27. Birthdays
When Brant took my hand,it felt like holding my palm out to be warmed by a fire, and it”s just gotten better every second since then. His touch is the only thing I can think about. I want him to pull me tight to him. I want him to throw his leg over me and straddle me so I can feel his warmth and his weight. I want so much more than his fingers woven through mine. As strong as it is, I don”t know how this feeling can only be one-sided.
But it is. Friends. For him, this hand holding is as far as he wants to go. It”s his dessert. But it”s not even the appetizer for me. This is me walking into a restaurant, famished after not eating for a year, and staring down a buffet while the server holds the most delicious smelling focaccia in the history of smells right under my nose. Then just as I can”t take a second more without biting into it, ”sorry, miss, this is only for sniffing,” in a haughty accent.
”Lily?” I look up. He”s smiling that smile I hate. The one that simultaneously makes him the sexiest and most adorable guy I”ve ever seen. ”Should I be worried, Jams? You look like you want to turn my fingers into a chew toy.”
”Jams?”
”Pajama Girl is kind of strange, don”t you think? I don”t know why you ever called yourself that.”
”And Jams is better?”
”So much better. I”m great at nicknames.”
I know he”s setting me up, but I don”t even have the strength to banter with him right now. This day was so much easier before Brant came. There was nothing to distract me. I could have sat here all day, staring out the front window. Seeing what was probably the very last thing in this world that he saw. Only I can”t, because Brant is here, and I have to act like I”m at least partially holding myself together even though every single atom that used to comprise me has been scattered. ”I”m fine, you know.”
Brant turns and brings his leg onto the couch so he can face me, and now he holds my hand in both of his. His thumbs stroke down the front and back, and I know what Silver feels when I rub that one spot at the base of his ear. ”You”re not fine. But friends are there for each other during the not-fine parts.”
”Friends?” I want so much for him to say no. I want him to tell me this is just as hard for him as it is for me, and that he can”t do it anymore. If he says that now, I”d give in. I”d lose my job because of it. Every bill collector on this side of the country would come after me. But I would do it for just one time. Say it, Brant. Tell me it”s what you want too.
”Friends.”
I sigh.
I turn toward the kitchen so I”m not facing him. ”Today”s his birthday.” My words are so light they”re whisked away before they”re even out of my mouth. I lift my dad”s hoodie up to my nose and inhale. It still smells like him. I”ll never wash it.
”Whose birthday?”
This is the first time in a very long time—since that day when I was a teenager—that I wish my heart would stop. I shouldn”t have said anything to Brant. I shouldn”t have let him in. I should have hidden as soon as I saw his car pull in the driveway. All I can do now is close my eyes and try to wait him out.
”Oh, your dad”s birthday. Lily, I don”t know what to… Tell me if this is too much.”
Of course it is. It”s all too much. Being back here. This day. Him. The couch cushions shift. Maybe Brant’s leaving? Maybe this is too much for him too? I almost turn around to see what he”s doing. But then the cushion drops from his weight again, closer to me now. He works his leg between my hip and the back of the couch. Then he wraps both arms around my belly and pulls me back. Into him.
I”ve worked with professional athletes for four years. College athletes for three years before that. I”ve seen every type of body during that time. Basketball players, baseball players, even college hockey players, but after seeing all of them, I”ll never understand how that type of body can feel the way Brant”s does now. How it can be so strong—as firm as any wall I”ve ever leaned against—but a place I never want to get up from.
”Is this okay?” His breath tickles the back of my neck, and I can”t help leaning back into him. He wraps me tighter in his arms when I do.
”When I moved back, I put all his things in storage. Everything except this hoodie and his damn coffee pot. I thought it would help, but he”s still here. All the fucking time, Brant. He”s here. And that just reminds me that he”s gone. I”ll never get to see him or hear his voice. He”ll never see me finally be happy. I promised him I would stay for a year, and I will. But I just don”t want to feel anymore. Does it make me a bad daughter that the thing I want the most is to be numb?”
He tucks an invisible hair behind my ear, and I wish his hand would linger. ”I”ve never lost anyone I truly care about, so I don”t know what it”s like. But I know he”s not just here. You carry him. From what I hear, the burden gets lighter as time goes on… or we get stronger. But you”ll always carry him, and eventually you”ll be glad to do it.”
I sniff. ”I doubt it.”
”Tell me something about him. Did you two have special birthday traditions?”
I nod, waiting for the tears to swell my throat shut, but surprisingly, they don”t. ”The Friday before his birthday, we would drive to San Francisco. Every year. Twelve hours with no breaks except for gas and restrooms. It was always dark when we got there, and we were both exhausted, but he insisted on driving us around. He picked a different neighborhood to explore each year, but he made sure we always ended up at this park high above the other side of the Golden Gate Bridge. From up there, you could look down across the bay and see the whole city. It always got so cold, but neither one of us wanted to be the first to give in. Every year for thirteen straight years, we would toe up to the line of hypothermia because we didn”t want to make the other one leave that spot.”
”You drove all that way for the view? It must be amazing.”
”It is. Maybe I”ll show you someday. Uh, on my phone. Pictures, I mean. Obviously we wouldn”t go together.” Why couldn”t my heart have stopped earlier? ”That”s not why we went, though. That was just a bonus.”
I try to lean forward, away from him, but he doesn”t let me. ”So why did you go? Thirteen years ago must have made you a teen when you started going?”
”I was fourteen. The year after Mom...”
”I”m so sorry. The year after your mom passed?”
I snort so hard I worry that I might have shot snot on his arms. ”No. She”s still alive. Here in town even. That was the year after she left us. She couldn”t handle my transition, so she made a choice. And it wasn”t me. But you don”t care about that.”
”Hey.” He rests his chin on my shoulder, and his stubble rubs against my cheek. ”I do care.”
I hope he doesn”t care if my body explodes and makes a giant mess over him because that”s what”s going to happen if we sit like this much longer. Thankfully, he lifts his head, and even though my back is still pulled tight against him, it lowers the high pressure hiss inside my body to a thrum. ”That wasn”t a good year for either of us, so Dad asked me what I wanted most. He couldn”t give me what I really wanted, so I settled for my second choice. I told him I wanted to see the ocean. And he took me. For his birthday, he took me to the ocean. I fell in love with the sound of the waves rushing onto the shore, so every year he took me back. It was his birthday. We should have done what he wanted to do, but we did what I wanted instead.”
”I think giving you what you wanted is what he wanted.”
From the moment I came out to him, everything in his life was about me. Fighting Mom and schools and doctors. Even his birthdays were about me. And just when his life got to the point where he didn”t have to worry about me—when I was doing well, when I was on track for the career I always wanted—he died. These should have been the years when he could have finally had the life he wanted, but he”s not here. How can he be here and then just not be here? How can the entire fucking world pretend nothing has changed when everything is different now?
”Stop that.”
”Stop what?” My voice is shaking, but it”s finally not because of tears. It”s because Brant keeps prodding me with his shoulder. My chest and head bounce forward with each nudge until I laugh.
”I don”t know what you were thinking, but I could tell by the way your stomach tightened it was no good. So don”t go there.”
I roll my head back so I can see him. ”You think you can tell me what to do?” I ask.
He chuckles. ”Probably not, but it”s worth a shot. Are you comfortable?”
I let my head fall back against his shoulder, and I nestle myself tight to his chest. Silver is curled against the couch right under us now. And as big as he is, if we want off the couch, we”ll have to either jump over him or wait for him to move. ”Yeah.” So very comfortable.
”Me too, so let”s stay just like this.”
I accidentally purr, and I don”t even care. Staying just like this sounds like the best thing in the world.