Chapter 2
TWO
CAMERON
Cameron’s Apartment
Brooklyn, New York
I shoot out of my bed, gasping for air. My hair is slicked to my forehead in sweat, my body and sheets are damp. I wipe a tear from my eye, breathing heavily, and come back to reality.
“It’s just a dream,” I mutter to myself. “It's just a dream.”
I lean forward, drag my hands through my hair, and take a deep breath.
Breathe.
Breathe.
The red numbers of the clock on the nightstand shine 5:33 a.m. Outside my window, beyond the fire escape, the night’s velvety shadows are beginning to give way to the approaching dawn’s soft glow.
As if Brooklyn loosed a held breath, a gentle breeze carries the rumble of a distant subway train as it plunges into its tunnel.
I watch as a lone pigeon lands on the fire escape, cooing softly and ruffling its feathers.
Reaching behind me, I pull a pillow out, tuck it close, and roll away from the window to face the empty space next to me.
Breathe.
Breathe.
My bedroom is a sanctuary. Soft, private, and unchanged. It’s a space frozen in time.
I hadn’t been able to bring myself to move, or remove, any of Drew’s things.
His side of the bed remained neatly made, with mismatched pillows in muted tones stacked where his head once laid.
I’ve trained myself to sleep in the same spot, careful not to disturb the space where Drew will never return.
After the accident, I decided to sleep on top of the white and sage duvet, doing my best to protect the lingering scent of him.
Just beyond the bed is a neat, untouched nightstand.
A worn, dog-eared copy of The Catcher in the Rye with a pair of glasses on top.
Scribbled thoughts and ideas in a composition book.
Drew’s cologne exactly where he’d left it before walking out the door.
A white undershirt still hung haphazardly from the top drawer of the dresser, snagged by another as he’d packed.
A crumpled pair of faded black jeans and a green T-shirt lay tossed in the corner.
What had been a source of playful argument between us, why he couldn’t just place them in the hamper, was now an altar to memories that I may never be able to touch.
How could something as small as a shirt, his glasses, a bottle of cologne, hold so much weight?
Bundled under a blanket on our worn couch, I blew my nose and watched Drew pack the last of his camera equipment into its case.
“Passport and I.D.,” I listed and asked through a stuffy nose.
“Check and check,” Drew responded.
“At least seven pairs of underwear?” My voice is so muffled from the congestion.
“I don’t need that many, babe!” He laughed, shaking his head as he zipped the bag.
“You never know,” I retorted, shooting him a playful and teasing look. “What if you shit your pants?”
Drew grinned mischievously. “Then I guess,” he crooned, closing the bag with a final and dramatic zip, “I’ll just have to go commando.”
In a swift motion, he jumped over the coffee table and landed on top of me with a laugh.
“Get off me, you psycho!” I squealed, pushing at his chest as he strained for a kiss. “I don’t want you to get sick before your shoot!”
“Fine,” he groaned dramatically, standing up and sliding his wallet into his back pocket. “But I really wish you were coming to Tahiti with me.”
I sat up and took a slow sip of green tea, the warmth clearing my throat. “I know, I wish I could come too. I’m sure we could’ve found time to have an island adventure.”
He crossed his arms, looking at me with a smirk. “You, sir, have had this flu for far too long, and I’m tired of being kept at bay. I wouldn’t care about exploring or swimming in crystal clear waters. All I’d care about is…”
“Drew Bennett,” I interjected smiling, rolling my eyes as he pulls me from the couch. “Get your mind out of the gutter.”
“All I’d care about,” he shot back, pulling me flat into his chest and resting his forehead against mine, “is getting to kiss my handsome fiancé while a south Pacific sunset glitters on the water.”
I gazed into his piercingly blue eyes and smile slowly. “I’d love that—”
“So come with me! There are plenty of seats on the plane, you said so yourself! Way more than the early one… And I’m sure there’s plenty of hot tea,” he chimed and gestured to the mug of tea on the coffee table. “Come on, when’s the next time we’ll be able to fly to Tahiti in Business Class?”
I smiled at his insistence, equally teasing and serious. “I’d love to, but right now…” I sniffed deeply. “I have to blow my nose.”
