Cherish

by Tracey Garvis Graves

“Yes they will.”

  “It’s not even low-cut,” I say, although if I look down into the bodice I can see the slight swell of the top of my breasts. Which look pretty good if I do say so myself.

  “Doesn’t matter,” he says.

  “I’m not wearing this to try to get men to talk to me.”

  “Who said anything about trying?”

  I sit down on the couch next to him. “Daniel, do you want me to stay home?”

  “No.” He waves me away as if my question is absurd. “Go. Have dinner. You’ve been cooped up here with me for far too long.”

  Through the window, I see Trish’s blue minivan pull into the driveway. “Don’t wait up, okay?”

  Daniel picks up the remote and turns on the TV. “It’s chilly out tonight. You should put a sweater on over that.”

  I turn away so he can’t see me smile. After I grab a cardigan from my closet, I say, “I’m not sure what time I’ll be back.”

  “I’m not your dad,” Daniel says, scrolling through the channels. “Just make sure you take a cab if Trish has more than one drink.”

  The wine relaxes me instantly. I take a sip, sigh, and set the glass on the table. “This tastes wonderful.”

  “You act like you’ve never had a glass of wine before,” Trish says.

  “I haven’t had one since I moved in with Daniel. The doctors want him to abstain from alcohol for at least the first year. It’s not good for his balance or cognitive functions. He keeps trying to get me to open a bottle of wine and says he doesn’t mind at all if I want to have a drink or two, but I wouldn’t feel right about it if he can’t share it with me.”

  “That’s very considerate of you,” Amy says.

  Though I’ve gotten together with Amy and Trish for coffee and lunch a few times since I moved in with Daniel, this is the first girls’ night out we’ve had in a long time. The best thing about my sister and my best friend is that they cancel each other out. Trish is obnoxious, fiery, and loud. Unapologetically pushing people’s buttons and calling them on their bullshit is what she does best. Amy is the practical one, levelheaded and calm. She’s always been my rock in a sea of chaos.

  “It hasn’t been a big deal. But I’m not going to lie. It does feel good to get out of the house.”

  “How’s Daniel doing?” Trish asks.

  “He’s doing really well. His doctors keep saying they can’t believe how far he’s come. The biggest adjustment has been his struggle to feel like he’s in control of his life again.”

  “I’ve known Daniel for a long time,” Amy says. “He’s strong and independent. I’m sure this has been incredibly difficult for him.”

  “There is nothing more challenging than trying to convince someone that, despite their injury, they’re still the same person.” I raise my glass, surprised to see that it’s empty.

  Trish refills it. “He was a policeman. He’s used to telling people what to do.”

  “He’s still a policeman,” I say. “He’s just on medical leave. He’s going back to work as soon as the doctor clears him.”

  “Is he willing to get out more?” Amy asks. “You said he was sticking pretty close to home for a while.”

  “Yes. He comes with me whenever I run errands. We go out for meals. We’ve seen a couple of movies. Keeping him busy has helped to alleviate some of the depressive symptoms he struggled with, especially in the beginning.”

  “I can’t imagine what it would be like to live with Rob if he and I were to get divorced,” Trish says, signaling to the waiter for another bottle of wine.

  “It was strange at first, but I’m amazed at how quickly we slipped back into our old habits. It didn’t take long before it felt familiar again.”

  “How long do you think you’ll stay with him?”

  “I don’t know. Our future is a bit of a gray area. I’m living in his house, sleeping in his bed, and cooking his meals. It would be weird to someday just pack up my stuff and say, ‘See you later, Daniel.’”

  “Hold up. You’re sleeping in his bed?” Trish asks.

  “He felt bad that I was sleeping on the couch.” I take a big drink of my wine. “It’s complicated.”

  Trish laughs. “I’ll say. So neither of you has groped the other in your sleep?”

  “Not yet.”

  “So do you guys sit around trading your ‘What have you been doing since we got divorced stories?’” Trish asks.

