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December 2045
Hallee
The year has come and gone too quickly. Does it feel like this every year? Like dying a slow death. Like days are being held hostage by time, and time is a greedy spirit taunting you with the inevitable expiration date.
Next week is Christmas already, and the anticipation has wreaked havoc on the peace Dean has brought me. He’s held my hand every time I take one step forward and two steps back, healing parts of me I didn’t even know were hurting. Our unbreakable friendships have built a home for our family, and our memories are worth more than a fleeting blink in time.
We’re worth more than being lost.
Our love is worth more than being erased.
The slowly creeping deadline crushes my chest in with each passing minute, rendering it impossible to take a deep breath and leaving me longing for the summer days when I could finally breathe. Being underwater again over the last month has taught me that I’m better at suffocating than I used to be. But is that really such a victory?
The others haven’t shown any anxiety regarding our inevitable end, only hints of sadness here and there. Marlowe’s still celebrating life without consequences. Hasn’t brought anyone new home, though. Haven’t seen her bring Matt home, either. Avery’s living in the moment of each day. Her and Hudson are . . . whatever they are, and Dean’s still the steady calm in my silent stormy chaos.
He’s the only one who’s picked up on my energy shift—his grip is a little tighter these days—but he still hasn’t addressed it. Doesn’t want to rock the boat in our final days together, but he doesn’t realize I’m already overboard. Time is dragging me along the jagged ocean floor while sharks circle above me.
The Christmas lights we hung in my room are supposed to be comforting, but each bulb has turned into a mocking symbol warning me of what’s to come. Even the snow globe Dean surprised me with is staring me down, brutally reminding me that we’re stuck. Nowhere to go except to be shaken or shattered.
I think that I’ll shatter. Think I already have, actually.
The boys are coming here for Christmas, insisting it’s easier for them to pack overnight bags. Reality is, our apartment has a better aesthetic than theirs, because no one needs an overnight bag anymore. Our apartments have merged into extensions of each other. Most nights we sleep in the same one, and we live and laugh in both.
We belong to both.
Will their apartment feel empty without us, as if it’s built for more than it’s achieving? Will Dean’s room miss me like I’ll miss it?
In a few days we’ll have to pack up our things and bring them back to our original homes, like returning the belongings of an ex-lover. I can’t bring myself to get a box, but the thought of losing the few items I’ve acquired over the last year feels like giving away hope that somehow something will jog my memory at the start of next year. I’m not ready to be another lost soul floating in existence, tethered to no one and nothing. This newfound gift of mine cannot go away. I will remember.
I have to.
Marlowe and Avery will still be mine, but I’m losing my home. I have to open my hands, release this love to the universe, and will it to come back to me.
My phone dings, flashing a text from Dean across the screen. He knows that I used to wake up overwhelmed by an invisible pressure to achieve. The weight of it all made my bones feel heavier, so Dean’s grand mission has been to lighten the load with a good morning text. He claims that I’m his sunshine, but I only shine because he breaks apart the clouds for me.
I should probably tell him that . . . before it’s too late. He’d deny it, still too humble to believe the true impact he’s had on me, but in a world where I’ve felt overwhelmingly lost, he has given me a purpose. He’s anchored me in the rocky seas. He’s given me a reason.
My stomach sinks as I read the message, Good morning, Sunshine. I can’t wait to see you today!
Can’t wait, see you soon, I type, wiping away my tears, but my fingers won’t press send.
With one glance at me, he’ll know the weight on my shoulders and try to help, but he can’t. Scrambling to take away my pain, or empathizing in sadness with me, is not the ending of the year I want for him. He shouldn’t have to love me today. Shouldn’t ever have to love the darkest parts of me.
Erasing the old, I replace it with the new:
Good morning, babe. Marlowe needs us today. I’ll just see you tomorrow if that’s okay?
As it sends, I drink in the guilt of lying to him. It’s a good thing his eyes aren’t here to wrangle the truth out of me.
