39. Chapter 39
Chapter 39
I t becomes something of a tradition.
Every night I’m not working at the bar, I meet up with Carter, and we talk. Or rather, I listen as he tells me all about the things that were kept in the dark between us before, but also all kinds of things I didn’t even think to ask. He tells me about the night he met my father for the first time and how he wanted nothing to do with him or his support. How his view of things started to change after a while, with Dad holding his ground until Carter had no choice but to relent. He laughs as he tells me all about the times Dad didn’t take his shit. He also tells me about those days before they met, when he’d just quit his band and felt like nothing would ever be okay again. Slowly, our conversations widen in span, veering from only focusing on Carter’s time with Dad to everything we’ve skimmed on before.
At first, I keep showing up at his apartment, but when he asks if he can make the journey to my place instead the next day, looking sheepish as he does, I find myself saying yes. I said once that I wanted this place to feel like home to him too, and I realize I still mean it. It feels right, to have him here, in this space he brought back to life. And whereas that first night I sat ramrod straight at his kitchen table, the more evenings we spend lost in dim lighting and hushed stories, the more comfortable I get.
The attraction I feel for him never dulls, only heightens with every visit, his honesty making me crave him more than ever before, but I pull at the emergency brake every time I feel myself falter. When he’s right there, talking and looking so alive, I have to sit on my hands to stop myself from touching him, from tracing his lips as he grins while recounting a story or from grabbing his hands when they shake as he talks about the day he received the call that the two of us were a match.
“It didn’t make sense at first. I never thought it’d actually work. But once I made sure it was real? I never hesitated.” His throat bobs as his gaze slides to me, making me look away. That’s what it all comes down to, isn’t it? Not the fact that he lied, or even the fact that he kept Dad’s story hidden. I can understand that he did it as a form of respect for him. It’s clear in the reverence he uses when he talks about him. But the kidney… That’s what’s truly holding me back.
Yet still I come back, night after night.
Carter doesn’t seem to mind my distance. He doesn’t push me, only takes what I’m willing to offer. I, however, don’t miss the corner smiles he gives me the first time I sit next to him on the couch, or the time I carefully let my head rest on his shoulder when he tells me a story about the time he and Dad got sick from eating raw chicken at a shabby joint. Dad apparently felt too bad sending his food back and ended up convincing Carter to man up and eat it, too. A wave of nostalgia hits me at the reminder of all that Dad was, and feeling closer to Carter is a small comfort I allow myself. His body tenses under my cheek, only to finally relax once more, his soft breath hitting my forehead as he resumes his storytelling.
One night, as we lie curled up on the carpet of his living room with our backs against the couch, his fingers resting a hair’s breadth away from my thigh, he finally tells me about the night my father passed. It’s a sore story to get out of him, and it looks just as painful to tell as it is for me to hear, but I think we both needed it to be out in the open. And as much as I want to bury my head under a pillow and never hear about Dad’s last moments, I also smile through my tears at it because just like Nana said, it’s so much like him to have died trying to help someone else.
Nana wasn’t just right about that. The more I listen to Carter’s stories about Dad, the more I realize how little they matter in the grand scheme of things. The person Carter is describing is the same one I grew up with. The same one who would wake up early on appointment days to make a batch of cookies I could use as a comfort in case I received bad news. And after all, I’ve begun to make my peace with the parts of him he hid from me. A person can have a thousand different facets to them, and maybe we don’t need to know them all to know someone.
Because I knew my father. I knew he watched Christmas movies all year long and loved nothing more than a chilly October morning. I knew that his patience slipped every time he had to explain a problem to an appliance technician over the phone, and that his girlfriend abandoning him and the baby girl they’d just had was one of the worst pains of his life. And I knew he would’ve given away his life in a heartbeat if it meant being able to give a helping hand to someone.
“Thank you,” I tell him once he’s done, both of our voices raw. He dips his chin in understanding, not needing me to tell him why I’m grateful for these stories. Sometimes, it feels as if he knows me better than I know myself.
I haven’t realized I’ve once again started crying until the pad of his thumb caresses my cheek, wiping a tear with such gentle care it makes my throat constrict. His hand remains there, and when I sniffle, Carter gets to his feet. “Let me get you something,” he says.
