Malcolm
Eight Months Later
“Don’t look at me like that.” I direct my scowl at Nugget, who is perched atop my bed, as I retie my tie for the fifth time. “I’m nervous, alright?”
She chirps at me, then proceeds to peck at the loose thread on the corner of my comforter. Elvis Presley singing “Blue Christmas” drifts through the door from down the hall, accompanied by multiple voices singing along. It’s almost distracting enough to suffocate the nerves building in my chest.
I reach for my tie again, shaking off the tremors settling into my fingers, and pull the knot loose. Half way through another tying attempt, I forget everything and pull the Santa covered silk off entirely.
Of course, today I would be freaking out.
The most important day of my life.
A knock on the door jolts my attention, and Nugget’s.
“Babe, can I come in?” Kate whispers on the other side, sending the nerves up into my throat.
She opens the door, wearing a bright red turtleneck with reindeer antlers nestled in her dark curls. Blinking ornament earrings dangle next to her pink cheeks. Stepping into the room, she shuts the door quietly behind her, muffling the chatter and music from the living room.
“Are you alright?”
“Yes.” I crack my knuckles. “No. I can’t…” I gesture to the balled up tie thrown on the bed.
In one quick motion, Kate grabs the tie and whips it around my neck, mastering the Windsor without hesitation. “There.” Her brown eyes glisten as she smooths out the silky knot then gazes up at me.
An unsteady breath trembles out of me.“Thank you.” I take her face in my hands and stroke her cheeks, feeling them swell under my thumbs.
“It’s going to be great.” She kisses me. A soft and quick peck, like she’s done everyday for the past eight months. It’s second nature to her to be so openly affectionate with me, and my stomach still dips every time.
Another knock at the door and Kate answers it.
“She’s here.” Ellie, donning a giant snowman sweater and ribbon-tied pigtails, beams at us.
“We’ll be right there!” Kate bounces on the balls of her feet before turning toward me and giving my arm a tight squeeze. Her excitement for the night is palpable, and almost contagious. Almost.
But the nerves in my throat seem to have tripled in size, constricting my airway and making it near impossible to feel anything but terrified.
I shove the feeling as far back as I can and head towards the front door, with Kate at my side. Kate’s grip around my arm loosens as she rushes to greet our last guest of the evening.
“We’re so happy you could make it!” She hugs her tight before pulling her toward me.
“Mackenzie, hi. Thank you for coming.” I hug her and guide her into the living room.
“I wouldn’t miss it,” she says, smiling.
“Let me introduce you to everyone.”
I direct her attention to the living room, introducing Benny and Ellie, Emma, Bill and Margaret, Gary, and even Daniels who goes a little greenish-pink with the introduction.
“This is everyone,” I wave to the group again, “everyone, this is Mackenzie.”
Confusion seems to work its way across the room at whoever this person is. I gulp, dislodging the nerves and clear my throat.
“My sister.”
A collective oh’s and ah’s spread across the room as they swarm my tiny, innocent sister with questions. Mackenzie takes it in stride, partaking in the overly personal questions from Margaret, and even the philosophical questions from Gary, without hesitation. She’s always been good at that, being friendly. Growing up she could talk to anyone, and she talked to me most. As a teenager, I hated it, but after we lost Brennan, I’ve looked forward to those conversations like when we were kids. It took me eight years to man up and get back to the way things were with my sister. Just hearing her voice, grieving the loss of her husband and my best friend, broke something inside of me bit by bit. I didn’t ever consider that she might actually be alright one day.
I can be ignorant.
Or as Dr. Ford would say, “lacking in knowledge.”
Basically, I’m the worst, and I assume if I’m struggling with something, then other people surely are too because there’s no way someone else can cope with the loss of someone better than me. Especially my baby sister.
But last month, I found out she was doing well. Surprisingly well. I can’t imagine being a twenty-eight-year-old widow, but somehow she has overcome it. And knowing that helped my own healing in its own way.
I watch Mackenzie take the invasive questioning in stride, feeling a sense of pride swell at how far each of us have come.
“Can you help me in the kitchen?” Kate’s arms wrap around my waist as she tugs me away from the crowd. “She’ll be fine,” she assures me as we disappear around the corner.
Not missing a beat, Kate stirs the Crockpot, pulls a pan out of the oven, and pours me a glass of brandy. “You can relax now.”
Relax. She has no idea what’s coming in just a few hours. I won’t be relaxing for a while. It’s honestly a miracle I haven’t collapsed from the insane amount of adrenaline coursing through my veins.
She strokes my cheek once, then drags her hand down my neck, chest, and arm, before interlacing her fingers with mine.
“I’ll try.” I say, feeling the tingle of her touch down the path she just made. Like an electrical shock that just blasted through a powerline, it sizzles deep into my skin.
I tug Kate closer, feeling her flush against me, and push a curl out of her face. Her eyes flutter closed as I rest my hand at the nape of her neck. On the other side of the kitchen wall, we can hear music, laughter, and clinking of glasses—noises that would usually be overstimulating and suffocating—but being wrapped up in Kate right here in the middle of our kitchen, they’re not nearly as overwhelming. She squeezes my waist tighter and rests her chin against my chest.
My heart stutters, and she fights a smile. I know she can feel it practically skip a beat anytime she touches me.
