Chapter Nineteen
M errow and I walked hand in hand to the library. One of the larger libraries was about eight blocks away, but I needed the walk. I needed to move. Merrow poured her heart out to me, told me things she probably shouldn’t have, and now she walked next to me in silence to start our search. There were no words left to say right now.
In four days, I was going to die.
I had to still be in shock, because I felt utterly calm. It seemed so farfetched, so unbelievable, and yet I saw the scales on her body. I saw as she tugged on the sleeves of a lightweight sweater to keep her hands covered so no one would see them. I’d dreamt of her every night and now my wish had come true, but with a terrible, terrible cost.
In four days, I was going to die.
Part of me wanted to ask if it would hurt. Would I drown? Would she have to cut my heart out of me? Would her tribe feast on my body and chew on my bones so they could stay mermaids? I tried to imagine Merrow with blood on her lips–my blood–drinking it down to keep her beautiful.
My stomach churned at the thought .
Merrow held onto my arm, letting go of my hand to curl a little closer to me. I think telling me the truth was harder on her than me hearing it. I didn’t regret a moment of our time together though; the concern on her face was enough to convince me that it was real, and that was enough. That maybe she loved me, or wanted to at least. It was odd that I felt sadder for her, having to shoulder this burden, this weight all by herself instead of for me. I was the one going to die, but once it was over, it’d be over for me. Merrow would have to live with my death being her fault, and that was somehow worse.
The library was quiet, like most weekdays. We slipped inside and Merrow’s eyes were like saucers. She glanced around, with a smile painted on her face. “I wish that I could read. I’m going to be a historian one day. For our tribe. There’s no written language in our world, not like this. We have some stone carvings, but it’s different? Our language is preserved in the echoes of the water instead of paper and ink.”
“I’ll read to you,” I said, my hand on the small of her back. I felt something poking up from her dress, and realized that it must have been more scales. Or maybe even the beginning of fin?
We wandered through the aisles, looking for anything at all about mermaids and sirens. I grabbed some old mythology books just to see if there was anything about ocean gods or creatures. “Let’s get some audiobooks too, and you can listen to those.” She smiled even wider at that–a book she didn’t have to read. I wanted to teach her how to read, but there wasn’t time for that. A lump formed in my stomach, causing an ache that went bone deep. There were so many paintings I hadn’t done yet. So many things to do and see in this life, and I wanted to yell at myself for not going out and doing them. What had I been waiting for, anyway? Not that it mattered now, because these last few days had to be spent so carefully, so preciously. Should I call out of work? I didn’t want to spend my last living hours serving coffee, but not seeing my friends felt like a worse fate. I hoped that Anne Marie wouldn’t cry when she realized that I was gone.
Would she realize it? Or would she think that I had up and left, abandoning everything. How many people would even miss me? The thought was sobering. Not many. Maybe not even three people.
“You seem lost in thought,” Merrow said. Her luscious pink hair made sense to me now, as another realization hit me.
“The women at the Saltwater Sisters, they aren’t your family, are they?”
“No, but they were from my tribe, a long, long time ago.”
“So the woman with the green hair–”
“It’s natural. It’s her true color. Tia, she kept the most of her merfolk traits.”
“Why are they there?”
“It’s not my story to tell, but Tia made the choice to stay on land. Her sisters–tribemates–chose to stay with her. I don’t know the details. But she stayed, and so did they. Now they help others from our tribe, when they come to land.”
“I’m glad that you aren’t alone,” I said. Like me , I wanted to add, but didn’t. This was already hard enough on her; I wouldn’t add to it.
With a stack of books and a couple of audio books, I bought a reusable bag and we checked out. The librarian smiled at what looked like a happy young couple, and she asked a few leading questions about the books, asking if Merrow loved mermaids, and she enthusiastically said yes, she loved them dearly. The way her eyes shone as she declared how much she loved her people hit me.
In four days, I was going to die.
Merrow helped me stuff the books into the bag, and she held onto one with a large, golden mermaid on the cover. She sucked in a breath and looked at me .
“I need you to read this one to me,” she said, throwing her weight against the door until it opened with her fingers threaded through mine, yanking me to follow her. Our hands were constantly together, keeping that connection alive and visceral. She didn’t want to go back to the cafe, where her tribe could hear us chatting. She wanted to be alone with me as I read to her.
My apartment was even further away, and the heat had drained Merrow. Her cheeks were flushed but pale, her body wilting in the summer sun. Like a fish out of water , I thought.
“Let’s call for a ride, you look wiped.”
“I don’t know what that is, but if it means that we get out of this heat, I’m all for it.”
“No taxi service in the ocean?” Despite the heaviness of the day, the weight of all the books in my bag, I was smiling. Merrow made me smile.
“What is a taxi?”
“Someone that drives you from place to place so you don’t have to walk.”
“We ride the waves, or sometimes I’ll hang onto a dolphin, but they are usually quite rude.”
“Can you talk to fish?” I asked. The idea of being able to communicate with ocean creatures was a secret dream of mine. I wanted to know what the whales had to sing about, and what the schools of fish thought about, and where the turtles chose to go.
