Chapter 32 #2
A tear falls on the bottom of the page. I’m quick to wipe it, but not quick enough before it crinkles and leaves a wet spot.
It landed beside what looks like a Cheetos dust fingerprint, so I don’t think Keats will be mad.
But I retrieve a tissue from the nurses’ station before I continue reading, just in case it happens again.
I find myself entranced by his prose. Hearing Keats’s voice so vividly as the narrating main character has me turning the page for more. We never fully meet him from the outside although the other characters are so richly described that it’s like I can see them before me.
Scarlet still exists. She just doesn’t exist in my world anymore.
My breath ceases, and my heart aches. I’ve never been able to describe the pain of losing him after that night, but he did so eloquently.
I’m only halfway when I read lines that I want to read again. Tapping my nail under the words, I whisper, “I was captivated by her beauty erupting all at once. It wasn’t one thing in particular that drew me to her, but all of them that added up.”
When tears spill down my waterline, I tilt my head back and dab with a tissue. I close the book, needing time to process the complicated relationships of family, friends, and loss, and the love and heartache he’s written into every page. I don’t know if I feel broken or healed. Maybe both.
I smile because this book is incredible either way and has me seeing Keats in a whole new light.
He’s not just talent. He’s had his own demons to fight.
But he’s strong and steady, always supporting me the best he can be.
I don’t blame him for getting upset earlier.
I understand his fear of losing us. But I’m never going to let that happen.
I’ve never felt so loved and so connected to another person.
Hugging his book to my chest, I’ll always protect us.
“Ms. Stansbury?”
I look up to see the nurse in lavender coming to collect me.
I quickly tuck the book back into the suitcase, making sure to wrap my shirt around it again to also protect this treasure he’s shared with me.
When I stand, I take a breath and exhale, needing all the strength Keats gives to carry in with me to see my father.
Carefully touching my arm with her other hand on the knob, she whispers, “He isn’t awake, but your mother thought you should be in there.”
“Thank you.” I park my suitcase just inside the door of the darkened room. My eyes land on my father before I see my mother sitting at the far side of the room. “Hi,” I say as if I’m disturbing her peace in the corner.
“He’s going to be okay.”
I’m not sure whether she’s received official news or is manifesting good health, but it reminds me of Keats’s earlier promise.
“I’m glad.” It’s weird to have emotions roll in with the tide when tragedy strikes.
But then roll back out when I remember all the heartache that could have been avoided if he’d let me love who I chose instead of trying to make the decision for me.
Standing bedside, I don’t see my father.
I see a man who wanted to control me. Does this man know how to love, or is that lack reserved for me alone?
Maybe this was more of a business relationship, and I was just slow to realize it.
Everything with him was transactional. I got a prize when I achieved his goals and was punished when I failed.
So looking at him now, it’s difficult to know what to feel. But I have a new perspective.
“He’ll be okay,” I say for my mom’s sake and mine. He may not know how to love his own daughter, but thank God I haven’t lost the trait.
I turn to sit by Mom, but my hand is covered before I leave. I look back to see my father’s eyes open, the hazels that hold more brown than green, which is the opposite of mine. “Sosie,” he says, then tries to clear his throat with a rough cough that only makes things worse.
My mom rushes to hold a cup of water with a straw for him.
He drinks with the two of us staring at him.
His hand vanishes from mine when he jerks his head to the side to signify that he’s finished.
Seeing disappointment crumple my mom’s expression is painful to watch.
The circumstances she mentioned earlier are now more obvious in this setting.
How was I to see the strain she was under when I was just trying to survive?
As she retreats to the corner to take her seat and rearranges her expression, I’m starting to think I mistook fortitude for a stiff upper lip. My eyes have been opened, and there’s no denying that it’s not only grace I need to give her but also support. She’s just trying to survive as well.
I can’t stay here. The urge to leave is becoming too strong. “How are you feeling?”
“Terrible.” His coloring is a lighter tan, his body holding on to a summer fling vacation he took in late August, while my mom is pale from the winter.
“What brings you here?” His tone isn’t as harsh as his mood, but it’s not offered in warm fuzzies either.
“Run out of money? That guy kick you out? Gregory would never—”
“I don’t care about Gregory. I didn’t run out of money, and nobody’s kicked me out. I came because Mom called to tell me you had a heart attack.”
He shoots her a glare that could stab through stainless steel. “She shouldn’t have.”
“Well, she did, and I’m here because I wanted to come by.”
His efforts to rile me up aren’t working. That’s what happens when I reclaim my own power. “You’re out of the will, Sosie, just in case that makes a difference if you stay or go away.”
I laugh. It’s not so loud that nurses will come running. It’s more for me as I listen to him try so hard to hurt me. I guess not all of us evolve at the same pace. “I don’t need your money.”
“You sure about that?” he derides, wasting his energy to elicit a reaction. He won’t win. Not this time. Not ever again.
