- 48 -
January 2046
Hallee
The anticipation of a caffeine rush is the only reason my heavy bones finally rolled out of bed. Grief has been my sole companion, muting the world around me. It’s worn many hats over the past week, but the greatest trick it played was convincing me it was a friend rather than my captor.
At first it was cathartic, warming me with a flame that melted the days together into one. Each hour, I assumed I’d reached the bottom of the trench, yet I still haven’t. Isn’t it astounding, how much your heart can break?
There should be a sedative for this. Without his body next to me, I can’t sleep. My mind is still convinced he’s dead if I’m not touching him. Would my heart feel it if he was?
My bed is perfectly placed under a storm cloud on my ceiling. It’s darkened with each passing day, and I’ve sunk into the cold sheets as ice chips rain down, pelting me with thoughts trying to convince me it wasn’t real.
How could it have been? It was so easily erased, and any proof I had, I left behind for him to find. Remember when I hoped his books would belong to me one day? Excruciating, how funny that is now. As I placed the first one on the shelf last year, I recalled how long I’ve been silently fighting The Gift. Just as Dean has, the idea came back to me every year. It seems I’m bolder than I originally thought, using books as my own small act of defiance.
The hailstorm started slowly, releasing a few pieces that fell and bounced off my skin. Then, the clouds poured out ice like weapons, each one pelting me harder than the last and leaving me battered beyond repair.
So, yes, at first grief was a friend.
Now it’s my cynical captor, torturing me with what could’ve been, and I finally made my great escape to uphold our morning coffee tradition. I lost track of which day my tears had washed away the smell of Dean from his sweatshirt, but I still can’t bring myself to take it off. Didn’t even risk brushing my hair, only putting on pants and shoes. Probably should’ve tried a little harder, but I didn’t expect The Marmotte to be so busy only one week into the new year.
Last year’s regulars are already becoming this year’s regulars. Jack is reading the newspaper at his usual table, and Lea’s taking orders as the same light streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Misery is worn exclusively by me, but of course the others look light as a feather—they are blissfully unaware of everything they’ve lost. They’re blissfully unaware of the grief connected to missing someone deeply. A bitch, that grief. Pain like I’ve never known. Is this place named The Marmotte because it’s just a regular stop in the melancholy groundhog day that is our lives?
I pity the other morning regulars for their oblivion and pity myself for the lifetime of pain I’m chained to as the only civilian who remembers what it feels like to be loved and to lose it, repeatedly.
Inhaling sharply, I force my attention to our table in the center of the room. There—
I can’t do this. How am I supposed to do this?
Pushing off seeing his eyes, I glance at his shoes first. He wore those in the park the day we learned you actually can forget how to ride a bike. For a moment, I’m back there listening to him laugh with his head tipped back. Will I ever hear him laugh again?
No air is enough to ease the asphyxiation aching my lungs. A rainstorm falls from my eyes, blurring my vision. It’s not a loud, attention-seeking cry, but a calm, controlled, acceptance of devastation, because his jeans are next. The dark wash I’d bought him in the fall. We spent hours trying to get the mud stains out after I’d tackled him in the corn maze. I’m pretty sure he ended up secretly buying a new pair because he knew they were my favorite, but I’d never asked. Will I ever find out?
One hand’s in his lap, and one’s holding his coffee like it used to hold me. Inhaling, I miss the taste of peppermint. Yes, even peppermint, because it’s another thing that makes me feel close to him. It’s what’s in his cup right now. Don’t even have to ask, because I know him.
I know him. I know him. I know him.
Can the inside of your body bruise? My soul is pounding, fighting to return to its homeland, but my feet are cemented in the permanent exile of remembering and being forgotten.
Impatient customers shuffle around, cutting me in line as nausea overwhelms me like an addict on the comedown from a bad batch. I never wanted to detox, and now I’m counting the days until I can relapse into his love.
To ease the ache, I whisper out an edge of my devastation.
I miss you.
If my eyes glaze over enough, will they reflect pain instead of absorb it?
His sweatshirt is a twin to the one he gave me the day he’d ruined my crewneck. A twin to the one that’s become my emotional support item in his absence, and to the one I’m wearing now.
The block letters complement his rosy cheeks. I could almost swear they’re glimmering in the light. As a stranger bumps into me, my gaze shifts to his hat. Really, backwards? Substantially shocked, I finally look into the eyes with a gravity strong enough to defy the odds. The eyes I can’t say no to—they’ve been staring at me, too.
I force the kindest smile I can as my heart waves at him. There’s a lot to be lost in a bad first impression, and it’s definitely not my best work. Did I just lose him again?
He returns my weak attempt with the smirk that drives me crazy. The one he wears when he teases me, or is about to surprise me, or is thinking about things we did the night before. The smirk I recognize as love, a response to my empty smile he should recognize as devastation. I’d give everything in the world to have even our worst day again.
