Page 53 of Center of Gravity
“Maybe you should watch your own mouth and remember who made you breakfast, who drove you to and from the hospital, who sacrificed their weekend to take care of—”
He ducked the balled-up napkin I threw at him and laughed.
“I need to take a piss.”
We did that very carefully. The pain had eased up but I still moved as if through molasses.
“If you offer to hold my dick for me, I swear to God you’ll regret it,” I said, nudging open the bathroom door with my toe.
“I’d never offer to do that. Way too tame.” Alex gave me a lascivious grin and leaned back against the outer wall as I shuffled into the bathroom. “Isn’t it about time for you to take some more happy pills? You’re like an animal when you get hurt. Eager to gnaw off the limb of anything that gets too close.”
“Consider yourself warned, then.” I managed to splash a bit of water on my face and brush my teeth while I was at it, then we shuffled back to the bed. Once I’d gotten settled, he sat at the end, watching as I swallowed a few pills, then laid his hand atop the air cast, lightly stroking my calf. “Do you want this off for a little while?”
“God, yes.” My foot felt like a sausage in a casing in the damn thing.
Alex released the Velcro and slipped off the cast, drawing his fingertips over the tendons on top of my foot, circling my ankle. “You have nice feet,” he murmured.
“Don’t tell me you have a foot fetish.”
“You’re safe from that. I’m just saying artistically speaking, they’re nice.” One shoulder rose and fell. “See all the curves and swoops of tendons, how your big toe kind of flutes out? And the arch?” He traced said arch until I shivered under the caress and narrowed my eyes at him.
“I think you’re enjoying this.”
“Which part, you being in pain or having a captive audience?”
“Both.”
He chuckled and released my foot, rising. “One more than the other.” He twisted his back side to side, sending up a series of pops and snaps that made me cringe. “I got the rest of your furniture back in place, touched up a couple more places. I think it’s officially done. So congrats, you’re almost finished with Nook Island, ready to go back to life in the city.” He lingered in the doorway. “I have to go, but I’ll be back in a few hours. Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.”
* * *
I wasn’tsure what Alex would qualify as stupid, relatively speaking, but I stayed in bed most of the day, flicking through TV stations, checking in on a few work projects. I also called my boss and told him I’d be out another day and though he wasn’t excited about that, he didn’t give me a hard time.“Sean’s holding down the fort wonderfully. Whatever you said must have set him straight,”he’d said. I tamped down the snark that leapt up inside me and ended the call.
After popping a few more pills, I took some hobbling steps, enough to assure myself that my back was improving and I should be good to go tomorrow. I let Winslow out into the backyard and while he was doing his business, I lumbered into the living room. It was pristine, the trim and walls fresh and inviting, the color perfect surrounding the big picture window.
Was I going to regret leaving this place behind? It had only been weeks and yet it seemed like an age from start to finish. I was invested. More than I ever meant to be. And not just in the house, but in Alex too. That would fade though, wouldn’t it? The same way vacation flings tended to. The few I’d had on family trips to the Jersey shore had seemed so important, had occupied my headspace for the entire time we were there and then weeks later, like a match snuffed out, only the lingering scent of smoke remained.
I dozed, surfing back into consciousness on the wave of a laugh track spilling from the TV. Afternoon light receded into the horizon beyond the window, a soft, hazy glow filtering through the curtains. The front door opened and shut. Footsteps sounded into the kitchen. I flicked on the bedside lamp. In the moment, I was content, despite my back and my ankle. Rarely in my life had I slowed down long enough to relax and do nothing. Now it was all I could do.
Alex appeared in the doorway. “I brought some meatloaf and mashed potatoes from my mom. How are you feeling?” His gaze was shrewd and assessing.
“Better,” I said, eyeing the backpack slung over his shoulder. “What’s with the bag? Don’t tell me you’re planning—”
Alex cut me off, “Save your breath. You can use it for a future complaint.”
I stifled a smile. “I pity the guy that ever tries to fire you from a job.”
“It’ll never happen because I’m an excellent employee.” He arched a brow at me. “And hopefully I’ll never have a boss. Just an agent who’s bossy.”
Alex spread a towel over the bed and we ate dinner there, watchingAntiques Road Show, which Alex was a huge fan of. I had to admit it was compelling, and by the third episode, we were both throwing guesses at the TV.
“No way that thing’s worth more than what that guy paid for it.” On screen, the assessor inspected a butter dish purportedly from the twenties.
“I’ll bet it’s worth three times as much,” Alex said. “They’re going to make us think it’s a piece of garbage, then stick a three thousand dollar price tag on it.”
“It’s a piece of garbage.”
We were both wrong, but Alex was closer to the mark. He grinned. “Want to put a wager on the next one?”