“One hundred percent.” I release a sigh, watching him on what could have been his deathbed, spending the time he just got back in such a hateful place.
“It makes no sense that you’re here.”
“I have to agree.” I release the bedrail and take a step back. When I glance at my mom, a look is shared that reveals the pain I overlooked when I saw her. Maybe I never saw the real her at all. Until now.
Crossing the room, I bend down to hug her. It takes a second before she scoots to the edge of the chair to fully embrace me. “I love you, Mom.”
“I love you, too,” she whispers, almost as if she doesn’t want my father to overhear.
I return to the door and grab my suitcase. “Dad?” I’m only given his eyes in my direction. “I hope you have a quick recovery. Goodbye.”
Nothing is exchanged in return, and his silence is preferred to what he could have said next. I thought I felt it when I escaped the house, but as I wheeled my case onto the sidewalk, it wasn’t then, it was now that I knew I was finally free.
My hot boyfriend is waiting for me when I step off the elevator. I run to him with my carry-on dragging behind me, dump it, and jump into his arms.
He kisses me like his life depends on it, my back against the wall, and his hand coddling my ass. When our lips part, I lean my head back to look into his eyes. “That’s a welcome I could come home to every day.”
“I’m hoping you do.” He sets my feet on the ground and retrieves the suitcase before following me inside the apartment.
I left the hospital just before midnight, so it’s been nighttime for hours, but it’s really dark in here. “I know you like to save money by turning out lights, but it’s a little dark in here. Were you sleeping?”
“No. I’ve been waiting for you.” I hear the bolts fasten into place before I’m scooped up into his arms and kissed while being carried into the living room. As soon as we part again, I rest my head on his shoulder. “I’m so tired. Are you ready for bed?”
“Not quite yet.” He turns me so I’m facing the kitchen.
“Uh!” The gasp came fast. I’m a little slower processing the rest of what I’m seeing. “What is that?”
“A cake. Candles. Birthday presents—”
“Balloons.” Carrying me closer, he sets me on the wide countertop.
He caresses my face before he lets me go. “Happy birthday, Sosie.” He kisses my lips with tenderness before he releases me, then says, “You should probably blow out your candles before we set off the alarms.”
He’s whacked for that one, but I still laugh. “I’m not that old.”
“You’re not. I was kidding.” He chuckles, but eyes the candles. That’s when I notice there’s a strain of stress he’s failing to repress.
I cross my legs on the counter and lean forward. Closing my eyes, my head goes blank, so I reopen them again to find his. “Everything I always wished for has already come true.”
Grinning like he relates, he says, “Guess you need to find new dreams to pursue.”
“New dreams, huh?” Nothing new comes to mind, but I realize I can still pull from an old compartment hidden in my heart of discarded things I used to dream about. One comes to mind, and I lean forward and blow out the candles.
He turns on a lamp nearby, and asks, “What did you wish for?”
Generally, I’m not one to share such things, but nothing feels off-limits with him. And maybe my mom is onto something with manifestation, and I should put my wish into the universe. “To be able to follow my passion again.”
“I like that.” He reaches for a present and sets it on my lap. “Let’s open gifts.”
I’m about to rip it open, but then it dawns on me. Holding the gift, which has some weight to it, I stop and dip my head to tap away the little tears threatening my good time. When Keats’s arms come around me, he says, “We don’t have to do this now if you’re too tired.”
I rest my hand on his arm and reply, “No, it’s okay. I want to. I just realized this is the first time I’ve ever celebrated my birthday on the day I was born.” It comes out heavier than intended, but I’m not upset. I’m so happy that everything feels like it’s finally fallen into place.
Rubbing my back, he gives me a smile that he feels the same. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” I rip the gift wrap, then pause to stare at the box. He says, “You can exchange for any camera you like. The guy said this was a good—”
“It’s great, so much nicer than my other one, and that one was super advanced. I just can’t believe you got me a camera.” It’s like he knew I’d be making that wish to get back into photography. We’re so in tune with each other. I reach up and hug him. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. But there’s one more.”
Considering I know how much that camera set him back, another present is the last thing I expect.
I lift the lid on the box to see a key card and a metal one hanging from a ribbon.
Being here was accepted like we’d had the conversation about moving in together.
We haven’t. I look at him with more love than my heart can hold and lift the ribbon between us. “Is this a hint?”
“No, it’s a full out ask. Will you live with me, Spark?”
On a warm spring day in April, I use my keys to get into the apartment and call for him, “Keats?”
“Back here.”
I run down the hall to the bedroom and dive into bed next to him. “What are you doing naked in bed in the middle of the day?”
He flips me under him, and the pressure of his erection prods between my legs. “Waiting for you.” He attacks my lips with kisses and nips while his hands are busy getting me naked.
“I have good news.” I wrap my arms around his neck and lift my ass so he can pull my pants down.
Tugging the collar of my shirt to expose my collarbone, he stops licking to ask, “What is that?”
“I got a new job.”