk about it. Did you mention spaghetti?”
I wasn’t really hungry, but I wanted to get off the subject. I couldn’t bring Cassie into the discussion because it would mean admitting that I thought about losing Olivia. I also don’t want that negativity to invade my conscious mind when I’d tried so hard to push them away.
“Yes, with Puttanesca sauce,” Olivia answers. “I thought we could use something different than take out or sandwiches.”
She was right because we were eating those things each night. I refused to let her lift a finger even though she begged for me to let her cook. I guess my slumber on the couch allowed her to make a meal without me hovering.
“Thank you. Let’s eat.”
I follow her to the kitchen, avoiding the spot where blood had puddled in my dream. Olivia cocked her head and looked at me, puzzled when I went around the island to the other side instead of taking a few steps. Rather than commenting, she gets glasses, silverware, and plates out of the cabinet. I fight the urge to sit her down when she hands them off to me to handle setting our places. I’m aware of how she wants to be kept busy and that I was preventing her from doing that.
One day she mentioned wanting to go to Eltech to get re-settled, but I refused, telling her that we didn’t have a desk set up with network connections yet. I was afraid that if I told Olivia that her office was ready the day after she filled out the employment forms, she would have wanted to work. Zane had told me to stop smothering her, but it was in my nature to protect those that I loved, sometimes to a fault.
Olivia piles a generous amount of spaghetti on my plate and then a much smaller portion onto her dish. I wait for her to sit next to me before I taste the food. I notice her watching me twirl my fork in the pasta and put it into my mouth. It is delicious.
“Do you like it?” she asks hintingly.
I exaggerate my chews and look at the ceiling. She smacks my arm.
“It’s wonderful,” I answer with a smirk. “I feel stupid now for not letting you cook sooner.”
“I can cook every night, especially if you go to work while I’m recovering.”
I put my fork down. “That’s not going to happen. I’ll be here until you’re well, so I can cook.”
“Lucian, you can’t watch me like a child. I can take care of myself.”
A pang of anger stabs deep inside me. I want to tell her that if her statement were true, I wouldn’t have had to go to Chicago. But it would be mean spirited to bring up her decision to be with Joshua. She already told me how she felt that she had poor judgment when it came to relationships.
“I know, but would you indulge me a little?”
“For you,” she concedes. “But once I get better, I need to be able to take care of myself. Promise me that?”
“I promise I’ll let you take care of yourself. You can stay here as long as you need, even after November.”
