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“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he said after Ali jumped when she turned to find him at the counter.
She lowered the hand from her chest. “No, I’m groggy. Not totally awake yet.”
John pursed his lips together. “But up early. Do you want to try a stronger dose?” he asked.
No, God, no. “I just went to bed too early, that’s all. Are you off to the hospital?”
“I’ve got back-to-back c-sections,” John told her, opening the cabinet for a travel mug. “Your other half called just after nine, and you were already out. I told him you’d call him back today.”
Ali filled John’s mug. “How is he?”
“Maybe you should ask him,” John said, taking the coffee.
I’m not ready. I’m not strong enough.
But Ali knew how Cornell was, without seeing him, without hearing his voice. He was probably staying as late as he could at work because at home he would just mope around until it was time to go to bed. He was probably eating all his meals in the cafeteria, snacking on candy from the vending machine or whatever might be left in her office drawer.
Ali sighed and grabbed a casserole dish from below the island. “I just need a little time.”
“Well, I was discussing this with your mother. We thought maybe you might want to talk to someone.”
“Like a shrink?” Ali asked, opening the fridge. She pulled out a full carton of eggs. He’s probably not eating breakfast.
John sighed. “A therapist. I’ve got a colleague with a practice here in Fort Worth. You might like her.”
Why? Because she’s funny? Does she like yoga? Because I don’t know why I would like a total stranger you expect me to spill my guts to.
“It’s just an idea. It might help you feel better to… ” John paused, sighing. “To talk about it.”
It. It wasn’t that there wasn’t a word for what happened. But Ali knew the man who raised her since she was in fourth grade had a hard time using the words ‘sexual assault’ in any relation to her. Nor her mother or her grandmother. And neither did she. So she didn’t know what the point of talking about it was with a total stranger.
I’d rather pretend it never happened, Ali thought.
“I’ll think about it,” Ali told John. It was just a lie of omission. She would think about it, just about how therapy was something she wasn’t interested in.
John nodded. “I’ll email you her info. When you make the appointment, tell her office I referred you. And I actually don’t eat breakfast so early,” he said as Ali began to crack eggs into a bowl. “And usually just two eggs, not twelve.”
Ali wiped her hands on a paper towel. “Cornell never eats a real breakfast. He eats Pop-Tarts, and he doesn’t even put them in the toaster first.” Ali let out a small laugh and shook her head. “Or Cinnamon Toast Crunch.” She had to clench her jaw for a moment to stifle the whimper, to swallow down the longing for him, for home.
Suddenly she was overtaken by the desire for sugary cereal she hadn’t eaten herself since a kid. She wanted to see a lone sock always left by the hamper, but never in it. Ali wanted to groan when she walked into the bathroom and saw that Cornell had squeezed the toothpaste from the wrong side of the tube. She wanted to remind him while he was getting dressed in their room that you always need to squeeze from the bottom and have him poke his head through the door.
“Still love me?” he asked.
Ali rolled her eyes. “Until you make the same mistake again tonight, yeah, sure. I still love you,” she joked. Because how could I not? Ali wondered, looking at his tall, big frame through the mirror, the boyish grin lighting up his face.
“Good.” Cornell feigned a dramatic sigh of relief and coming up behind her, dropping a kiss into the crook of her neck. “You had me worried.”
“For the record, only psychopaths squeeze from the middle of the tube.” She jumped when Cornell nipped at her ear.
“There definitely is one thing I’m clinical over.”
“Ali?” John’s voice drew her out of the daydream she was frantic to remain in, even though it wasn’t anything extraordinary, but rather, the ordinary—the beautiful, innocent, sweet ordinary she shared with Cornell.
“He knows it’s not about him, right?”
“I’ve reminded him of that. You might want to as well.”
You need to be stronger, Ali. Fake it. Cornell’s face flashed before her mind—the limitless pools of chocolate brown of his eyes, the small beauty mark on his cheek. And his smile, wide and boyish, a bittersweet trait of his considering the pressure his talented athleticism put on him to grow up so quickly. I’ll do anything to keep that smile on his face, she told herself. I need a few more days to pull myself together enough to do that. But in the meantime, I can still make him smile. And feed him.
Ali began searching the cabinets for her mother’s pie dish. “Do you know if Mom has any pecans?”
