Blair
Letting his ice cream spoon drop into the tub, Denver tugs me into his side, smushing my cheek against his warm, bare chest.
“I carried— carry— so much regret about everything that happened. I know having an abortion was the right choice, but I also know I could’ve handled things differently.” I breathe the musky scent of his skin, holding as tight to him as I can. “I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you about it first.”
“You were right—we were in no position to have a baby. I was in no condition to actually make good on the promises I was making. Hell, I was acting like a baby myself.”
“I wish we would’ve been in a situation where we could’ve kept the baby, because then I could’ve kept you. It sucks knowing I’m the one who broke us,” I admit with a tear-filled sigh.
“You didn’t. It wasn’t your fault.” His lips press to my head. “Good to know we’ve both been blaming ourselves, though.”
I settle into the grounding thump of his heartbeat and say, “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
I take a deep breath and center my palm over the small bear tattooed on his leg. “Why didn’t you come to the appointment back then? Or come to check on me after? You didn’t—” I pause to compose myself, fighting the burning in my lungs. “I needed you to be there. I needed you to be with me.”
“I hate myself for not being there. There’s no excuse that’s worth the air it would take to speak it. I was being a selfish kid, and you deserved better from me.”
“Okay, so no excuses. Give me five seconds of honesty and tell me what you were doing that day, even if it hurts me to hear it.”
I’ve always told myself I don’t need to hear whatever excuse he had for not being there, thinking it would only cause more devastation. Now here I am, practically begging him to destroy me with his words. If there’s any hope for a future, we can’t sit with a live bomb in the room anymore.
“It’s fucking stupid, though, . I don’t want you to hate me all over again.”
“I never hated you,” I admit. “I was heartbroken.”
“To-may-to, to-mah-to.”
I give his side a little pinch. “You’re breaking the rules. You’re supposed to be giving me your truth right now.”
“I drove to Vancouver the night before and knew you were with Cass, so I stayed away. In the morning, I went to Stanley Park and walked along the seawall trying to clear my head—ended up scaring some old ladies because I was crying so hard. I had no reason not to be at your appointment. Hell, I sat in my truck in the hospital parking lot the entire time. And I knew I was being a complete piece of shit by skipping it, but I just couldn’t. ”
My eyebrows pull together, and I tear myself from his arms to look at him. “I waited in the lobby for an embarrassing amount of time, hoping you’d show up. And you…were sitting in the parking lot?”
“See, I told you it was a shit excuse. I was so fucking lost that day.” In a rapid succession of blinks, tears pool in his eyes, then dissipate. “After I left, I convinced somebody to bootleg alcohol for me, then I sat in the back of my truck bed drinking for the rest of the day. Cassidy sent me some threatening text messages, and I didn’t bother responding because there was no explaining myself.”
“What about after? Why not come after? Or call me. Something. ”
“Figured I’d already lost everything I cared about, and there was no way you’d forgive me after that, so I gave up. Losing you was my punishment.”
“You’re my person. I would’ve forgiven you in a heartbeat.”
“I-I wish I could change the way things went down. I shouldn’t have proposed to you in the middle of the night in your dorm room in a last-ditch effort to keep you. I shouldn’t have tried to make you give up your dreams because I saw a way to have a family while mine was crumbling. And I really shouldn’t have made you go through it alone.” His fingers press so hard to the inner corners of his eyes, I begin to worry he’ll blind himself. “ That is the biggest regret of my life. Followed closely by every action that made you think I’d moved on over the last fourteen years.”
“I forgive you. A thousand times over, I forgive you.” I pull away from his chest to look into the rich browns of his sad eyes, then I kiss the worry away from his face. Letting my tongue swipe across his lower lip and trailing my fingertips over the muscular ridges of his shoulders. “I hurt you, too. You needed me there for you just as badly as I needed you there for me. Can you ever forgive me?”
“I forgave you so long ago, .”
We didn’t break—not completely. Years ago we splintered, but every whispered truth and healing kiss is bonding us back together. Stronger than before, with any luck.
Licking my lips between kisses, I test the way telling him I’m in love with him would feel. Last night it was said in a way that made it seem like a throwaway statement, rather than the emotional confession it should be. And he deserves more. He deserves the world.
My phone rings on the bedside table, and I groan at the intrusion, reluctantly peeling my skin from his to reach for it. If it were anyone but my dad, I’d ignore it without a second thought, never wanting to leave this moment with Denver.
“Hey, Dad. What’s up?”
“I know you’re having your weekend away, so I hate to bug you.” His voice is quiet, like he’s trying not to let anybody overhear. “But Mom grabbed a hot pan and burned herself pretty good here, so uh, if you could come take a look at it.”
“ Shit. ” I watch Denver take a slow bite of melty ice cream in my periphery. “Yeah, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
He’s already out of bed and slipping into a pair of blue jeans when I hang up. And for a second, I do nothing except watch him with adoration.
“You gonna get dressed, or continue to eye-fuck me?” he quips. “Maybe do both at the same time, so we can get to your parents faster.”
“You’re coming with me?” I throw back the sheets, and stand to find my legs still wobbly from last night.
Covering the last traces of bare abdomen, he pulls the hem of his navy T-shirt down. “Of course I am, silly. One day you’ll understand how serious I am about being here for you.”
—
The antibiotic burn cream smooths across Mom’s blistered palm, and the muscles in her forearm contract under my touch in an attempt to pull away.
“Almost done, Mom. Those painkillers kicking in at all?”
“Maybe a bit,” she says through gritted teeth, clarifying that no, they’re not kicking in.