“Ugh, fine,” Drew groaned. “Always ruining the moment,” he teased, patting my ass as I turned away toward the bathroom.
When I emerged, I saw Drew spritz himself four times with his cologne in the bedroom. It was the same ritual every time. Wrist, wrist, neck, neck. He placed the bottle back on his nightstand and wheeled his suitcase next to his camera bag by the door.
“Got everything?” I called out as he casually slung his beat-up backpack over his shoulder.
“I think so,” he answered, patting down his pockets for his phone. “And if I don’t, oh well… have you seen my—”
“Phone? Right here,” I said, handing him his phone from a cluttered desk. “When you get home, you really need to organize this mess.”
“You see clutter, I see my artistic method,” he defended, pulling me into a deep and all-encompassing hug. “I’ll see you in a few days,” he added, kissing me on the forehead.
“Text me when you make it there. I wanna hear all about how beautiful it is,” I said as he released me and I turned back to my nest of blankets on the couch.
“Nothing compares to how beautiful you are, babe,” he countered, opening the door with his bags in hand.
“I love you, fiancé.” I blushed. “How lucky I am that you’re mine.”
He paused in the doorway, a smile spreading across his face. “You’re really gonna milk that fiancé title, aren’t you?”
I shrugged nonchalantly, my grin playful as I shot him a wink.
“I love you too, Cam. And you’re wrong, I’m the lucky one.”
We stared at each other for a moment that felt like years of timeless happiness.
“Feel better, babe. See you in five days,” Drew said as he stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind him.
I looked down at my left hand, instinctively touching my stunning ring with my other fingers.
Despite the dull ache that ran through my body, I scrambled off the couch and hurried for the door, flinging it open.
Drew stood there in front of me, keys in hand, ready to lock a door that wasn’t present.
“What’d I forget?” he asked, a surprised grin spreading across his face.
“This,” I whispered, and I put my arms around his shoulders and pulled him into a soft, lingering kiss. “I love you,” I said reverently when I finally pulled away. “Sorry if you get sick.”
“I wouldn’t care in the slightest.”
I smiled, my heart swelling at the man before me. “Be safe.”
When I shut the door and clicked the lock, the lingering warmth of Drew’s embrace chased away all my chills.
I roll onto my back, still clutching my pillow, and stare up at the ceiling. The fan above spun, working hard to stave off the early summer heat. Then, like a hypnotist's watch, ushered in relentless and cruel questions.
Why did I suggest he take a later flight?
Why didn’t I go with him?
Why didn’t I kiss him longer or more deeply before I closed the door?
What was the point of being part of a world that could carry on so easily, when my own world had come to a screeching halt?
Rolling back over toward the window and my nightstand, I reach into a drawer and fish out a miniature bottle of gin.
I look longingly at the photo of Drew and I together at the gardens at Versailles.
We’re both glowing, a sense of serenity surrounding us.
That picture is one of the few that doesn't feel like a ghost, that he is still here with me.
In a swift twist, the cap of the bottle is off, and I put it to my lips, savoring the burn as it passes over my tongue and down my throat.
The soft, early light spilling through the window doesn’t offer any answers, only shadows on the walls and a haunting reminder of a life that once fit seamlessly with mine.
I toss the empty bottle back into the drawer, lie back and close my eyes, hoping I can just have a few more minutes of sleep.
Later that morning, I stumble out of my room and shuffle toward the living room in gym shorts and a faded, paint covered tank top.
Catching myself in the mirror by the door, I sigh at my reflection and rub a hand across my stubble.
I shouldn’t have drank that gin on an empty stomach, I think to myself, but oh well.
Snagging the Apple TV remote from the coffee table, I begin to stream the local news before heading into the cramped kitchen.
Dark roast should do the trick, picking up a coffee pod and placing Drew’s chipped Hilton Head Island mug under the spout.
While the appliance whirs to life and begins to brew, I take a bowl from the cabinet and pour a simple bowl of Cheerios.
I’ve never really been a breakfast person, but I need to get something in my stomach before my run.
“Good morning, sunshine!” Riley chirps from behind, making me jump.
“Oh,” she exclaims with a laugh! “Sorry, I thought you heard me come out of the bathroom.”