Page 47 of Trial and Error

My smile stays etched on my face as I leave her building and it remains there all the way home. And as I fall into bed with my hands tucked beneath my head,, all I can think of is the way she felt against me—like the missing piece of my puzzle.

elias

Mom is curled up on the couch in the living room when I arrive.

She has what looks like the heaviest cable knit blanket wrapped around her as she takes a sip of her tea. She’s wearing a turtleneck and her feet poking out from underneath the blanket are covered in thick socks. Her gaze is locked on her Kindle, and I stand in the doorway for a moment longer, watching as she smiles to herself at something she reads.

She looks peaceful like this, tucked away in her little bubble of bliss.

Mom must sense my presence because her tired eyes flick up and meet my own and I don’t miss the happy look that appears on her face.

Setting down her Kindle, she begins to push herself up from the couch, but I step forward and shake my head. “I’ll come to you.”

Mom rolls her eyes and the look of relief is fleeting, but she seems to relax as she rests her back against the cushions. “I tell you I’m dying, and you start treating me like I’m made of glass.” She tuts, a teasing smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

I sit down next to her and lift her feet into my lap, making sure the blanket covers her. “Yeah, well, what did you expect?”

She shifts a little, a look of discomfort passing over her face before she huffs out an irritated breath. “Oscar won’t let me hold Olivia anymore,” she says, her voice laced with sadness. “He says he’s scared she’ll hurt me, but he’s seen I don’t have much strength at the moment, and I think he’s worried I might drop her.”

I sigh.

I can’t even begin to imagine how hard this must be for her. I try not to let my sympathy show, but when she glares at me I know I’ve done a bad job at hiding it. She doesn’t want me to pity her. She wants to be treated like normal, but is that even possible anymore? I can’t look at her without feeling an overwhelming amount of pain and sadness, and then when I start to look at her like it might be the last time, it gets hard to breathe.

“How’s Bridget?” she asks, and I’m thankful for the change in conversation.

I feel my lips curve at the mention of her. I hate the way I’ve dragged her into my mess, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t happy she was sticking around. I wonder what I would’ve done if she had said no—wallow in self-deprecation, probably. I laid awake last night, wondering if she would want to see me after all this was over, if I could take her on a real date. And I came to the conclusion that she might say yes, given her willingness to help me out in the first place.

“She’s great,” I say, and can’t fight the way the corners of my mouth pull up at the thought of her.

Mom notices it too, because she reaches to take my hand in hers and gives it a squeeze. We smile at one another just as Patrick walks into the living room holding a tray with mugs and oatmeal cookies—my favourite. As Patrick sets the tray down, I see the shake to his hand, and I hate it. I don’t like to see the people I care about suffer and all I can think about is how hard this must be on Patrick.

Mom begins to mumble on about one of the many dramas happening at her knitting club and I find myself zoning out. I think back to my and Bridget’s date the other night and how seeing her in that little black dress had my heart racing, but not as much as seeing my ring on her finger. She looked to beautiful and while I should’ve been, nothing could’ve prepared me for the way everything felt right with her. There’s no pressure, no awkwardness, and I feel like I can be myself around her. I find myself thinking about the way she rolls her bottom lip between her lips when she gets shy and how her cheeks have this endearing peachy hue to them when she blushes or whenever I give her a compliment. My phone buzzes and I’m half expecting a text from my brother but surprise fills my chest when I see her name lighting up my screen.

A sight I could get used to.

Bridget

SOS! Tom’s mom told mine that we’re engaged and she’s demanding to meet you.

I smile at the franticness of her message and type out a swift reply.

Me

Give me and time and a place.

Her reply comes through immediately.

Bridget

How about in an hour?

Me

I’ll come get you.

Three little dots appear on the screen and then disappear almost instantly. Her location pops up on my screen.

Bridget