CHAPTER 126  Restless Night

CHAPTER 126  Restless Night

Lisa's POV 

I return from my walk an hour later, eyes red and puffy, my thoughts no clearer than when I left.
The house is still when I squeak inside. Most of lights are out with the warm light in livingroom. I locate Leo, at least, sitting on the couch with a book in his lap, though I doubt he has read a single line. As soon as he hears me, his head snaps up, and relief washes over his face.

"Hey" he calls softly, and immediately the book is set aside. "You're back."

“Yeah." My voice is husky and tired. "Sorry for my long absence."

He rises, cross the space between us in a few strides, but he doesn't draw me against him as he ordinarily would. There’s hesitation here now, a doubt that I want to be touched. It breaks something in me to see it.

“It’s all right,” he says soothingly. “Are you… do you want to talk now?”

I shake my head, and I don’t dare look him in the eyes. "I'm really just exhausted. Can we get to bed? "

I see him swallow whatever question he was about to ask. "Of course. Yeah, let's go to bed."

We go around the house in silence ~ while he searches the doors, I shut off the lights. The ritual that is normally comforting--performing each step as part of an established pattern-feels mindless, with me going through the motions rather than guided by instinct. 

Bedtime, we change into our sleeping clothes with our backs to each other, an old habit we continue to maintain that has never needed between us. I slide on one of his t-shirts— the one I always borrow— and get under the covers, nestling on my side facing the window.

The mattress falls as Leo gets in behind me. He just lies there for a brief second I can feel the space between us like a tangible thing. They have a distance apart of approximately two feet, possibly less, but they are separated by miles.

Then slowly, cautiously, as if he's approaching a wounded beast, he creeps closer.

"Lisa?" His voice is a mere whisper.

"Hmm?”

"May I hold you?" his voice asked.

Even asking the question—that he has to ask, that he's not sure if it is all right to ask—makes tears well up in my eyes. "Yes," I say. "Please."

“I am right here, whatever it is."

I bite my lip to stop myself from crying. “I know.”

He tightens his arm around me and we are still. I can hear his breath and I know he isn’t sleeping, he’s just—he’s just—holding me. 

But I can't. The words lodge in my throat, dense and unmoving.

After a few minutes, he plants one on the top of my head. "Are you okay?" he whispers.

"I'm fine," I lie, looking at the shadows on the wall. "Just tired."

"Lisa..." There's a gentle skepticism in his tone, but also an infinite patience. "You don't have to be okay, you know. Not with me."

"I know." My voice is shaking a little. "I just... I need some time. To think."

"Think about what?"

He is quiet for a long moment and I expect him to be frustrated, then angry, then to withdraw. But rather than this he just hold me tighter.

"Okay," he says finally. "I'm not going to push. But I'm worried about you."

"Don't be."

"Too late for that." He shifts slightly, pressing another kiss to my temple. "You’re stuck with my worry. It’s part of the package deal."

God, after all that, I can’t help but feel my lips twitch. Not quite a smile, but close. "Lucky me. "

“Very lucky,” he agrees and I can hear the effort to sound lighthearted in his voice. “You get my worry, my appalling jokes, my irrational dread of geese…”

“Your snoring,” I add quietly.

“I do not snore.” “You definitely snore a lot.”

“Lies and slanders.” His thumb begins to make little circles against my side, a comforting motion. “I’m an ideal sleep mate.”

“You take all the covers.”

“Because you give off heat like a furnace.” 

"I don’t."

"You do." He nuzzles into my hair. "It's like sleeping next to a very beautiful, very warm space heater."

I make a sound that’s half laugh, half sob. "That’s the worst compliment I’ve ever gotten.”

"I seem to be under the full moon for worst compliments this evening." His voice is gentle, carefully bright, as if to coax me out of my darkness. "Want to hear more?"

"Not really."

"Too bad. You're getting them anyway." He pauses, thinking. "Your laugh sounds like a duck being strangled."

That startles a real laugh out of me, watery but genuine. "It does not!"

"A very elegant duck. A sophisticated duck. But still, definitely duck-adjacent."

The vulnerability beneath the playfulness makes my heart clench. "Yes," I whisper. "I still love it. I still love you."

"That's good. Because I love you too. So much it’s actually kind of alarming."

"Alarming?"

"Mmhmm. Like, concerning amounts of love. Should probably see a doctor about it. "

But as much as my heart hurts, I feel myself going along. "What would the diagnosis be?"

"Terminal case of Lisa obsession. No known cure."  

