Pack Up the Moon

by Kristan Higgins

  For a little while, she wouldn’t notice it, either. She’d notice the soft sand and hot sun, her husband’s hand in hers, the brush of her dangly earrings on her shoulders. She’d listen to the birds and figure out how to go snorkeling tomorrow.

  That evening, they chose one of the restaurants on the resort property. There was a huge terrace scattered with tables, candles and flowers everywhere. They got a table overlooking the garden and the ocean beyond, and ignored the pitying yet encouraging looks that said, Good for you, eating even though you’re sick! Aren’t you brave!

  Sigh.

  They’d made their way through their appetizers when a server approached. “Another couple would like to pay for your dinners,” he murmured. She and Josh exchanged puzzled looks.

  Ah. Over there, an older couple waved discreetly.

  “No,” Josh said.

  “It’s very kind, but no thanks,” Lauren said.

  “They insist.”

  “It’s so sweet, but no,” Lauren said. She looked at the couple and shook her head, smiling firmly.

  The waiter grimaced. “They said not to take no for an answer.”

  “Tell them to donate to a veteran’s group or Save the Children instead,” Lauren suggested.

  “They said you were very brave—”

  “No!” Josh said, leaping to his feet. “I can pay for my wife’s dinner, goddamnit!” He turned to face the couple, whose expressions had morphed into abrupt shock. “Take your pity and shove it up your ass!”

  “Honey!” she said, standing.

  “No. Mind your own fucking business!” he yelled, his voice hard. “We don’t need your money. We’re not the Make-A-Wish Foundation!”

  “Sir,” the waiter said. “Please, I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s not you,” Lauren said, putting her hand on Josh’s arm. “Joshua. Sit down, honey.”

  “No! We’re not animals in a zoo, okay? We came here for dinner and to be left the fuck alone!”

  His anger . . . it was so rare, so unlike him, her heart was thudding sickly, and if she wasn’t really careful, she’d cry, which wouldn’t help anything. Everyone was staring. “Can we cancel the rest of our order?” she asked, and the waiter nodded and scurried away. “Josh. Come on. We’re leaving.”

  Rigid with fury, he let her take his arm, and they walked back toward their suite. His strides were long, and she was out of breath before they’d made it ten yards. “Okay, enough,” she said sharply. “I can’t keep up. Can you slow down, please?”

  He jerked to a stop. “They had no fucking business—”

  “Josh! Knock it off! They were trying to do something nice, that’s all.”

  “I don’t care.”

  He wasn’t mad at the offer. He was angry because . . . because she was sick. Because life wasn’t fair. And Josh wasn’t good with anger. It flummoxed him, confused him, ate at him.

  “Sweetheart, go for long walk or run, okay? I know you’re upset. Just . . . burn it off. I’m gonna go to the bar and eat and read, and I’ll see you when you’re . . . over this.”

  “Fine.” He strode off, and Lauren went back to the restaurant, apologized to the waiter, left him a big tip and went to the bar, collapsing into a booth, winded and distressed, trying not to cry.

  She wasn’t mad at him. She was heartbroken for him. Those people had touched a nerve by singling them out, and all Josh wanted was for them to be a normal couple, in love, enjoying each other.

  Not a couple with a clock ticking. Not a couple where one would be left alone.

  How could she do this to him? How could she help him, her beautiful loner husband? What would happen to him? He had told her she was his first love. “My one and only,” he’d said. But in a year or three or ten, he’d be a widower. Being alone by choice was one thing. Her death . . . it could ruin him. She could ruin the person she loved best in the world.

  She went back to the empty suite and got ready for bed. She missed Pebbles. She missed Josh. She missed her sister. The skylight above their bed showed the vast, starlit sky, and tears trickled out of her eyes and into the pillow.

  But sleep wasn’t a choice as much as a necessity, and the bed was huge and white and cool, and within minutes, she was asleep.

  Sometime later, she woke up to Josh getting into bed. He wrapped her in his arms and kissed her forehead. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  “It’s okay.”

  “I sent flowers to that couple,” he said. “And a gift certificate to the spa.”

  She smiled against his chest. “Did you apologize?”

  “I did. In a note.”

  She kissed him. “You’re a good guy, Joshua Park.”

  “I’m an idiot.”

  “No. You get to be upset.”

  “I love you.” His voice was rough.

  “I know, honey. I know.”

  The stars burned in the sky, so bright on this moonless night it felt like a message. She kissed him again, more intently, suddenly aching for him, and tugged at his T-shirt. Her beautiful Josh. He cradled her face in his hands and kissed her back, and tonight, they were more in love than ever before, desperate for each other, complete only with each other, hearts thumping, mouths seeking and finding, their bodies joined in the shelter of the bed.

  He fell asleep after, exhausted from his rare anger, from their lovemaking.

  She suddenly knew what to do. How to look after Josh when she was gone. As quietly as she could, she slipped out of bed and found her notebook.

  * * *

  THERE WERE A few things she wanted to do on this little trip. Snorkel and swim in the clear water. Take a horseback ride. Sleep in the hammock that was strung between two trees. Watch a porno. Hey! “Adult Selections” was part of the cable package that came with their suite, and she’d never seen one before. Clitty Clitty Bang Bang looked promising, even if it did ruin her childhood with its title alone.

  Josh arranged everything. He had a hammock set up in the little garden that led to the beach. Shade, an arrangement of tropical flowers in a vase, a bottle of champagne. “My queen,” he said. “A nap on the beach awaits you.”

  “Oh! How fabulous! A dream come true,” she said.