“I’m good,” I answer, reaching over for my bag where I always keep a pack of tissues.
I blow my nose, and once I’m back from throwing the tissue in his trash can, I catch Carter’s attention stuck on my purse. I only realize why once I see the divorce papers peeking out.
I take a careful seat next to him.
“Why do you still have these?”
Hugging my knees to my chest, I say, “I haven’t been able to get myself to send them.” I don’t shy away from the truth. It’s too late for us to be anything but completely honest with each other.
“Then don’t.” His voice is no longer pleading or even convincing; it sounds tired. Hopeless.
My lips pinch together. “I don’t know how to deal with this.”
“With what?”
“Wondering whether you’re with me out of duty toward my father.” I shake my head. “I can’t be with someone else who stays out of pity.” From the start, that was what I was to him. A debt to be repaid.
Carter’s face twists in what I can only describe as utter shock. “Is that what you think this is?”
I don’t answer. It should be obvious to him.
His dumbfounded stare scopes out my face until he repositions himself on the ground. “Honey, what I feel for you has nothing to do with your dad. I can’t believe you’d even think this.” He blinks. “You might have been my saving grace when you were just a name on paper, but the second I met you, that was over.” I tighten my fists as I brace for what’s coming, my fingers trembling. The smile on his lips looks resigned. “I gave a kidney to Frank’s daughter, but I fell in love with you , Lilianne.”
Don’t you dare cry again.
It’s hard to hear the words, to absorb them and change my view on things, but a big part of me tells me that’s his truth. Could he have been subconsciously influenced? Maybe. But that doesn’t change that what he’s telling me right now is real to him. That has to be worth something.
“Knowing my father, he never thought you had a debt to repay him.”
The left side of his lips curves up, and even with the heavy bags under his eyes, his body looks lighter than it has in days. He doesn’t even seem to care that I didn’t answer his last statement. His arms mirror mine around his legs. “You’re right. But it wasn’t him I owed.”
I frown .
“I took your dad away from you,” he says as a way of explaining.
“No, you didn’t.”
Silence.
“Carter, you didn’t.”
When he tilts his head like come on , I realize for the first time just how contorted his vision of what happened with Dad is. What was an accident over a slippery road and a driver whose brakes failed turned into a burden of fault hanging over his head.
Moving to my knees, I scoot closer so I can clasp his cheeks between my hands. His breath hitches at the first touch, eyes flitting to mine. His irises look more brown than green in the 3:00 a.m. glow of the streetlamps, and the glimmer shadowing them looks lost between hope and fear.
It feels strange, to touch him after all this time as if dormant sparks have been lit up all along every nerve endings touching him. It’s scary how good it feels. How addictive.
“I need you to listen to me when I say this.” Unable to stop myself, I brush my thumb over his cheekbone. “You did nothing wrong that night. My father did not die because of you. He died in some dumb accident that was due to bad luck. It had nothing to do with you.”
“If I hadn’t—”
“I don’t want to hear it.” I don’t even want to think about it, in fact. It shatters my heart to think that he felt responsible for his death all this time. I guess I wasn’t the only one who needed clarity on some things. “You had nothing to do with it. Nothing. ”
His throat works as his eyes alternate between mine, our noses almost brushing from how close I got earlier.
“But I never thanked you,” I say, my breath slipping away. “For giving me a new life.”
“I told you.” His jaw flexes as his gaze falls to my lips. “Best thing I ever did.”
Getting lost in one’s eyes has never made more sense than it does now. It feels as if I’m in a trance, like I couldn’t move away even if the room were on fire. My hands are still on his face, the warmth of his cheeks reaching all the way through me, begging me to kiss him, just this once.
My lips part on his exhale, want clouding my thoughts. The clean smell of his soap makes me want to lean closer, to trace my nose against his neck, to taste his skin, his mouth.
I’m not sure how much time we spend like this, teetering on this tightrope, knowing we’re one movement away from falling into something else.
In the end, Carter pulls back first, rubbing a hand down his face, but even with the distance, the hunger doesn’t go anywhere.
For either of us.