Chapter Thirty-Two
Olivia
When I woke up on Saturday morning, I could smell coffee and bacon cooking, and I blinked, scrunching up my nose and assuming that I must still be dreaming. But when I opened my eyes, the scent was still there, and I spared a moment to wonder what was going on.
As I rubbed my gritty eyes, though, I remembered all the crying that I had done the previous night.
Mom.
I felt my heart constrict, but I refused to keep crying over her. She had made her peace with her decision, and it was time for me to make my peace with it as well. I felt bad saying that she didn't deserve my tears, but there was a part of me that felt that way. After all, she could have tried to fight the cancer, to prolong her life. It had been her choice to die when she had.
I knew that that anger would get me nowhere, though. And abstractly, I knew that I wasn't really mad at her, I was just going through the grieving process. I had studied that my freshman year in Psychology 101, a mandatory class for all liberal arts majors.
I pushed thoughts of the stages of grief out of my head and decided to make my way downstairs to investigate the smells coming from the kitchen. It was a little too warm for the flannel pajamas, but I didn't want to take them off when they were so soft against my skin. Plus, part of me could still remember the care with which Eric had bundled me into them.
I blushed, remembering the way he had undressed me and helped me into a bath, then helped me out of the bath and into bed. I had a vague memory of him lying there in bed holding me, too, but I didn't think that that had happened. It had probably just been a dream, one born out of the sadness and loneliness that I'd been feeling.
When I came down into the kitchen, though, there was Eric, frying up eggs and bacon on the stove and singing along softly to the radio.
“What are you doing here?” I asked stupidly, unable to help myself. I knew that he had been there the previous night, but I would have expected him to be back home with Emma by now.
Eric jumped, clearly not having heard me come downstairs, and gave me a sheepish smile. “Good morning,” he said, nodding me toward the table, where he'd already set out cutlery, placemats, and two glasses of orange juice. “I know you weren't really up to eating last night, but I was hoping you could try to get some food in you this morning. It may not feel like it, but it'll help.”
I remembered what he had said the previous night at the hospital, about how he had gone through this same thing with his former wife. I took his words at face value and sat down at the table.
“Thanks for cooking breakfast,” I told him softly as he poured me a steaming mug of coffee.
“Of course,” Eric said gently. He looked like he wanted to add something, but whatever it was, it didn't leave his mouth. Instead, he filled a plate with eggs, bacon, and toast and set it down in front of me. “I hope you don't mind that I'll be joining you?”
I shook my head; it wasn't as though I could protest when he was the one who had made the breakfast. And besides, why would I? I had to appreciate him taking care of me like this. I wondered if someone had done this for him when Emily had died, but I didn't know how to ask that question.
So many things about him that are still a mystery, I mused.
I supposed that he and Helen had had one another when Emily had died. And Eric had also had Emma to watch out for. He probably hadn't been able to go to pieces, because he'd had her to focus all his energies on. I couldn't imagine how difficult that must have been for him, and I shook my head, marveling at him for a moment as he made himself a plate of food and sat down across from me. As he turned a quizzical look toward me, I hurriedly looked down at my plate. But thinking about them took my mind off thinking of my mother for a moment, and I was grateful for that.
I took a bite of the eggs, realizing I was hungry. I hadn't eaten the previous night: my dinner with Mom had been interrupted by taking her to the hospital, and I remembered not having the energy to eat the sandwich that Eric had made for me. Again, I appreciated his effort, though.
It was hard to swallow past the lump in my throat, but I made a brave attempt at it, thinking over how strangely domestic this all was. What's more, I liked this. Even after I had realized that I was pregnant with Eric's child, I hadn't allowed myself to think about what things would be like if we put together a real family, him and Emma and myself and the new baby. Our new baby.
The trouble was, if he didn't want to have a part of this baby's life, it only hurt me more to think of what could have been.
I forced myself to keep eating, knowing that he wasn't going to let me get away with not eating anything. I was hungry. It was just hard to eat. After a few bites, I picked up the mug of coffee, holding it between my hands in an attempt to warm them. “Did you stay here for the whole night?” I couldn't help asking.
Eric nodded, a faint blush spreading across his cheekbones. That was interesting. “I hope you don't mind. I just didn't want to leave you alone like that.”
