OCTOBER 4TH, 2018, SEATTLE, WA
LINDY STOOD OVER her stove top, sniffing the air as she stirred a large pot of pasta sauce in slow, lazy circles. There had never been a period of time in which she had been a more than stellar cook, but pasta was Charlie's favorite, and Trae had given her the recipe for his own personal batch of sauce. When Lindy had asked Charlie what he wanted made for his birthday dinner, she'd been relieved that he'd replied with 'spaghetti.' She couldn't exactly make anything else but that.
"No hospital today?"
Kurt entered the kitchen, his white socks drooping around his ankles and his hair bedraggled as usual. Lindy turned halfway around, the sound of his voice exciting her soul almost just as much as it had some twenty years earlier.
"Hey," she smiled warmly. "I didn't think you were coming out today."
When Lindy had woken up that morning, Kurt's side of the bed had been empty, the only evidence that he'd been there being the indent of his body on the mattress. She'd gotten up and gone looking for him, but as soon as Lindy heard the sound of guitar playing coming from Kurt's music room, she'd retreated. She found it better to give him space in those moments. It was intensely personal to him, the concept of creating music -- he could sit in his room for hours, filling stacks upon stacks of wire-bound notebooks with lyrics. Those towering books of lyrics and music never left the room, though eventually, Kurt always did.
"I lost track of time," Kurt admitted, floating over to Lindy's side and lovingly tucking back her hair. "What about you? I thought you were working today."
"No, not today," Lindy corrected him.
She still worked as a nurse at Virginia Mason hospital in Seattle, a position she had proudly held for twenty-seven years, but she no longer worked full time. The change had happened for a variety of reasons, but mainly it had become hard for Lindy to go into work and be recognized constantly by patients as the wife of Kurt Cobain. It had gotten to the point where gaggles of teenagers would linger in the hallways of the hospital, even just hoping to catch a glimpse of Lindy, something she found to be unsettling. As a result, she'd decided to work only two to three days a week, an adjustment that still accommodated for her love of the job.
"I've got something to tell you," he began, wearing a sheepish expression. Lindy cocked a single eyebrow, physically suggesting that Kurt spit it out instead of making her guess.
"We have to go tonight, to Charlie's party at Neumos," Kurt said. "I was talking to him yesterday and he told me that he's invited Trae, Krist, Shelli, I mean everyone. Even my sister and Beth. Do you know the immense size of the dicks we would look like if we didn't show up?"
Lindy, taken aback, frowned. "I was never opposed to going, it's just I thought . . . since it's not going to be a private event . . ."
Kurt gnawed the inside of his cheek, his eyes falling to the kitchen floor and away from Lindy's questioning gaze. He pushed his blonde hair out of his face, appearing to contemplate something.
"It'll be fine. Doubt anyone will care if I'm there anyways. And . . . it wouldn't matter if they did. I want to be there for Charlie's birthday. It's important."
"I think you're right," Lindy agreed, laying her hand against Kurt's thin face.
"He also invited Dave, but Dave had to decline since he's on tour. But guess what he fucking sent him as a birthday gift? A Les Paul Standard. One of the newest models."
Lindy chuckled. "Of course Dave would do that."
Kurt grimaced, and Lindy could see in his calculating eyes that he was mentally going crazy over whether or not his own gift to Charlie would measure up next to Dave's. She stroked his face once more, sighing.