Lol. Keep me posted on all of the drama. You know I live for it. I’ll see you tomorrow.
A second text comes through seconds after the first one.
I love you.
The words are the final cut to unleash my shattered heart.
To be loved in such a deep way, in such a short time—that is a gift. I have so much more love to give than what time allows. A lifetime’s worth, really.
“Liking” his message, I flip my phone back over and finally allow myself to unravel. The pillow on the right smells like him, and as I sink into its comfort, I can only hope that it will for a long while after the year concludes.
Dean
The walk to The Marmotte is surprisingly enjoyable. Cold weather is less bothersome around Christmas time. It belongs together, like Hallee and me. Any other way would feel wrong.
My shoulders fell as her text came through. It’s not the first time Marlowe’s called an emergency girls’ day, and it’ll be prime entertainment when Hallee fills me in later. Never fails to be, but the timing is rather odd.
“The most wonderful time of the year” has turned into a looming storm cloud. Time is about to pull the rug, and as much as I wish it wouldn’t happen, I’m better at coping with reality than Hallee is. “Liking” my response is fairly alarming, considering her affinity for having the last word, but her friends have got her. Will next year, too, and if this year could be so amazing after losing whatever had come before, next year could be amazing, too.
Being recognized hasn’t gotten old, it still brings a smile to my face when Lea waves as I walk in. “Hi Dean! One smiley sweet coffee?” she asks.
“You know me so well! What will I do next year?”
“Something tells me you’ll be back.”
“I hope so,” I admit, offering her a somber grin.
“I’ll get it right out!” She spins off to create my cup of comfort, and I spin to sit at my table of comfort.
The old couple is back on the same side of the booth, the businesswoman is on a high-stakes phone call, and the girls are in their usual spot.
Wait—the girls?
Well, Marlowe and Avery . . .
There was a weird twist in my gut when Hal texted me. The timing and the tone were off. It was a careful lie, crafted in a way she knew I’d believe, and with every pulse, my heart is insisting that something is wrong.
Panic holds my hand as I reflect on carrying her through some of her most vulnerable times. Why did she want to be alone today?
She never wants to be alone.
Last week, she brought up purpose again.
What is the purpose of it all anyway? she’d asked.
The purpose of what? I’d replied, chopping vegetables and not paying the closest attention.
. . . of living.
Her broken whisper snapped my bones. Hit an artery, and I was bleeding out when she changed the subject. I think she could tell how much it had scared me. Time went on, but the implication of the question, the hurt in her eyes when she’d asked it . . .
Dashing over to Marlowe and Avery, I almost hold it together, but don’t. My calm facade is burned away by the fearful flame in my eyes.
“Where is Hallee?”
Shifting nervously at my terror, they glance to one another.
“Don’t do that, don’t cover for her. Where is she?”
“She said she wasn’t feeling well—” Avery’s voice is defeated, ashamed, and I don’t let her finish before running out the door.
Come on Hal, answer the phone.
Hi! You’ve reached the ph—
Hang up. Try again.
Hi! You’ve re—
Again.
Feels like I’m running through water, and reality is blurring as panic chokes me alive. Is this how she felt that night in the club?
Hi! Y—
What is the purpose of it all? she’d asked.
I can’t believe I didn’t say it. Can’t believe I let her brush it off. My veins pulse, screaming the unsaid words.
Love, Hal.
Love is the purpose of it all.
The words accelerate the treadmill in my mind, forcing my feet to run faster. Every inhale is painful, and every exhale is a plea of desperation that the weight of the world has not crushed her.
Please, let her be alive.
Her apartment door is locked, and I thank God for my emergency training as I kick it in, no problem. For one second, my hand lingers above her bedroom door handle. Just one second to brace for the impact of my worst nightmare coming true.
One.
The bedroom door opens easily—wasn’t locked, and that’s a good sign. A little fucked up that I know that, but I do. It looks like she’s sleeping, motionless on her bed, but is she sleeping?
Come on Hal, please be sleeping.
I’m not ready to know.
