But you were history with the slamming of the door
And I made myself so strong again somehow
And I never wasted any of my time on you since then
I got the out from Christian this morning. Loch got up early and left to go hang out with August. Caleb was sent away by PJ early last evening and Ben just stared at me most of the rest of the night while Lochlan got much-needed sleep.
Christian came over, sat on the edge of the bed, and told me they were hosting Thanksgiving today. That turkey and stuffing and gravy and mashed potatoes and maybe even a pumpkin pie or five will be at their house at four this afternoon and that if I would like to make an appearance there will be a chair with my name on it, and that if I'm not there by ten after, my chair will be removed and Schuyler will most likely eat everything.
Or Ben. I laugh but it comes out weird.
You gotta live, B. Don't let him continue to take this from you.
I nod. It's a pointless conversation and I've had it a hundred thousand times. It doesn't matter. I don't know what's wrong with me but he said I was enough and then suddenly I wasn't. Suddenly I was so lacking that it was better to fly to Heaven then to struggle, like this. I forgave him. I understand and then when it's cold or I'm tired or I think too hard I don't understand at all.
Christian leans down until he is holding me in his arms, head pressed against mine. But PUMPKIN PIE, he implores and I finally laugh for real, shaking both of us gently. He pulls back and smiles.
Promise me you'll come. We're going to light the good candles and everything. Everyone's going to be there. Table is set for eighteen.
Wow, that's a feat.
You do it.
I'm used to it.
We'll get used to it.
Actually?
Both tables. And the island.
Okay, there's a use for open concept.
Exactly. Let us treat you. Come and sit and mix your pills with alcohol. And eat something, for once. You're just bones.
It's Halloween. Just trying to blend in.
Stop trying, Bridget. It will never happen. Not with you.