I frowned at him, wanting to ask if he'd been there in bed with me or if he'd stayed on the couch. From the way he had blushed, I had to assume that that memory I'd had of him holding me in his arms in my bed might not have been a figment of my imagination. If he had stayed with me, it would have been the first night that he'd done so. But I couldn't get the guts up to ask.
I took a sip of my coffee. “Where's Emma?” I finally asked.
“I left her with a sitter for the night,” Eric explained. “I called her as soon as the hospital called me. I had a feeling it might be a difficult night.”
“Oh,” I said. I was grateful that he had stayed with me, I realized. I wouldn't have expected it, with how rocky our relationship had been lately. Maybe he was the good guy that I'd thought he was.
“Everything just seems surreal today,” I commented. The idea that I would never see Mom again, the idea that Eric was being so nice to me, that he had stayed with me; they were both things that I wouldn't have expected. Of course, there was also the fact that I was pregnant, the fact that I lived there in Tamlin, the fact that someone as handsome and personable as Eric had slept with me in the first place, and especially that I had developed feelings for him. Come to think of it, the whole year seemed pretty surreal.
I didn't elaborate on it, but Eric chewed slowly, looking as though he was considering that. “I remember that feeling,” he finally said. He grimaced. “I wish I could tell you that that feeling goes away, but to be honest, there are still mornings when I wake up and think that the past two years have been a dream,” he admitted.
I frowned at him. “We studied the process of grief in a psychology class that I took in college,” I told him. “I know that that happens.” I didn't mean to sound so snappish about it. I knew he was only trying to help, and I had to appreciate that he hadn't told me any of the standard clichés about how everything was going to be okay and that I would get through this. But I also didn't need him to sound so patronizing about it, just because he had been through all of this before.
I felt bad for even thinking that, though. I should just be happy that he was here.
Eric stared at me for a long moment. “Knowing that that's the way it works and experiencing it are two very different things,” he finally reminded me. He held up his hands. “I know I sound patronizing, but I am just trying to help.”
I nodded, feeling almost chastened at his words even though I knew he didn't mean it that way. “Thank you for staying with me,” I finally told him. “And feeding me.” I looked down at my still-full plate, giving him a guilty look. “I'm sorry I don't have more of an appetite.”
“That's all right. You just shouldn't be alone right now,” Eric said simply. He paused. “You're going to have to start figuring out the arrangements,” he said. “Get in touch with your mom's lawyer regarding the will. Memorial Gardens, over in Redfield, is an honest and reliable funeral parlor. They should be able to help you out.”
I pushed away my breakfast, my appetite suddenly gone. I didn't want to think about making the arrangements. What I wanted was to go back to bed and pretend that this wasn't happening.
But then again, I supposed 'pretending that this wasn't happening' was exactly what had brought us to this point in the first place.
Eric stood up, carrying our plates over to the counter. He started putting my uneaten meal into a Tupperware container so that I could save it for later. He rinsed his plate and put it in the dishwasher, discretely giving me time to compose myself.
After a couple of minutes, he turned back to me, wiping his hands on his jeans. “I have to head home and relieve the babysitter,” he said. “I want you to take it easy today, all right? And if you start to feel overwhelmed, call your friend.” He looked away as he said that, and I suddenly realized that the 'friend' he was talking about was Buck.
I swallowed hard, wanting to say something, to tell him yet again that it wasn't like that, that Buck and I weren't anything to one another and that he wasn't my lover. But I knew that he wasn't going to listen to me, and anyway, I didn't have the energy to have that conversation now.
So instead, I just nodded, sitting stiffly as he came to give me one last hug.
He had been so kind through the whole thing, but I suddenly realized that he was being almost clinical about how he was comforting me. He was only doing this because he felt obligated to, as a doctor. He felt like he had to take care of me.
I blinked back tears, choking out a quick goodbye. Fortunately, Eric left quickly. As soon as the front door closed behind him, I started sobbing, gut-wrenching sobs that felt as though they were turning me inside out. I wasn't sure which I was more upset about: the fact that Mom had died or the fact that for a moment there, it had felt as though Eric truly cared about this and wanted to make things work between us.
But of course, that wasn't the case. Just because Mom had died didn't mean that my string of bad luck was over. I could hardly fathom having a child now and raising it all on my own. But I didn't know what choice I had. Mom might not be around, but I still knew that she would have wanted me to raise that child. It was what we'd been talking about when she had died, and I had to respect that as being her final wishes.
It hurt too much to even consider it.