His mind may not remember me, but he’s still human. His heart is the same, and it will remember.
It will remember. It will remember. It will remember.
Is the floor getting closer to my face? The ringing in my ears is all I hear, as the loss of my life gestures to Lea. My feet turn on auto-pilot, flying me to the pickup counter before I crash and burn. Lea sets down a drink just as I walk up.
“Hallee, your vanilla latte is at the bar.”
“Did you just say—?” I gasp as she cuts me off.
“Hallee!”
Her smile detonates the grenade. Hello, MedFlight? We’ve got a soldier down!
Hope floods in with the drink’s familiar smell, patching the pieces of me back together. It’s dangerous, this hope. This cruel, unusual joke from the universe will be my final breaking point. Is this my punishment for my resistance to The Gift?
The ringing in my ears returns as I look around frantically for another Hallee.
I never even ordered.
As if I could scare him away, I carefully glance back to our table. The rainstorm has returned, blurring my vision, but I think he just gestured to me?
Who, me ? I blink.
It’s crazy, but as he blinks back I swear his eyes say, yes, you .
After three fear-filled steps, he spins his coffee, revealing a note written in his handwriting.
My sweatshirt looks good on you, Hal.
His arms wrap around me as I crumble in the middle of The Marmotte. Always and forever , his hands will catch my fall.
Dean
After days of consideration, I decided there’s no place more special to reveal that her clever mind has restored my favorite part of me than the place where I made her my wife. In the true spirit of Hallee, I planned two backups.
The first: showing up to Happy Bookday. She’d go to work eventually; being a reliable employee is important to her.
The second: banging on the door of her apartment like a madman. Both were acceptable options, but my woman deserves the best, and this plan is my very best.
Of course, it did hinge entirely on her addiction to takeout coffee, but I knew she couldn’t resist.
My heartbeat’s so connected to hers that it quickened moments before she walked in. My soul responds exclusively to hers, now and forever.
Forever . Her toast resounds through my mind, as many of her flare signals from the previous years have over the last few days. At what point did she start to hope, and how was she strong enough to hold onto it as we went down with our sinking ship?
The Marmotte lightened when she walked through the door, even as anguish clouded her like an early morning fog. Her empty eyes blatantly ignored every person in her path, and it took all of my strength to stay seated—to wait for the right moment.
The desperation in her eyes as she whispered I miss you released a faucet of sympathy tears from mine. Holding her gaze like a lover in the night, I covered my joy with the best smirk I could, and spun the gold ring on my finger.
She’s the one who looks like sunshine.
There’s a future where we are not victims of our circumstance. Our love has not been buried in the grave of second best, but is alive, breathing, and pulling us back together like two separated magnets.
As Lea called her order, I snapped my favorite Polaroid of them all—her reaction to hearing her name. Hope ignited in those empty eyes, and I couldn’t wait anymore.
Only waited two seconds after turning the cup to rush to catch her fall. I promised I always would, and she’s always done things in threes.
“I’ve got you, Hal,” I whisper, leaning into her sweet vanilla scent.
“Thank you,” she cries.
“There you go again, surprising me.”
“I never told you thank you for loving me, and helping me love myself. Thank you. I love you. I love you. I love you.”
“Enough for the both of us?”
“Immeasurably.”
The word sends us back to our sacred, little infinity—standing hand in hand, sliding matching gold bands on our fingers. At the time, I’d had nothing to promise, only memories to lay to rest. She’d promised me, though. I will always remember, she’d said.
She meant it.
Taking her hand in mine, I gently remove the gold band on her finger.
“I promise . . .” I swallow down the rising lump in my throat. She’s fought so hard to hear this.
“I promise to never forget. To hold you through the nights you can’t sleep. To scratch your back like it’s a full-time job. To laugh at all of your cheesy jokes. I promise to provide an endless wardrobe of sweatshirts that smell like me, cook every meal we don’t eat out, and read all of the books on the shelf. I promise to spend forever reminding you of your worth and carrying you through the dark days. More than anything, I promise to never forget you. I’ll always be your snow globe, raining down peace when the world shakes us up.”
“Shut up!” she squeals. “You remember I love snow globes!”
“I do—I know you.”
“You know me.”
“Meet me at The Marmotte,” I say, tears pouring from my eyes as I wink.
Her bottom lip quivers as she holds out her hand, silently requesting for me to solidify the promises I’ve made.
“I love you, Hal.”
“He’s the one who feels like peace,” she whispers as I slide the ring on her finger.
“You found it.”
“I did, and I love you too.”
“You were never alone in the fight.”
Pride swells as her shoulders relax. Peace—I’ve already fulfilled that part of the promise by loving her with everything I have. Our love and serenity go hand in hand.