Epilogue
Krystal
“I know it’s technically still winter, but why is it so cold outside?
” I ask, wedging my phone between my ear and my shoulder as I walk up the stairs from the subway.
The faint smell of urine and the empty wrappers littering the entrance don’t bother me as much now that I’m about to move. A small part of me already misses it.
“It’s sixty-five in Crescent Bay today,” Nick says, bringing a smile to my face.
“Where are you right now?” I chuckle, my cheeks flushing at the idea that he checked the weather there.
“I’m just sitting outside in my car,” he states.
I exhale a wistful sigh. “I’m so excited.”
“Remind me again how Gayle convinced you to move there instead of to D.C. with me?” He asks. I scrunch my nose, stifle my laughter as I switch my phone from one ear to the other.
“What happened to only being a flight or train ride away?” I quip.
“I would much rather be a thirty-minute drive away, but a few more hours doesn’t hurt,” he says.
I hum. “You know,” I say, turning the street corner where my apartment is, my old apartment. “If you have to focus on this documentary, I understand. I don’t want to add any stress to your plate. I don’t want you to feel like you always have to drive back and forth.”
“You aren’t my stress; you relieve my stress. You know that,” he responds.
I’ve heard him say it before, but I smile to myself nonetheless.
The stale smell of my apartment building hits me like a ton of bricks once I push the heavy, glass door open. Won’t miss that.
Taking the steps two at a time, I listen to Nick tell me about the beginning of his project. “I’m meant to DP, but sometimes it feels like I’m just directing. I might have to start drawing some boundaries or ask for a raise,” he explains.
There’s an unmarked package outside my door. As he goes on, I shake it to try to figure out what’s inside. “You’re home,” he says, interrupting his last thought with this one.
“Yeah, how did you…it’s from you,” I smile.
“Hurry up and open it.”
I rush inside, weaving around the stacks of packed boxes until I get to the tiny kitchen island.
I use my keys to rip through the tape and lift the top of the package open.
It’s heavy, wrapped in paper and bubble wrap.
When I rip through the protective layers, I suck in a gust of air at the beautiful print.
It’s the picture he took of me while I was skating.
“Nick,” I whisper. “It’s beautiful.”
“I wanted you to have something for your new place. Something that’s a little bit of me so you remember I’m on my way,” he explains.
I stare at myself, admire the richness of the print. “The quality is insane,” I say, running my finger over the thick glass of the silver frame.
“Of course it is,” he huffs. “Would you expect anything less?”
“Okay, Santa,” I chuckle. “Wait,” I pause, inspecting the box to confirm that there’s no shipping label. “How did this get here? Where are you?” I spin, my heart racing.
“I told you,” he says, “I was outside in my car.”
“And now?” I ask, staring at the back of my front door.
A rhythmic knock echoes through the empty space. He told me he was coming to help me with the U-Haul, but he’s not supposed to get here until tomorrow evening. A wide grin overwhelms my face as I run to the door, swinging it open and jumping into his arms when I see him.
He squeezes me tight, dappling my face with kisses before pressing his lips on mine. I hold his face between my hands. “What are you doing here?” I ask.
“You know I can’t stay away from you,” he says, kissing the sensitive spot beneath my ear. The dormant part of me that always awakens when he’s near comes to life as I wrap my arms around his shoulders.
My kinky coils are braided into chunky plaits, covered by a satin bandana.
I was supposed to be doing a braid out tomorrow morning…
before he got here. Being long-distance sucks, but the one benefit is that I get to make sure I’m always done up when we see each other.
Even when we’re on FaceTime or when we’re sharing a bed.
I’ve kept the fantasy of the version of me from Christmas alive.
This is the first time he’s seen me like this — resting.
It was only a matter of time, but I’m conscious of it anyway.
I swipe a hand over my bandana, smile coyly at him as I turn away.
“What?” He questions.
“Nothing, just…wasn’t expecting you,” I shrug, mindlessly pick up a box, and put it on top of the other.
“You’re beautiful, Krystal, all the time.” He sees right through me. Through my insecurities, through my flaws, through everything — and he loves everything anyway.
I bat my lashes. “Even with my doukie braids?”
He bites his lip, unable to smother the laughter that bursts through. I stomp my foot, suck my teeth as I look at him in disbelief. “Your doukie braids are the sexiest thing on you right now,” he smirks.
It’s only been two weeks since our last visit, yet every time I see him, it’s like coming out of a year without rain. “What else?” I ask, my lids growing heavy as he shrugs out of his jacket.
“Those baggy sweatpants?” He whistles, earning a bout of laughter. “The zip-up hoodie over what is that? A long-sleeve compression shirt?”
I twist my lips, set my hands akimbo.
“Doesn’t matter ‘cause I’m about to get you out of them anyway,” he says, peeling his sweatshirt over his head. He scoops me into his arms, wrapping my legs around his waist as he moves us toward the counter.
“And where did you plan on sleeping tonight?” I ask.
Since selling my mattress, I’ve been crashing at Rae’s.
His eyes stay on mine as he pushes my hoodie over my shoulder. “Hotel room is already booked,” he says, pulling my shirt over my head.
His gaze heats at the sight of my nakedness, as if he hasn’t seen it a thousand times before. Before he makes a meal of me, I rest a hand around the back of his neck and tilt his head back so he’s looking into my eyes again.
“Thank you, Nick,” I say.
“No need to thank me, Snowflake,” he smiles.
“I love everything,” I say.
He presses a sweet, tender kiss on my lips. “I love everything, too.”