“Thank you. The color makes me happy.” Charlie leaves the living room and motions for me to follow. I’m a few seconds behind her, and when I turn the corner she walked around a moment ago, I step right into the kitchen.
It’s hot pink.
I try not to gape, but it’s nearly impossible to keep my lips closed.
Charlie looks at me and laughs. “I know, it’s awful. I did it on a whim. Merch swears he’s going to re-paint before the baby comes.”
I examine the array of notes and magnets on the fridge, including a sonogram picture with Charlie’s full name in the corner.Charlotte Merchant.“Do you ever call your husband by his first name?”
“Not even in the bedroom,” Charlie answers, grabbing an oven mitt from a drawer and shoving her hand into it.
“Oh geez,” I groan playfully.
Charlie pulls open the oven and grabs something from inside, then sets it on the stovetop. She turns back around and gestures to her stomach with her hands. “Well, how do you think this happened?”
“Good point.” I peer over her shoulder at whatever she placed on the stove. “What’s that?”
“Quiche. I was hoping you’d come hungry.”
“I’m always hungry.”
She eyes me. “From the looks of you, I wouldn’t say I believe you.”
I make a face. “My weight is just fine.”
“You’re tiny.”
She’s right, and I know it. After Warren, I lost weight and it still hasn’t fully returned. My appetite is starting to come back now though, and that delicious looking quiche hiding behind Charlie looks like a good place to begin.
I smile at her. “I guess I’ll just have to have two helpings to rectify that situation.”
Charlie’s eyes soften around the edges. “Do you want to talk about Warren?”
My fingers find the frayed hem of my jean shorts, and I tug at a string. “No,” I say in a low voice.
“It’s not your fault, you know?”
And there, with that one sentence, Charlie has reached in and tugged at the heart of the matter. In black and white terms, what happened is nobody’s fault. But nothing is black and white, so where in all those shades of gray does the blame lie on me?
“Fundamentally, I know that. But sometimes it seems like the blame should lie somewhere.” My eyes fill and I use the backs of my hands to push away the moisture.
“Sometimes sad things happen, Addison. And there doesn’t have to be clear-cut blame to place on somebody.”
I nod my agreement, but my mind continues on to a place it knows well.
If that guy hadn’t decided to ride his bike, then…
If Warren had wanted dessert instead of declining, then…
If I’d slept in our bed that night, then…
Theif’sare endless. The blame may not be clear-cut, but instead it’s broken into pieces, little shards resting on all our shoulders.
Charlie removes two plates from a cabinet, her belly bumping against the counter. She keeps going as if she didn’t notice, which makes me think it probably happens all the time.
With a smile, she turns to me, and asks, “Remember that time I called Cooper’s mom and tipped her off about the weed he kept stashed in the toe of a boot in his closet?”
I bark a laugh, palming my forehead and looking up at the ceiling. “That was the best revenge.”
