The Other Side of Us - By Sarah Mayberry Page 0,32
was happening and what opportunities might be on the horizon. She could renew her subscription to Inside Film Magazine, the industry bible, call a few contacts, put out some feelers....
She flung back the covers and swung her legs to the floor. Instead of standing and plunging into the day, however, she simply sat there.
Not eight hours ago, she’d posed a number of questions to herself—or, more accurately, Oliver had—and she’d decided they were worth considering. Yet here she was, ready to embark on yet another day of pitting her will against her injuries, trying to alter reality by sheer dint of willpower and determination alone.
But what if this was her new normal? What if all the king’s horses and all the king’s men couldn’t put her back together the way she’d once been? What would the world look like if she ceased trying to shove a square peg into a round hole?
Or, on a simpler, more practical level, what did she really want to do today, rather than subject herself to a grueling rehab session that would leave her feeling weak and potentially nauseous?
It was a novel question and it occupied her for all of five seconds. Then she stood to let Smitty in before returning to bed and pulling the covers high, because she knew the answer: she was going to stay warm and snug with her dog and read one of the books stacked on her bedside table. Then, when her stomach dictated, she would make herself something delicious for breakfast—pancakes, perhaps, or waffles. Then, and only then, she would figure out what else she felt like doing.
Smitty didn’t need to be invited onto the bed—it was his favorite place in the world, and he was up in a flash. Mackenzie ran a hand along his back and smiled as he turned to lick her wrist. She picked up a book and wriggled herself into a comfortable position. Her conscience nagged at her for the first twenty pages, telling her to get moving and sweating and striving. She ignored it and continued reading until finally the nagging stopped and she was simply being.
How very...interesting.
After a while, a warm feeling of well-being stole over her and she found herself remembering the kindness and gentleness of Oliver’s touch as he soothed his hand in circles on her back last night.
This respite she’d allowed herself felt a lot like that hand on her back. Reassuring and right and—perhaps most importantly—kind. She was suddenly filled with an overwhelming surge of gratitude toward her neighbor for his calm good sense and patience.
The jury was still out, but it was possible that last night hadn’t been a disaster of epic proportions, as she’d first imagined. Maybe it had, in fact, been exactly what she needed.
* * *
OLIVER WAS BUTTONING his coat when a knock sounded at the door. Strudel raced down the hall, feet skidding on the polished floor, determined to be the first to greet their visitor.
“And yet I’m the one with the opposable thumbs and the ability to actually open the door,” Oliver told her as he joined her in the foyer.
Strudel gave him an impatient look and pawed at the wood. He opened it to find Mackenzie on his doorstep, covered plate in hand. As usual, she was dressed in monochrome from head to toe, the only color the neon flashes on her running shoes.
“Long time no see.” She gave an awkward, self-conscious wave with her free hand.
“Mackenzie. How are you?”
She looked surprisingly good for someone who had lost it in a big way not so long ago. Her eyes were bright, her shoulders square. Not a whiff of despair anywhere.
“I’m good, thanks. Which is mostly because of you. I wanted to thank you again for talking me down last night. And to offer you this to make up for the world’s most depressing dinner party.” She thrust the plate toward him.
“Is that the rest of the lemon tart?”
“It is.”
“In that case...” He took the plate. “I’d like it noted for the record that normally I’d refuse to take anything for simply being a reasonably decent human being, but this tart is too good to say no to.”
Her smile was more genuine the second time around. “I was kind of banking on that. And you were far more than reasonably decent last night.”
Strudel surged forward to sniff her shoes, quickly rising up to put her paws on Mackenzie’s thighs.
“Down, Strudel. Four paws on the floor, please,” he said.