  “Not really. Let’s face it. I have next to nothing to share. He knows I sold the house and that I work for a temp agency. What else is there to tell? It’s not like I’ve done a great job of moving on.”

  “Maybe after Daniel goes back to work you can start looking for something more permanent,” Amy says gently.

  “Yeah, maybe.”

  “What about Daniel?” Trish asks. “What’s he been doing?”

  “I’m not sure. Things that happened in the past year or so are the hardest memories for him to recall.”

  “Was he dating anyone?” Amy asks.

  I shake my head firmly. “I’d know if he was seeing someone. She would have showed up at the hospital for sure. But there was this woman Daniel was friends with.”

  My sister snorts. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

  “No, I saw her,” I say. “Her name is Claire. She came to the rehab hospital. And get this: she looks a little like me. Actually, she looks a lot like me.”

  “Paging Dr. Freud,” Trish says as she tops off my glass.

  “You think there’s something to that?” I ask.

  “Really?” she says, giving me a look like she thinks I’m the dumbest woman on the planet.

  “It could just be a coincidence. I’m not the only blonde in town, you know.”

  “Is that what Daniel said?” Amy asks. “That they were just friends?”

  “Yes. But he got this panicked look on his face when I mentioned her. And get this: When Dylan came to the hospital the day after Daniel was shot, he acted all weird when I asked if there was anyone Daniel would want us to call.”

  “Weird how?” Trish asks.

  “You know Dylan. Like he was pleased he knew something I didn’t.”

  “So still an asshole?” Trish says.

  “He made a pass at me in the hospital parking lot.”

  “Yep, that sounds like him,” Trish says.

  “I’m sure Claire was just being nice by visiting Daniel. That’s what friends do,” I say.

  My sister snorts again.

  “The snorting is very unbecoming,” I say.

  “So is this line of thinking.”

  “You don’t think men and women can be friends, Trish?” Amy asks.

  “Of course men and women can’t be friends,” Trish says. “We all know this. Billy Crystal already went over it in When Harry Met Sally. I don’t care who this so-called friend of Daniel’s is. Trust me, he wanted to have sex with her.”

  “Well,” I say, swallowing a rather large gulp of wine. “That’s just fantastic.”

  Trish reaches out and squeezes my hand. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry, Jess. You know I lack a filter.”

  I wave her off. “It’s okay. I have no right to be upset about anything Daniel chose to do after the divorce.”

  “Yeah, because if that isn’t the definition of a break, I don’t know what is,” Trish says.

  “Yeah, thanks Ross. I got that,” I say.

  “You can still have feelings about it,” Amy says gently.

  “I suppose.”

  “Look on the bright side,” Trish says. “If this theory about men and women not being able to be friends is true—and I think we can all agree that it is—may I point out that you and Daniel have reached a point in your reconciliation where you are, once again, friends. Ergo, Daniel probably wants to have sex with you too.”

  I hold up a finger. “One, you don’t have to voice every thought that pops into your head; two, wh
ether or not my ex-husband wants to have sex with me is pretty far down on my list of priorities; and three, I doubt that he’s doing a lot of thinking about sex these days. He’s been through a lot.”

  “Trish does have a point,” Amy says.

  “Thank you, Amy.” Trish pours the rest of bottle number two into Amy’s glass and signals the waiter for a third.

  Amy continues. “Based on the way your marriage ended and since it was you who wanted to separate, it stands to reason that Daniel would still harbor romantic feelings for you, which have undoubtedly intensified due to your role as his nurturing caretaker.”

  “I love it when you play armchair psychologist,” I say. “But ‘nurturing caretaker’ is laying it on a bit thick.”

  “It really isn’t, Jess. You’re taking care of his every need.”

  “Not every need,” Trish says.

  “Thank you for not snorting, but you’re really going to dock me points for that? Do you think a visiting nurse would have included sex acts in the array of services she would have provided?”

