67. Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door #3
his kiss dropping onto my mouth
like a heavy tear hitting still waters.
In that second, a frantic ticking in my chest, one I didn’t even know was there, finally stops with a heartbreaking sigh of relief.
Every hardened muscle in me unclenches, nine days of grief from being separated from him,
and I sink fast,
whole body surrendering.
He kisses me slow, a little broken—
breath catching,
fingers shaking,
a man scared.
Then the kiss falls open, starved, and he drives an arm around my waist, hand at my spine as he drags me flush against his heart, anchoring me to him, holding me as if I’m about to walk right out of this building and never come back.
It’s a hot, heavy-lidded rush—his tongue slow and hungry across mine, his teeth grazing my lower lip.
I taste coffee. Salt.
The terrifying desperation.
My fingers slip to the back of his head, in his hair, and a hard, aching sound catches in the back of his throat.
Then he slows all the way down,
and the kiss reaches so far into me,
no part of me's left unfelt.
Eventually, we break the kiss,
and he buries his face in my neck and holds me.
Right there in the hallway.
For a long while, he just holds me
and doesn’t let go.
We walk back into Maria’s room as if we weren’t making out in the hall. Which is stupid, ‘cause Andrew’s mouth is swollen, my face is hot, and his hand is clutching mine to death.
“Lemme guess.” Paola lifts a brow. “Niente happened.”
For the first time,
a real smile breaks across Andrew’s face.
Then the door opens behind us before we have a chance to cross the room. The doctor walks in with the coordinator.
Andrew squeezes my hand.
The room freezes.
Maria holds her joined hands at her mouth.
Paola’s standing slowly from the couch.
The doctor looks at Maria first.
“Everything cleared,” he says.
“Labs, imaging, anesthesia.
“The transplant team accepted the liver.
“We’re moving forward.”
For one second, nobody moves.
Then Paola’s first to break into a cry,
collapsing over Maria.
Maria catches her with both arms.
“Grazie a Dio,” Paola sobs. “Grazie a Dio, grazie a Dio.”
Andrew stands frozen,
and Maria’s reaching for him next.
“Figlio mio,” she cries. “Come here.”
That snaps him out of it.
He crosses the room and Maria grabs his face with both hands, and the sight of it makes my throat close up.
“No,” Maria says, crying harder, waving me in. “Allison, amore mio. Come. Come.”
But I don’t know how to move.
Andrew snatches my hand and tugs me close, hand coming around my waist.
It’s the first time since Mom died, since Dad died, that I’ve stood in a hospital room, and it feels like life and not death, like pure happiness and not grief.
Andrew pulls me into him,
pressing my face against his chest.
His chin drops to my hair.
Paola jumps up and down,
“We’re getting the liver.
“We’re getting the fuckin’ liver.
“I’m calling everyone.”
Andrew tips his head back with a laugh.
“Knock yourself out.”
Behind us, the doctor taps his palm against the doorframe, telling Maria he’ll see her soon, then a quick wave before he heads out.
“We’re going to move quickly from here,” the coordinator says right behind him. “Ten minutes with family, then we’ll take her upstairs.”
Those next ten minutes don’t pass,
they get stolen.
By nurses.
By signatures.
By Paola crying happy tears into the phone, then into Maria’s hair.
By Andrew standing there, hands in his pockets, acting as if God might change his mind at any second.
“Allison,” Maria says, lifting two fingers. “Vieni qui.”
I go to her, taking Paola’s empty seat next to her bed.
Maria grabs my hand and holds it inside both of hers. “Allison,” she whispers, “Promise me something.”
Oh, God. My stomach’s flipping fast.
“No,” I immediately say, like a dumbass.
Maria laughs. “You don’t even know.”
Her thumb rubs my knuckles.
“If something bad happens,” she says.
“You be there for Andrew.”
I immediately drop my eyes, and the floor blurs. “He has Paola,” I whisper. “He has family.”
“Paola has him.
“Family has him,” she corrects.
“Andrew has you.”
She shrugs.
Like it’s the truth she’s known all along.
“With you, he breathes.”
Her eyes flick to Andrew across the room.
I look over next.
He’s standing by the wall,
on the phone with family,
glancing from the window, back to us.
Maria squeezes again.
“You love him, si?”
My mouth opens.
Nothing funny or smartass comes out.
Which is in my best interest.
Probably the wrong moment for both.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “Of course.”
“Then be there for him. Promise me.”
I nod. “Okay. I promise.”
The second they roll Maria away,
the room loses its heart.
Paola follows until the door shuts,
one hand pressed to her mouth,
rosary tangled around her fingers.
Andrew stands by the bed,
staring at the door she left through,
empty-handed for the first time in years.
No nurse to answer.
Nothing left to sign.
No smile to hold.
He turns to me.
I’m on the couch by the wall, holding a coffee that’s already gone cold.
He crosses the room
and drops beside me,
stretching horizontal
with his head in my lap.
He turns,
pressing his face into my stomach,
one arm hooking around my back,
and he closes his eyes.
I set the cup on the table and settle back,
sliding my fingers through his hair.
“Okay,” I whisper.
One hard inhale.
Then another.
And just like that,
Andrew Harding,
the man holding up everybody’s sky,
finally rests.