Not ready to settle for her voicemail when I need to hear her voice. Not ready to be cold all year without her light. Not ready to forget what it feels like to belong to someone.
I’m not ready to let go.
Moving forward feels like ripping off a Band-Aid, but she jolts awake before I can touch her. Always aware, my girl. Even in her sleep.
Her hands fly to my chest, instinctively shoving me away, and tears slide down my face like my back slides down the wall. Never thought I’d be so relieved to see her startled. My voice box is locked and my hands held the key, but they’ve dropped it in the stream of my falling flood. I’m frantically broken and silently shaking under the microscope of her stare. The thought of losing her shattered me. Will actually losing her shatter me too?
She’s breathing, her chest is rising and falling.
She’s wearing my shirt. The one from the first night she stayed over, before we knew how scary it would really be to love and to know we’ll lose it. Before life was hard, and dreams were unreachable, and love maybe wasn’t enough.
She’s wearing my shirt and it’s holding her like I should, and I can, so I will. I always will, until I won’t. Because soon, can will be can’t, and will will be won’t, and forever will dissolve in our tears.
“Dean, what—”
My hand flies up, cutting her off. I need one silent minute to realize all I thought I’d lost is still here.
My Sunshine is still here—until she’s not.
Climbing out of bed, she sits down in front of me, criss-cross like how she sits at her coffee table. Rests her hands on her knees, palms up for me to hold, and my muscles relax as mine cling to her warm touch.
“I saw Marlowe and Avery at The Marmotte, but you weren’t there. You weren’t answering my calls. I couldn’t get here fast enough. I couldn’t get to you. I—”
She gently brushes my tears away, her face now covered in her own.
“How are we supposed to do this?” she asks, voice as broken as her eyes. “How are we supposed to live knowing we’ll lose it all?”
Her shoulders shake as she combusts into a full-body sob. I feel it too—the pain that’s ripping her apart. It’s nearly too much to bear.
“I don’t want it, Dean. It’s not a gift to forget. I want the highs and lows, the light and the dark, the clean and messy, the joy and the pain. I want ten thousand bad days for one good day with you. I want to laugh with you, cry with you, and grow old with you.”
“I know, Hal. Come here.”
Snuggling in close, she cries into my chest. “They’ve stolen the purpose of life. They’ve stolen it, and sold us all a lie that a life without regret would set us free.”
As I scratch her back, she continues, “They trained us, rewired us, and handed us our priorities on a silver platter so beautiful we never questioned their promises. Their pretty gift bow has trapped us all.” Screaming through her sobs, rage coats every single word.
The cold floor is a chilling reminder of how cold life’s about to be, so I cradle and carry her to the bed.
“I didn’t want to let them steal more than they already have—to allow the fear of losing you to overtake our last few days. It’s paralyzing, Dean, the burden of feeling deeply.”
A year of loving her through panic has taught me that it’s worse when her neck gets too warm. Pulling her hair back, I try to meet her gaze. “You’re not alone, Hal.”
Eyes locked on the floor, she sighs.
“Hallee.”
Lights are on, no one’s home.
“Look at me,” I whisper. Breaks my heart watching that lip tremble. Delicately lifting her chin, I lead her gaze to mine. “There’s no part of you that’s a burden to me. I love you—even the parts you hate. You believe this world has broken you, but even our brokenness will be used, Hal.”
“How could they do this to us? What are we going to do?”
“You will be you.”
“I don’t even know who I am. I’m just broken pieces of who I wanted to be.”
“You are radiant, every piece of you. They may take my mind, but my heart will remember and follow your scattered pieces of sun. Time and time again, my soul will carry me home. You’re mine. Not theirs.”
My lips seal the wish with a kiss on her forehead, and her breathing finally calms.
I believe it. I really do, every word of it. There’s no world in existence where I wouldn’t find her again.
As she holds up her pinky, I interlace it with mine.
“It’s a pinky promise now,” she whispers, nodding three times, “and you know how seriously I take my pinky promises.”