Happy HourPilot Episode Draft 11
I continued through the drawer to find that folder after folder was full of what appeared to be unsold scripts. Some half complete. Some marked up so heavily with red that the pages looked like a crime scene. And all of it had been marked as trash. There were a handful of floppy disks too, but most of the scripts were hard copies from a typewriter.
Going through my mother’s belongings had been a Herculean task. And similar to Leonard, Mom had prepared to die. Yet there was still so much to sort. I knew the danger of being overly sentimental and keeping things that would only one day become my own trash. But these pages... The thought of seeing them tossed and then never seen again made my stomach turn. What would I even do with them? They couldn’t be sold—at least not by me—but to see them just forgotten left me hollow and aching.
Maybe I could digitize them. I could at least read them. That felt like something.
In the kitchen, as I searched for an empty box, I found the Marfa, Texas, mug he’d served me a cup of coffee in that first day I came to his apartment. Even though it was in a box with a blue tag, I decided no one would miss this one memento if I took it with me. At least I’d have something of Leonard’s after I undoubtedly killed his cactus.
After consolidating the packed kitchen appliances to free up a box, I filled it with the contents of the filing cabinet and decided to head home.
It was well past lunchtime, and I needed to drop this box off before I could get back to my office and set up for the Marijuana as Medicine presentation tonight.
As I closed the door, a familiar voice drawled, “Knocked down in his prime, wasn’t he?”
I shook my head, hiking the box up with my knee before looking over to see Ruby sitting on the bench between her and Leonard’s places.
“I’m so glad you can see the humor in Leonard’s death,” I said, every syllable falling flat.
“This is familiar territory for us,” she said. “I’m so very sorry for not responding to Leonard’s death with one of the three Vera-approved reactions.”
“I’m not doing this with you right now.”
“We could just wait until I die,” she said. “With Leonard gone, I suspect I won’t be far behind. He and I always did have similar timing.”
She was hurting. I could see that. But I’d spent so much time after Mom’s death catering to Ruby and her grief. I couldn’t do it again.
“Sure, Ruby,” I said. “Sounds great.”
And then I took my stolen coffee mug and the scripts I couldn’t bring myself to let go of and I left.
Mom had made Ruby and me promise to take care of each other after she was gone, but maybe the best way for us to care for ourselves now was without each other.
Chapter Fifty-One
When I returned to our apartment, I decided to sleep through my lunch break. I’d spent most of the days immediately after my mother’s death asleep. There was something so tempting about snoozing through the day as much as I could, like I was bypassing my sorrow by sleeping. Of course, grief sometimes found me in my dreams, but it always felt a little more distant. A little more manageable.
I lay down in my room for a few minutes with Marlon curled at the foot of the bed. Despite being emotionally exhausted, I was restless. Which was how I found myself traveling down the hall to Eli’s room with Marlon tucked against my chest.
I slid beneath his comforter and was enveloped in his scent—sandalwood and fresh linen. Scooting closer to the center of the bed, I nestled into his pillow, and my mind finally began to slow enough for me to drift into the quiet of sleep.
* * *
A shift on the mattress woke me gently. I blinked lazily, my vision blurring at the edges until I realized how far the sunlight had moved across the room.
My eyes fluttered shut again as a broad palm smoothed my hair off my sweaty forehead.
Eli.
The actual smell of him was so much better than the lingering scent on his bedsheets.
He slid under the covers behind me, his arm wrapping around my waist and pulling me snug against his chest.
“What time is it?” I dared to ask.
“Nearly six,” he whispered into the nape of my neck.
“Fuck.” I shot up—or attempted to, but Eli pulled me back down before I could get too far. “I lost a whole day,” I said. “I had an event to set up—”
