She’d been sleeping on the couch for months. She and the couch were as one. She had often slept there in her mother’s final days so she could hear her in the night. Adele’s bedroom had been little more than a changing room.
The doorbell rang, and she looked down at the mess on her robe. “Great,” she said. She took another spoonful of soup, then went to the door. She peeped out. It was Jake Bronski, probably her closest friend. He held up a white bag so she could see he brought something for her. She opened the door.
“Hi, Jake. Sorry, but I’m just on my way out...”
“Right,” he said, pushing his way in. “You were invited to a pajama party, I suppose?”
“Yes, as it happens,” she said meekly.
“Well, you look stunning, as usual. Why don’t you slip into something a little less comfortable while I set the table.”
“I will if you promise not to clean the kitchen,” she said. “It annoys me when you do that.”
“Someone has to do it,” he said. Then he smiled at her. “Go on, then.”
“All right, but eventually this has to stop,” she said, even though she had no desire for it to stop.
She went to her room, the master bedroom. It had been her parents’ room until they each got sick and they converted the only bedroom downstairs, which had an adjoining bath, into a sick room. They were fortunate that her father had remodeled the house a bit before his accident since these old homes didn’t usually have large spacious main floor bathrooms.
Maybe that was why she had trouble sleeping in her bed—it was her parents’ when they had been healthy and happy.
She stripped and got into the shower. Jake deserved that much. She blew out her curly hair and rummaged around for a pair of clean jeans. Of course she came from that ilk of women who gained rather than lost weight in their grief. How was it you could barely swallow any food and yet gain weight? She sighed as she squeezed into the uncomfortably tight jeans and added some lip gloss.
When she returned, she found the kitchen had been cleaned and the table was set for two with place mats, good dishes, wine and water glasses. Jake had even put his offerings in serving dishes—tri-tip on a platter, Caesar salad, green beans sprinkled with pieces of bacon. On the counter were a couple of generous slices of cheesecake with berries on top. A bottle of wine had been opened and was breathing.
“Your mother isn’t coming?” Adele asked.
“Dancing with the Stars is on,” he said, by way of explanation. “What did you do today?”
“Not too much,” she said.
He held her chair for her. “Addie, have you given any thought to talking to someone? A professional? I think you might be depressed.”
“You think someone can talk me out of it?” she asked facetiously.
“What if you need medication?”
“Jake, my mother just died!”
“I realize that,” he said. “But for the last few years we talked about the things you wanted to do when you weren’t tied down anymore.”
“That’s true, but I didn’t want her to die! And I think my grief is normal, under these circumstances.”
“I couldn’t agree more, but you’re turning into a shut-in. You are free to live for yourself. You can finally get together with friends, get out, do things.”
“Enjoy this wet, cold weather, you mean? Maybe when the sun comes out, I’ll feel more motivated.”
“You had a long list of things you were going to do. I can’t even remember everything...”
She remembered. “I was going to remodel or at least give this house a face-lift so I could put it on the market, find myself a chic little apartment with a view, finish my graduate studies, date Bradley Cooper—”
He smiled. “I can help with the house,” he said. “Anything I can’t do, I can find you the right person. Have you seen Justine lately?”