A timer dings, and I look around for what else could possibly need attending to in this small space. Every inch of the counter is covered in holiday dishes and spreads, with garland, tinsel, and Christmas lights intertwined throughout. My well-used cast iron and stained coffee pot stick out like a sore thumb mixed in with the vibrancy of Kate’s dishes—pinks, yellows, and greens cover each piece, along with small birds and flowers scattered across some of them. A stark contrast, her and I. Opposites. But it works. A warm sizzle moves down my throat and across my chest at the picture of seeing these little things everyday for the rest of my life.
“You’ve outdone yourself,” I whisper.
“It’s our first holiday party as a couple,” she shrugs, “I had to.”
I bite my lip as sheer joy threatens to break me in two. “I don’t deserve you.”
Brushing her cheeks, I pull her face to mine and kiss her. The sensation of her soft lips sends a zing deep into my belly and settles there as she kisses me back, bringing her arms up around my neck. With one hand sliding around her waist and the other tangling in her hair, I pull her against me as close as humanly possible, feeling every curve of her body with my own.
The goal of the night still lingers in the back of my mind.
I would usually get lost in a moment like this, forgetting anything and everything I had on the docket.
But tonight is too important.
Kate’s body trembles under mine and it jolts my insides with a sense of feral want that shouldn’t happen when we have guests. A small chuckle in the doorway snaps us back into our wits, and we reluctantly break our lips away from one another.
“Oh no, please don’t stop on my account,” Mackenzie rolls her eyes and smirks at us.
Kate clears her throat. “So sorry. I was just, uh, bringing out more punch!” She scurries across the kitchen to the punch bowl and pours a few glasses, spilling a few drops in the process. Giving an awkward, singular laugh, she rushes past Mackenzie and into the living room.
“I really like her,” Mackenzie says, helping herself to the punch.
“I do, too.”
“I’m very aware,” she chuckles, wiping up the punch droplets off the counter.
I let out a shaky breath, still reeling from kissing Kate, and grip the edge of the counter. “Did you bring it?” I whisper.
Mackenzie downs the punch like a shot and gives me a reassuring nod. “I did.”
My heart threatens to burst out of my chest as she pulls her giant purse onto the counter and begins to dig through it. For a few seconds, we both alternate between looking at the purse and over our shoulder, ensuring no one is coming, until finally Mackenzie says, “aha,” and pulls out a tiny green velvet box. It’s covered in lint, and has a rip on one corner, but it’s still perfect.
“Here you go,” Mackenzie hands me the box, and I see her eyes getting misty as she watches me for a moment, before turning to look out the kitchen window.
“Are you sure—”
“Yes, I’m positive. I clearly don’t need it, and no offense, it’s taken you way too long to find someone to give it to, so now is your chance.” She gives me a playful punch in the arm. “Plus, it’s just been sitting with my stuff for years…it’s time.”
“Alright,” I nod.
I pause, noting the acceptance in my sister’s eyes before I open the tiny box. Inside it sits a gold-banded, vintage wedding ring that belonged to my great-grandmother.
The last six years of my life flash before my eyes in the reflection of the small pear shaped diamond—pink high-tops, chickens, curly hair, and dark-olive skin—every moment that has made me feel whole again plays like it’s a highlight reel. Everything that has brought me to this day swells inside me like a balloon, making me feel lighter.
“I don’t know,” I hear Kate say in the other room, “Ross just said it was urgent.”
Her footsteps, skittery and unmistakable, get closer to the kitchen and I snap the ring box closed and shove it into my pocket. Mackenzie’s eyes go wide as she watches me, then whips around as Kate barrels into the kitchen.
“Ross called, said there was an issue at the football field,” she pants, rushing around the kitchen and covering the dishes. “We should hurry.”
“Of course,” I clear my throat and glance at Mackenzie, whose all-knowing smirk is borderline obvious as she backs out of the kitchen.
A few clanging of lids and readjusting of dishes happen before Kate grabs her purse by the door. All of her fluid movements happen like they”re in that damned slow motion movie again, graceful and beautiful and distracting in every possible way. She stops short of the front door and looks at me, confusion moving across her face as I watch her.
This happens way too often. These moments where I find myself watching her every move, as if I haven’t seen her do the exact thing she’s doing a million times before, as if it’s all new to me.
“You ready?” she asks, pulling the front door open.
“So ready,” I say as I follow her.
“What do you think happened? On the field?” Kate asks as she climbs into the cab of my truck.
“Who knows,” I lie, “maybe someone was playing on it.”
The worst response you could come up with, Geer.
A chortle bellows out of her. “Remember that dating app I tried?”
“I tried blocking that out,” I wink at her.
“It really was a terrible idea.” She laughs, her eyes filling with memories as she gazes out the window.
“I wouldn’t say that,” I reassure her. “You had to get out there and make some plays to score.” As cheesy as I sound, I know it’s true. I hated it at the time, yes, but the reality is Kate had to put herself out there and see the possibilities to figure out what she wanted. And I had to get out there and make all the right plays.
“Well,” she rests her head against the seat and closes her eyes, “I scored big time, then.”
“Me too,” I reach in my pocket and grip the tiny velvet box then whisper, “the biggest score of my life.”