“It’s not really talking, not like what we are doing, but yes. They are a part of the seas, and we are their guardians. This is how it’s always been,” she said, flicking the braid of her hair off of her shoulder. It was long and thick, and probably like wearing a wool hat in this heat. Merrow watched as I played with my phone, getting a ride ready for us. My apartment was over a mile away now, and she was going to pass out if we continued. We found a shaded bench and Merrow practically ran to it. She pulled up the long braid, twisting it so it was a braided bun on the top of her head .
“How do humans manage this weather?”
“You get used to it, I guess? I never really thought about it.”
“In the ocean, there’s only cold water, warm water, and stormy currents. Each day feels different on land. Hot with thick air, or warm with thick air. Nights that cool so quickly that I shiver from the cold. And these scaleless bodies–”
I listened to her vent, watching as she got more and more animated as she complained about the weather. I wanted to hear her thoughts on everything–how strange or cool or weird the human world was through her eyes. Her hands flew about as she talked, tucking her stray strands of hair behind her ears or twisting it between her fingers.
“Our ride is here,” I said, and I helped her into the car. She eyed the car with caution and I showed her how to buckle the seatbelt. It would be a short ride, but I didn’t want her to start flailing once the car moved. Panic fluttered over her face then the driver pulled away from the curb, and I squeezed her hand.
She didn’t make a sound the whole ride, instead staring out the window to watch the stores and shoreline pass by. When we arrived at my apartment complex, we took the elevator to my floor.
Merrow interrupted my thoughts when she blurted out, “What is that box we were in? How does it work?”
“It’s an elevator. It’s kinda hard to explain how it works really, but basically you know how this building is really tall? Lots of floors? The elevator takes you there.”
Merrow wound her way through the hallways to my door with wide eyes, marveling at the elevator. I didn’t want to think too closely about how good it felt that she knew how to get there.
“I’m going to order Thai food again,” I said. No use in being frugal now, when I was going to die in a few days. At least I wouldn’t have to worry about my student loans, I thought .
“Owen, would it be alright if I bathed before we started reading? The heat has made my skin feel so sticky,” Merrow asked, tapping the skin of her inner arm and scowling. She tapped her arm again just to confirm that her skin was clammy and shuddered.
“Yeah, I’ll get the shower turned on for you,” I said, and led her into the bathroom. I had an old, blue robe hanging on the back of the door. It was about a decade old; a gift from a kind foster family that I couldn’t stay with long enough. The Lins. They were good people. I missed them from time to time, and wondered why I never reached back out to them. Maybe this was what happened when you knew that your time was running out: you look back at all of the things you wished you had done.
Merrow thanked me, and dropped her sweater on the floor. She’d shed it as soon as we went through the door. There were a couple scales at the top of her back, right along her spine. I wanted to touch them. The ones on her hand and leg were smooth and fine and velvetlike.
She started to shrug out of her dress and I turned away, closing the door behind me. The hiss of the shower still filled the silence of my apartment, and while she got all cleaned up, I was about to get messy.
If my hours were numbered now, then I wanted to spend as much time painting as I could. My palette was worn and faded, dirty in a way that only use could bring. Flecks of dried paint coated every surface from where I didn’t scrub it hard enough. I liked seeing it stain though; I’d see a bit of color and remember what I was painting before.
But now as I opened and mixed some paints, I knew what I was going to paint. Those scales on the top of Merrow’s back, the way her hair draped around them, the faint pinkish undertone of her human skin.
I don’t know how much time had passed, but Merrow emerged from the bathroom in nothing by my old blue robe, and sat on the couch, her feet propped up and crossed. Her toes were so small and button-like even as she stretched.
The robe fell open as she moved, exposing her thigh.
She didn’t move to close it.
If these were my last days, I didn’t want to have even one more regret. Merrow watched me, waiting. She was waiting for me to acknowledge her, to call for her. I set my palette down and joined her on the couch, where she moved to press herself against me.
“No more regrets,” I said, and she nodded, her eyes darting down to my lips like this was inevitable. Like the tides crashing against the shore, we were destined to meet, maybe even to fall in love. This moment felt like it was a long time coming–my dreams made flesh, her duty made tangible.
This coming together and coming undone.
“I want you,” I breathed out, and she kissed along my jawline.
“And I you,” she said back. I pulled her into my lap, her legs straddling me, as the robe opened further exposing the soft skin of her thigh. My blood ran hot through me as my hands trailed down the soft fabric of the robe, lingering on the belt that fastened it closed, the final barrier to her naked body. Right as my fingers began to loosen the knot, she stood up from my lap instead.
“Is this too much?” she asked, glancing at the scales on her shoulder, but I heard what she was really asking me: Am I too weird, too unhuman for you to want? I shook my head no, words too far away for me to actually speak. She let the robe fall further from her shoulders, exposing yet another patch of scales there. She paused, her eyes seeking my approval to go on, and I could only nod, words escaping me as she tugged on the front tie of the robe, opening further until it slipped off of her completely. The robe made a gentle swishing sound as it hit the floor.
Merrow stood with her hip propped out, her knee bent, and her chin held high like a goddess of old coming to earth. Her body begging to be noticed, to be seen. The hollows of her collarbones would be heavenly to draw, and I could imagine how I’d paint them so the light would catch just as it did on her skin.
“No more regrets,” she said this time laced with something more, something heavy, as she took my hands in hers and guided me to my bedroom.