  “I’m not even going to touch the nurse-fantasy part. All I’m saying is that sexual contact of any kind with Daniel wouldn’t exactly be a hardship. You told me he was good in bed,” Trish says. “You used to brag about that all the time.”

  “I did not brag. I mentioned it once, and I was simply sharing a complimentary fact about him. Look, Daniel and I had our problems. Obviously. But sex was not one of them. Well, toward the end I guess it was, since we stopped having it. But sex would not have fixed the problems we had.”

  “Do you think you’ll get back together?” Amy asks.

  She and Trish wait expectantly for my answer.

  “I don’t know. I have very strong feelings for him, and I hope he can forgive me for the way I acted after Gabriel died. At the very least, I take comfort in knowing he’s my friend again. I want him to be a part of my life.”

  We close out our tab around eleven thirty.

  “We did not drink four bottles of wine between us,” Trish says.

  Amy scans the bill. “Apparently we did.”

  “Nobody is driving,” I say. “I’ll call us a cab.”

  On the way home, we sing along to the radio, loudly and off-key. It’s the most fun I’ve had in a long time, and yet I can’t wait to get home to Daniel. When they drop me off, I kiss both of them good-bye and stumble my way to the keypad on Daniel’s garage door.

  After three attempts, I finally key in the code correctly and watch as the cab drives away.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  DANIEL

  I’m lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. I can’t fall asleep until I know Jessie is home safely and finally, at ten till midnight, a pair of headlights sweep into the driveway. One glance out the bedroom window confirms that she has arrived via Yellow Cab. I let the shade fall into place and lie back down, but she doesn’t come inside. Wondering if she’s having trouble with the garage code, I get out of bed and head toward the living room. Before I can reach it, I hear the garage door go up, and she finally opens the door and wobbles on those ridiculous high heels from the kitchen into the living room. I stand in the dark hallway as she drops her purse on the floor and then crashes into the coffee table.

  “Dammit.” She draws the word out and then shushes herself.

  This is when I smile, because drunk Jessie is hilarious. Always has been. She doesn’t get this way very often, maybe once or twice a year. But when she overindulges I know I’m in for quite a show.

  I step out of the shadows and say her name softly so I won’t startle her.

  “Hi, Daniel!” Her booming voice fills the living room. “I didn’t know you were up. I was trying to be so quiet.”

  “Hi. Did you have a nice time?”

  “I had a great time. We had wine.”

  “I can tell.”

  “I missed you.”

  “I missed you too.”

  “Really? I missed you too.”

  “Yes, you just told me that.”

  She starts to laugh. “Were you in bed?”

  “Yes, but I wasn’t asleep.”

  “You were waiting up for me, I bet.”

  “I was.”

  “You’re so sweet.”

  I follow her down the hall. She sits down on the edge of the bed and makes several attempts to unbuckle the strap of her shoe. After giving up, she falls backward and closes her eyes.

  I lean down and give her a gentle shake. “Jessie. Don’t pass out yet. Is it okay if I take off your clothes so I can put you to bed?”

  “You would do that for me?” she whispers, grabbing my head and pressing her forehead against mine in a way that’s both endearing and comical.

  “Sure, honey.”

  “Okay,” she says. She now has the hiccups.

  I kneel on the floor in front of her legs, which are dangling off the bed, and take off her shoes. Reaching for her hands, I pull her upright.

  “Thank you for taking off my shoes,” she says cheerfully. “My feet were killing me.”

  I reach around and find the zipper of her dress. As I’m pulling it down, I say, “Are you sure you’re not going to wake up tomorrow and be mad at me for undressing you?”

  “You’re my Daniel,” she says, wrinkling her forehead. “Why would I be mad?”

  Oh, shit. She’s really hammered. “Never mind.” I slip the dress off her shoulders and pull her the rest of the way up so she’s standing. The dress falls to the floor, leaving her in a lacy white bra and a very tiny pair of underwear. As I stare at her, my sex drive, which has been almost nonexistent during this whole ordeal, roars back to life. As petty as it seems, I take a moment to be thankful the bullet didn’t damage some sort of crucial desire pathway.

