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It’s strange, the things that come to mind and the things that don’t at three o’clock in the morning when you can’t sleep.
Serena had drifted off the moment they got into bed. Too much sun and wine had seen to that. Bernie, on the other hand, was wide awake.
She lay there with her eyes open, Serena’s arm draped loosely over her hip. Her thoughts wandered back to when she was pregnant with Cameron, when her cravings had been weird.
Sea-salt lavender meant for the bath just a few tiny crystals had tasted like heaven on her tongue. That had been one of her guilty pleasures, along with dirt and whipped cream.
Even now, she could almost taste it again, the memory so vivid it lingered on her tongue. Bernie didn't want to remember it. Easier if she didn't.
If she had been there, had she loved Cameron better, differently? He'd grown up different. People wouldn't have died. He wouldn't be dead. Charlotte wouldn't hate her.
For a moment it felt like she couldn't breathe. Did the inability to admit what she was taint her son? All the self loathing and lies, not being able to accept she loved women did that seep out and ruin him?
“I knew you shouldn’t have mixed tequila with wine,” Serena mumbled, half-asleep. Her voice was thick with drowsiness. “It always makes you think. And when you think, you blame yourself.”
“I’m fine,” Bernie lied softly. “How do you know what I am or am not thinking?
“You kicked me. Just now, that’s what woke me,” Serena murmured, nestling her head against Bernie’s shoulder, as if she could absorb every negative thought Bernie carried that way. What she would do with it if she were successful was anyone's guess.
“I did not,” Bernie huffed, the taste of sea-salt lavender, whipped cream, and dirt fading away. “I would know if I had.”