Despite the pain of a second-degree burn—one which hopefully we’ll be able to keep from getting infected, so long as Dad and I can stay on top of her to ensure she doesn’t mess with the bandaging—she’s smiling and cheerful. The entire drive to town was tense as I prepared myself to deal with an indignant Alzheimer’s patient. Instead, I found my lovely mom sitting with a cool washcloth over her hand, watching Wheel of Fortune while eating a chocolate chip cookie, seemingly without the dementia fog clouding her memory and judgment.
She’s herself today.
Thank God.
“Thanks for taking care of your clumsy old mom, honey.” Her free hand brushes across my cheek, and I continue the methodical wrapping of her hand. Hopefully if it’s wrapped in the perfect way, it won’t annoy her, and she’ll be less tempted to rip it off. “I can’t believe I grabbed a cast-iron frying pan—I knew your dad had just used it to make breakfast, too, because I watched him cook it.”
“It’s our klutzy nature.”
“Thank God there’s a nurse practitioner in the family.”
“You just like that you didn’t have to waste a whole day going to the Sheridan hospital for this.”
“Thank you for taking care of me instead. I know it’s hard on you sometimes.”
With a gulp, I dare to look at her red-rimmed eyes. A crease is wedged between her eyebrows, and the corner of her smile falters for a mere second before coming on even stronger than before. It’s not genuine—I know the expression because I’ve worn it well many times. It’s a smile despite it all. A smile to spite it all.
“It’s fine, Mom. It’s totally fine—I went to school for medicine for a reason, right?”
“I don’t just mean the burn, although this part of it sucks a lot, too.” Her injured hand squeezes mine despite the bandages, and she blinks away the flash of pain in her eyes. “I hate knowing you’re here when you should be out enjoying your life.”
“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” My voice cracks—an unstable attempt at reassuring her again.
“Oh, bologna, .” She laughs quietly, stealing my gaze as her eyes cut to the patio door. We’re both staring out at my dad and Denver relaxing under the summer sun, chatting over a beer in a pair of lawn chairs. “I know you’d rather be with him right now.”
“Honestly, I want to be with you.” The bandage tucks around her hand, and I release a pent-up exhale. “Good as new.”
“Thank you. Go have fun, and don’t skip out on another second with him. I know that’s where you’d rather be, although the lie was fairly convincing.”
Wanting to spend time with him on a day when Mom’s mind isn’t muddied, and the fog’s cleared, feels selfish. I should be taking advantage of the opportunity to be with her.
The one thing Denver and I regained when I moved home is time.
Time to learn each other again. Time to fall in love. Time to be together.
Time is the thing my mom fights every day, because there’s a constant countdown ticking in the back of our minds. A foreboding reminder that we don’t know how much she has left, but it’s insufficient.
“I know what you’re thinking, hon. But it’s okay to want to get back to your weekend plans with your boyfriend.” She winks, clearly grasping the full reality of my situation with Denver today—a nice change of pace from her typical confusion. “By some miracle, you’re one of the lucky ones who found their soulmate. Spend every second you can with him.”
“But I…I feel bad ditching you, with your hand and you—”
“Who said I wanted to hang out with you today?” She pulls a face that fosters shared laughter between us for a moment, and I smack her lightly on the arm with a scoff. Our giggling’s loud enough the men outside turn to check on us with raised eyebrows. “I found my soulmate, too. And I’m so thankful for the years we’ve had together…you never know when it might end, so take advantage while you can.”
“Thanks, Mom. I love you.”
“I love you, honey.” Her frail arms wrap around my shoulders, and my forehead knocks into hers. I swim in the comfort of the embrace, and the floral scent of her perfume, and the feel of her thin hair tickling my cheek, and all the things I pray I’ll never forget. I lick away the tears sliding onto my lip and squeeze tighter.
“I love you,” I whisper once more, with thick emotion clung to each word.
Letting up as Denver and Dad step into the living room, Mom hooks her thumb toward the front entryway. “Okay, kids. Go have fun, and I promise to do my best not to hurt myself again this weekend.”
“You can’t even make those kinds of promises. You’ve always been a klutz,” Dad says with a chuckle.
Mom nods. “Put me in a bubble, and I’ll break an ankle walking on the uneven surface.”
“If there’s any issues at all, I’ll come straight back. We don’t want this burn to get infected, so keep it clean.” I wiggle a finger between both of my parents, because Mom’s lucid enough to comprehend at the moment, but eventually it’ll be up to Dad to keep an eye on her.
Clutching Denver’s forearm with the grip of somebody about to be torn out to sea, I follow him to the truck. The tremble in my lip unnoticeable. The stinging in my eyes minor. The fickle beating of my heart insignificant.
Until it’s not.
He slips into the driver’s seat, asking where we’re heading next, and my carefully constructed walls implode in one fell swoop.
“W-what happens…” I heave a panicked breath, not able to fill my lungs. “What happens if…if…”
“Bear. Take a breath.” He demonstrates as if I don’t understand the concept of breathing. Like it isn’t something I’ve done without issue for thirty-two years—save for the time I caught a virus in ninth grade and it damn near took me out.
Television static pulses under my skin, and he’s hauling me into his lap, cradling my skull so our faces are close enough his exhalations become my inhalations. Our souls intertwined on his truck’s bench seat, Denver’s palm is warm on my chest, and it tugs at my heart and lungs like a marionette until the panic dissolves.
“Talk to me,” he mumbles against my cheek, sifting fingers through the hair at the nape of my neck.
And my biggest fear crashes down on us. “What if I end up like Mom?”
“Then we’ll take it in stride, like every other possible thing that might happen in our lifetime. Dying is inevitable, living isn’t. I want to live as much as I can with you, Bear.” His lips press delicate kisses to every freckle on my face. “No matter what happens in the future, I’ll be there.”
He’ll be there.
And so will I.