"Leo, I'm hungry…"
"I want your plum-glazed ribs."
Naomi's wheedling voice drifted from behind me, followed by the low, indulgent murmur of Leonard's reply.
My feet felt like they'd been filled with lead.
Eight years together—and I didn't know Leonard could cook until Naomi came back.
The day she returned to the country, Leonard brought her straight to our place.
I'd thoughtfully booked a restaurant ahead of time, but Naomi pouted, "I want to eat Leo's cooking"—and just like that, my reservation meant nothing. Leonard was already in the kitchen.
Eight dishes. Three hours.
The last one was the plum-glazed ribs.
"All those years abroad, your cooking is what I missed the most."
"Leo, you haven't forgotten your promise to me, have you?"
Leonard took off his apron and wiped his hands. "How could I forget the princess's wishes?"
"I've never cooked for anyone else. Ask Constance if you don't believe me. She didn't even know I could cook!"
They both laughed, and Leonard reached over to ruffle Naomi's hair.
At the table, I sat across from Naomi, wishing I could crawl into a hole and never come out.
They talked and laughed the whole evening. I couldn't have gotten a word in if I'd tried.
After my shower, the cloying sweetness of plum and braised pork hit me the moment I stepped out.
"Connie, come eat!"
Naomi was sitting next to Leonard, waving me over.
I glanced at their shoulders pressed together and managed a thin smile.
There was no place for me at that table.
"No, thanks."
"I'm not hungry."
I turned back toward the bedroom, only to find it filled with someone else's things.
"What is this?"
Leonard didn't even look up. "Oh, Naomi's place has a leak."
"She's staying here for a while."
"Once you've had your surgery and recovered, she'll move out."
The hand gripping my towel wouldn't stop shaking. When I spoke, the words came out cracked.
"Leonard, this is our shared condo."
Every word landed heavy and raw.
But Leonard didn't hear it.
He frowned at me, a flicker of irritation in his eyes. "We're not even married, are we?"
"So don't call it 'ours' like it means something."
"Constance, quit stirring up trouble over nothing."
Naomi didn't say a word, head down, eating quietly, but her shoulders were trembling with barely concealed laughter.
I said nothing. I gathered my things and moved to the guest room.
Just a few more days. I could endure a few more days.
My flight was the day after tomorrow. Once I was gone, let's see who Naomi could get to operate on her.
I'd barely sat down when my phone rang.
It was Aaron Whitney.
"My dear lady, please tell me you haven't forgotten your Monday flight."
His familiar, irreverent voice came through the speaker. I always told him I couldn't stand him, but right now that voice felt like a lifeline.
"I haven't."
"Aaron, what if my condition really is bad enough to need surgery?"
A pause on the other end. "Constance, don't be scared."
"I've looked at the scans you sent. It's not as frightening as you think. The equipment here is more advanced. You can get retested once you're here. What if it's a misdiagnosis?"
"And even if the diagnosis holds, there are many treatment options. Surgery isn't the only one."
For as long as I'd known him, Aaron had been the unreliable kid who never seemed to grow up.
But hearing that steady string of reassurances, it hit me that the boy in my memory had quietly grown up somewhere along the way.
His words eased something wound tight inside me.
Not long after I hung up, there was a knock at the door.
It was Naomi.
She was wearing my pajamas, eyes bright with open provocation.
"Connie, I'm wearing your pajamas. You don't mind, right?"