  “I can’t go to bed with my makeup on,” she says.

  “Come with me.” I lead her by the hand into the bathroom and help her onto the bathroom counter next to the sink.

  “You’re so nice to me, Daniel. Even after I was so awful to you.”

  “Shhh,” I say, placing my fingers on her lips. “It’s okay.” I rummage around in the cupboard under the sink until I find the makeup remover she’s been using for years.

  “Get the cotton balls too.”

  I grab them, and after soaking a cotton ball in makeup remover, I stand between Jessie’s legs and swipe it across her right eye.

  “You were right,” she says. “I caught the waiter looking at my boobs. I think the cab driver did too.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  “I know. I can’t help it if they’re spectacular.”

  I laugh and she laughs too. After grabbing another cotton ball, I soak it with makeup remover and attend to her left eye.

  “Can you wash my face now? Use the pink stuff.”

  “Sure.” I find the cleanser and rub it onto her skin with my fingertips.

  Jessie closes her eyes. “That feels so good.”

  I hold a washcloth under the faucet, and when it’s wet, I use it to wipe her face until there’s nothing left on her skin. As I pat her dry, my eyes follow the trickle of water that winds its way down her neck and disappears into her bra. Her breasts are, indeed, spectacular. And it doesn’t matter that I’m familiar with every inch of them. At that moment, I would give just about anything to see them again.

  Without makeup, Jessie looks about twenty. She leans forward and rests her cheek on my chest. “Can I just put my head here for a second?”

  “Of course.” In the mirror, I gaze at the rear view of Jessie: blond hair spilling across her shoulders and the curve of her lower back as it meets her ass in that tiny pair of underwear. I can’t stop looking.

  And then she’s out. For once, I’m the nondizzy one. I pick her up and carry her into the bedroom. After I deposit her gently onto my bed, I slide in next to her and pull the covers over us. She rolls toward me and tucks her head under my arm, and that’s how I fall
asleep.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  JESSIE

  I wake up alone, sprawled on my back in Daniel’s bed, wearing only my bra and underwear. My mouth is a parched desert, and there are little men using jackhammers inside my skull.

  Way to go, Jessie.

  I cannot handle my alcohol at all, which is why I rarely have more than two drinks. I won’t blame Amy or Trish, either, because I knew exactly what I was doing. After I pull on some clothes, I find Daniel in the living room watching the Today show and eating a bowl of cereal. I slink over to the couch and sit down beside him. “Was it as bad as I think it was?”

  He smiles. “You were in rare form.”

  “Entertaining?”

  “Highly.” Daniel points to my leg. “The bruise on your knee is from the coffee table.”

  “Ah,” I say, touching the purplish skin carefully and wincing. I catch myself right before I’m about to add something about my aching head. I’m sure the pain Daniel experienced is ten times worse than a wine hangover. I wander into the kitchen for water, Tylenol, and coffee, and when I come back out, I say, “I must have been a big, sloppy mess.”

  “You had a girls’ night out and let off some steam. Big deal.”

  “Did you have to take care of me?”

  He sets his empty cereal bowl on the coffee table. “I didn’t have to do anything. You needed my help, and I was happy to give it. And for the record, I asked you if it was okay to take off your clothes. You said it was.”

  “Did anything else happen?” Wine has a tendency to make me very…‌amorous.

  He looks incredulous. “Do you really think I would take advantage of you while you were drunk?”

  “I thought I might have taken advantage of you.”

  “Oh. You passed out and I put you to bed.”

  “At least I took off my makeup first.” I’d been pleasantly surprised at the absence of smudged mascara when I looked in the mirror.

  “I took off your makeup.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes.”

  “Huh.”

  “Did you have a nice time?”

  “What I can remember of it, yes.”

  “You should do it more often. I don’t want you to feel like you have to babysit me.”