“And that’s okay I can wait. But I just want you to know that whatever it is – whatever that phone call was about, whatever’s in your head right now – you’re not alone in it. Okay? You don’t have to carry that up it yourself.”

“Okay,” I whisper not entirely convinced.

His hand is still moving in quiet, calming circles on my hip, firm and anchoring. 

I focus on the beat of his breathing, thinking I can breathe with him, thinking I can breathe my way to some peace in the storm.

"Hey, Lisa?" he says after a while.

“Yeah?”

“Why did the scarecrow get the prize?”

I mainline in the dark with my eyes closed. “What?”

“The scarecrow. Why did he win an award?” There is false cheer in his voice and it dawns on me that he is attempting to distract me with horrid puns and jokes.

“I don’t know,” I say in a soft voice. “Why?”
“Because he was above rest in his field. ”

It's so bad, so intentionally cringe-inducing that I can't help but laugh a bit, huffing out a little breath. “That’s awful,”

“I know. Want one more?”

“Not really.”

“Youre getting one anyway.” He pauses dramatically. “What do you call a bear without teeth?”

"Leo—"

“A gummy bear.”

“Where are you even getting these?” 

“I've got an unlimited supply of bad jokes. It’s one of my many gifts.” He gently presses me. “Feeling better yet?”

“A little,” I concede, and it’s not entirely false. The burden is still there, but his presence, his effort, softens it a little.

“Good. In that case, why don’t scientists trust atoms?”

“Why?” I say, resigned to the inevitable.

“Because they make up everything.”

I moan. “Please stop.”

“Never, I’m on a roll now.” His voice is lighter now, pleased that he is getting responses from me. “What did the ocean say to the beach?”

“What?”

“Nothing, It Just Waved.”

“Oh my god.”

“One More, One more Just one more.” He’s grinning now; I can hear it in his voice. “What do you call fake spaghetti?”

I’m almost afraid to ask.

“An impasta,” he says.

I turn in his arms then, needing to see his face. Even though It’s dark, I can see his face.
“You’re trying really hard,”

His smile softened. “Is it working?”

“A little.” I move upward and caress his cheek. “Thank you. For trying. For not being angry that I won’t talk yet. ”

“I’m not angry,” his tone Nun covers my hand with his. “I’m worried. There is a Difference” 

He pauses. “Though I will say, the punches were quite awful.”

“The worst but I agree.”

“But they made you smile.”

“They did.” He drags me against him, his forehead resting on mine. “That’s all I wanted.” Just to see you smile. To know you’re still in there at all.”

“I'm here,” I whisper."I'm just... having a hard time right now."

“I know.” He kisses my forehead gently. “And I’ll be here when you’re ready to tell me why. But in the meantime, I’ll just keep telling you terrible jokes and holding you. Is that okay?”

"That's more than okay." I snuggle into his chest and he pulls me closer. “That's all that is.”

We go back to our starting place, me curled up against his chest, his arms enveloping me. But something has changed … the stiffness of earlier is now lessening, replaced by an uncertain ease.

“Lisa?” he murmurs after a few moments of silence.

“Hmm?”

“I’m serious about the jokes. I have about three hundred more in my vault. Don't test me."

Despite everything, I chuckle softly. “Noted.”

“Good.” He kisses my head again, an increasingly habitual gesture, like breathing. “Now get some sleep. You’re tired.”

“So are you.” 

“I’m alright.” 

I said “Liar,” in a soft voice. “You had a busy day too.”

“Yeah, but my long day didn’t end with a mysterious call for my girlfriend that brought her to tears.”

There’s nothing regrettable about it.” “Sorry,” he says swiftly. “I'm not trying to pry. I just... I wish I could do something to make you stop hurting.” 

"I know," I whisper. "But there's some things you can't fix. Some things just ... are."

He's quiet for a moment, absorbing that. "Does this thing—whatever it is—make a difference? Between us?"

"No," I say immediately, harshly. "No, Leo. This is nothing to do with us. I feel about you."

The relief in his exhale is palpable. "Okay. That's... okay." 

"More than okay."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

He settles back into the pillow, pulling me impossibly closer. "Then that's enough for tonight. We're okay. Everything else can wait."

I wish I could believe it’s that easy. But I don’t say that. I Just hold on to him, let his presence anchor me to the storm of thoughts that’s swirling in my head.

"Try to sleep," he whispers again, his voice growing sleepy. "I've got you."

"I know you do."

And Slowly at last though I can feel the storm gathering in my mind.

Just before I drift off, I sense him place one more kiss on my head.

"Love you," he whispers, unaware that I am already asleep.