Well, well, well. She’s almost a better liar than I am.
“Darling,” I say, in my best syrupy sweet tone. “Why don’t you boil some water? I’m in the mood for some tea.”
Like the obedient girl she is, Val marches straight into the kitchen and turns on the faucet, filling the kettle. I sit at the table and watch as she strolls back to the living room to gather the papers that have fallen on the floor. I notice her thighs look a bit thicker than usual. She’s gained some weight. We’ll need to cut back on the cakes and cookies we’ve been enjoying lately. My craving for that coconut cream pie I saw at the bakery will have to wait.
The kettle whistles and she hurries over to the stove. She removes two cups from the cabinet and pours hot water into them. I study her as she reaches for the tin canister on the counter. When she opens it, she sighs.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, even though I know the answer. “Are we out of tea?”
“Yes and no,” she pouts. “We’re out of green tea but we have some of that tea Conchita always brings with her.”
“Great, I like hers better anyhow.” I snicker.
“You do? I swear that stuff gives me weird dreams… and a headache.”
“Well, it helps me sleep.”
“For sure, it knocks me out.”
“You’ll get used to it. She’s still perfecting her brew. I’ll tell her to lighten up on a few herbs on the next batch.”
Val grudgingly pulls two teabags from the canister and then slips one into each of the cups. She saunters over to me with cups in hand, placing them on the table.
Gazing at her, I bring the cup to my lips and take a long sip. She rolls her eyes, I’m guessing, at the slight sound that escapes my mouth.
“What?” I ask.
“Why do you always make that slurping sound when you drink?” She twists her lips and I detect a hint of disgust from the look on her face.
“Does it bother you?” I take another long sip, louder this time.
“Why do you answer me with a question?” Leaning back, she crosses her arms over her chest.
“Relax. Take another sip of your tea before it gets cold.” I glare at her.
Val shakes her head and then reaches for her cup. She makes a loud sucking sound as she gulps down her tea, mocking me. Mid-swallow, she laughs, inhaling the liquid and starts choking. She coughs and coughs, squirming in her seat as she tries to remove the liquid from her lungs.
I jump up and rush to her side, knocking the chair backward. I position myself, ready to do the Heimlich Maneuver on her, but she stops me, putting a hand up in front of me.
“I’m okay,” she says, her tone low and raspy. She takes in a shallow breath.
“You had me scared there for a moment.”
“Serves me right.” She clears her throat. “I shouldn’t have made fun of you.”
Bringing the cup to her nose, she inhales and then pauses. “That’s weird,” she says with a lilt in her voice.
“What now?”
“The smell,” she scrunches her face as she sets the cup down.
“What smell?”
“The tea, the scent of that tea,” she points. “I’ve smelled it somewhere before.”
I tug at the string in my cup, lifting the teabag and take a quick whiff. “It smells a bit woody to me,” I say, dangling it before placing it on the saucer.
“I think it smells like perfume. It has a sweet, floral aroma.” She looks at me and yawns. I notice her eyes are glassy.
“You okay?” I reach over, stroking the back of her hand.
“Yeah, I feel tired all of a sudden.”
“We’ve been up since dawn. Maybe you should take a little nap.”
“I can barely keep my eyes open.” She yawns again, half covering her mouth.
As she rises from the chair, she wobbles, unsteady on her feet. I reach up to grab hold of her arm as she collapses into me, falling onto my lap. She mumbles something but it comes out slurred. I have no idea what she’s saying.
Draping her arm over my neck, I wrap my arm around her waist. I half walk, half drag her to the futon, lay her down, and prop a pillow behind her head. I unfold the blanket and cover her, tucking it up to her neck and behind her shoulders. She looks so peaceful, so snug. Snug like a bug in a rug, I silently laugh to myself.
I stand above her, watching her chest slowly heave up and down. She’s the only woman I know who barely makes a sound when she breathes.
I remember the first night we slept together. I woke up and rolled over and thought she was dead. She was lying there motionless—pale faced and still as a statue. It didn’t look as if she were breathing. The moment I placed my hand on her neck to feel for a pulse, she moved slightly and gasped for air. Even now, when I wake up in the middle of the night, I check to see if she’s still alive.
I hear a whimper as she turns her head. Her eyes are still closed, but now she’s facing me. I study her, watch as her lips twitch. I wait until her body goes limp. She’s out like a light.
27
Valerie
The second I opened my eyes, I tried blinking away the stickiness inside my eyelids. Through blurred vision, I saw the ceiling fan whirling above me, its low hum streaming in my ears. I soon realized I was lying on the futon in the living room and not lying in our bed in the bedroom. That’s strange, I thought.
Running my tongue over my lips, they felt chapped. My head hurt, my throat was dry, and my body was
