14 July 1989
"Hi," Meg says, from the doorway.
She doesn't go into the room, not yet. Given that she kind of walked out on him yesterday.
"Meg," Alain says, and then holds his arm out to her. It's not a hug, but it's the approximation they've figured out for however long Alain's still mending broken bones. "I am so sorry," he says. "I didn't mean--"
"I know," she says. "With everything, it's actually kind of amazing neither of us did it before now."
"By which you mean that I did not?"
"I have a temper, too, you know," Meg says.
"But I'm the one who lost his. And I shouldn't have, but . . . I can't do anything, Meg. Except drink milk and watch the Expos lose and wait. I can't even really hug my girlfriend."
"I know," she says, again. "And it sucks."
Alain laughs, and then winces.
"Sorry," Meg says.
"It's all right. It was about time to do that, anyway."
"Do you want to talk about things?" Meg asks.
Alain is silent for a moment, and then two, and Meg is expecting him to shake his head and change the subject when he says, "I keep having this nightmare. Where I wake up in the hospital, and you're not there."
"I've had that one some, too," Meg says. "But I'm right here, and so are you. And . . . and it should get better. It will. It just make take time. And work."
"And milk," Alain adds, making a face. He's not a fan.
"And milk," Meg agrees.
"When this is over, I am never drinking milk again."
"Okay," Meg says. "Just keep drinking it until it's over, please. I want you to get better. For a lot of reasons I probably shouldn't go into when your mother could walk in on us at any moment."
Alain smiles at her. "That's a hard argument to counter."
"It's supposed to be."
"All right," Alain says. "You win. I will keep drinking my milk."
"Good." She kisses him and then sits, as always, on his right. "Je t'aime."
"I love you, too. So, what are we reading today?"
"Molière," she says. "I'll try to make it unfunny as possible."
"I can take it," he says.
"Laughing? Or my attempts at acting? Or laughing at my attempts at acting?"
"All of the above."
"All right," Meg says, and opens her assigned reading for the day and settles very lightly against his good shoulder. "Allons, Flipote, allons; que d'eux je me délivre . . ."
She doesn't go into the room, not yet. Given that she kind of walked out on him yesterday.
"Meg," Alain says, and then holds his arm out to her. It's not a hug, but it's the approximation they've figured out for however long Alain's still mending broken bones. "I am so sorry," he says. "I didn't mean--"
"I know," she says. "With everything, it's actually kind of amazing neither of us did it before now."
"By which you mean that I did not?"
"I have a temper, too, you know," Meg says.
"But I'm the one who lost his. And I shouldn't have, but . . . I can't do anything, Meg. Except drink milk and watch the Expos lose and wait. I can't even really hug my girlfriend."
"I know," she says, again. "And it sucks."
Alain laughs, and then winces.
"Sorry," Meg says.
"It's all right. It was about time to do that, anyway."
"Do you want to talk about things?" Meg asks.
Alain is silent for a moment, and then two, and Meg is expecting him to shake his head and change the subject when he says, "I keep having this nightmare. Where I wake up in the hospital, and you're not there."
"I've had that one some, too," Meg says. "But I'm right here, and so are you. And . . . and it should get better. It will. It just make take time. And work."
"And milk," Alain adds, making a face. He's not a fan.
"And milk," Meg agrees.
"When this is over, I am never drinking milk again."
"Okay," Meg says. "Just keep drinking it until it's over, please. I want you to get better. For a lot of reasons I probably shouldn't go into when your mother could walk in on us at any moment."
Alain smiles at her. "That's a hard argument to counter."
"It's supposed to be."
"All right," Alain says. "You win. I will keep drinking my milk."
"Good." She kisses him and then sits, as always, on his right. "Je t'aime."
"I love you, too. So, what are we reading today?"
"Molière," she says. "I'll try to make it unfunny as possible."
"I can take it," he says.
"Laughing? Or my attempts at acting? Or laughing at my attempts at acting?"
"All of the above."
"All right," Meg says, and opens her assigned reading for the day and settles very lightly against his good shoulder. "Allons, Flipote, allons; que d'eux je me délivre . . ."