You call this fate?

Chapter 45

Two weeks of healthy convalescence in the hospital, and he came home. As fate would have it, somehow it contrived that I didn't get a chance to leave in all that time either.

The workload, which I had naively assumed would somehow fall off into a relatively gentler stream as time passed, somehow never did, and somehow I always ended up getting to a bed at night with only one eye open. Aside from working at the restaurant, I was also, albeit in a more indirect way now, helping Geric manage Alex's affairs-and sometimes, under supervision, ventured into more serious stuff than being a human diary. The double jobs were taken a heavy toll, though I refrained from mentioned it to the others.

I was still openly looking for a house too-the idea of which I had finally shared with the rest of my family-and several interesting prospects did happen to circulate within my sight now and then, but nothing would settle as the perfect one I looked for.

Granny Tonks was the only person I had had apprehension over when I thought about bringing the idea to the others' notice but, surprisingly, she was one of its most fervent supporters. One sometimes thinks that old people are never comfortable with changes, one way or the other-and perhaps they are not, in general-but, as I came to understand almost daily, Granny was one of those people who never did confirm with the rest of humanity.

Apparently, the idea of getting out of those dark and dingy streets she had been living in for most of her life fascinated her, this feeling multiplied many folds through the days we had lived out of it and in Alexander Rodwell's relatively opposite neighbourhood. She had had friends there she didn't much like leaving, true, but, according to her, she liked the idea of breathing fresh air better.

And so, we didn't leave.

Sometimes at night, burrowing my head on a pillow that wasn't mine, hunching under a blanket that wasn't mine, I couldn't understand why I felt so much at peace, instead of conflicted and unsure like I was supposed to. Perhaps it was this feeling of peace that wasn't allowing me to get the hell on with it and move out. It had been ages since I had felt calmness and tranquillity, and now, feeling the warm little glow that engulfed me all the time almost reduced me to tears.

I suspected everybody else was still labouring under the impression that we stayed here and not with Tasha because the threat of Frank had not been completely neutralised yet, and perhaps that was another part of the reason behind this multi-faceted idiocy. Who knew...

Suffice to say, we weren't leaving, and I was tired of reasoning it out.

I had told Alexander about our unplanned longer stay in one of my many irrational moments of visiting the hospital and, contrary to my earlier assumption that he would be shocked and everything would be awkward, he couldn't understand why I was telling him.

"Of course you are," he had said, looking at me with confused eyes as he sipped at the soup his mother had asked me to feed him. Now that he wasn't high anymore, I had started hyperventilating at the very thought but, thankfully, he had saved me from the predicament and taken the bowl himself. "Where else would you be?"

"Er...I thought...well, I thought you would be surprised," I said, cocking my head, wondering at what the hell there was in the soup. It looked entirely too unappetising to be legal but obviously tasted great, for he was obviously relishing every bite. "You know, because I was so against the idea before. Not to say," I hurried to add when the left side of his mouth started to lift up, "that I am not against the idea now, but somehow everything has been shitty lately and I haven't had the chance," I explained. "So, yeah." I shrugged. "We are still there."

"I see," he said, deliberately slurping at the spoon now, like a cartoon character. "That sounds...interesting." He grinned at me.

I thought it about time to change the subject.