  She climbed into the hammock, and Josh set her oxygen next to her and adjusted the cannula. He covered her with a soft blanket, because even though it was eighty degrees, she got cold easily. Then he sat on the lawn beside her, looking out at the gentle azure ocean. She reached out and stroked his hair, which gleamed in the sun. “I never knew anyone could ever love me as much as you do,” she said.

  He looked at the grass, then back up at her, and those dark-lit eyes were shiny with tears. “Same here,” he whispered. “Same here. And you never know. I could die first. Get hit by a bus.”

  “Look both ways, loser. The world needs you. Besides, when you’re a widower, maybe Beyoncé will be free.”

  “I’d rather have one hour with you than a million days with Beyoncé.”

  “Oh, please. You’re lying. I’d take Beyoncé in a heartbeat.” She traced his adorable ear with one finger. “You’re married to a woman with a terminal illness. Our life is a catastrophe.”

  “Now that you bring it up, you are kind of a loser.”

  She snorted. “Ah, well. What was on that card from Mean Debi? ‘It’s not about counting the days; it’s about making each day count.’”

  “I just threw up in my mouth.”

  “I hear you. Let’s stop talking about death. It’s a beautiful day. I’m sorry I’m so maudlin today. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

  “You have a grave lung condition,” he intoned.

  “Right, right, I forgot.”

  He turned to look at her, and his eyes were full of tears. “I love you with all my heart, Lauren Park.”

  “I love you with all my
pancreas.”

  “I love you with both kidneys,” he said, smiling just a little.

  “I love you with all my liver. And the liver is very important, as you know.”

  “Go to sleep, wife. I have plans for you later involving a certain magical car that can somehow induce orgasm.”

  “Oh, my God.” She fell asleep, still smiling.

  She slept. And when she woke up, they went inside to the big bed and got naked and turned on the porno. A UPS man appeared on the screen, knocking on the door of a woman wearing a red thong and sparkly pasties, holding a broom.

  “What?” Lauren exclaimed. “That’s what I wear when doing housework, too!”

  “What is it about UPS?” Josh asked. “Do they know what their drivers are doing all day? And where is the magical car? I was promised a magical car.”

  They lasted four more minutes into the film before their laughter made watching it impossible. It served its purpose, though . . . they made love afterward, and it was gentle and filled with laughter and smiles.

  On their second-to-last night there, they sat on the patio sofa, her back against his chest, his arms around her, and they watched the sun sink into the cream-and-orange clouds. When the sun slid behind the ocean, the water turned cobalt, and the clouds faded to purples and pinks, then gray. Herons, sandpipers and pelicans gabbled as the waves shushed against the shore, and the stars came out, one by one, growing brighter as the sky turned indigo.

  If she could choose where to die, she’d pick here. Just one gentle last breath, then nothing.

  Unfortunately, the odds were against her in that respect. She’d Googled the videos. She’d seen the documentaries. Dying of oxygen deprivation was not pretty.

  She sat up and wrapped the blanket more snugly around her shoulders. “Josh, we need to talk about something.”

  His face locked. “What?” he asked, but she knew he knew.

  “Stuff.” She stifled a cough and swallowed. “End-of-life stuff.”

  Josh bent his head. “It’s too early to think like that.”

  “Well, honey, it’s obviously on your mind, or you wouldn’t have gotten so mad the other night. And it’s on mine. This is the perfect time to talk, because then we can put it away and have fun tomorrow. I want to go swimming again.” Tears were thickening the back of her throat. She coughed to clear it. The last thing she needed was mucous gunk choking her. A nice yoga breath, a conscious relaxing of her neck and throat muscles. But her eyes stung nonetheless. “Please, Josh. Let’s get it out of the way.”

  He looked away. A night bird trilled, then fell silent. “Okay,” Josh said, and his voice was flat and expressionless. “Go ahead.”

  Her heart hurt. It hurt like a dull knife was pushing through it, a centimeter at a time. “So I’ve been thinking about it a little, here and there. And I know it’s probably a long way off, but just in case . . .” Her voice choked off as she swallowed a sob.

  He took her hands and studied them, the diamonds of her engagement ring winking like a star.

  That had been such a happy day, the day he proposed. It seemed like decades ago, in another life. A healthy life.

  She took a careful breath, as deep as she could. “I want it to just be you and me at the very end. Not my mom, not Jen, not anyone but us.”

  He nodded and swallowed, his perfect throat working. His grip on her hands tightened.

  “I’d like to say goodbye to everyone, if that’s possible. You know . . . if I can tell I’m winding down but can . . . but can still talk and stuff.”

  He nodded, then bent so his head rested on their joined hands. He was crying. Of course he was. It was impossible not to, and she was, too.

  “I don’t want heroic measures,” she whispered. “If it’s the end, it . . . we have to let it be. I don’t want to be a body kept alive by machines just for another day or two. When I go, I want to be . . . me. I know there’ll be drugs and stuff, but I want to be able to look at you.”

  Her hands were wet from his tears. He nodded, unable to speak.

  Given the choice, she’d pick his life over hers. Any day, every day. If one of them had to die, it should be her, because he was such a gift to the entire world. He was. He was everything.

  She bent over so her head rested on his, the two of them folded together like origami. She pulled one hand free and stroked his black hair. Oh, she loved him so much. So much.

  “Are you done?” he asked, his voice thick.

  “Well, a couple more things.” She straightened up. “I don’t want to die at home.”

  He looked up at her. “You don’t?”

  “No. I don’t want you to remember me dead in our bed, or on the kitchen floor, or . . . I don’t know. On the toilet.”

  He half laughed, half sobbed. “Okay. No toilet death. If you do die there, I’ll move you so you look dignified, and lie to everyone.”

  “That’s what I’m talking about.” She smiled, but her mouth was wobbling. “I want a big-ass funeral, too, where everyone is sobbing, but laughing, too. And really good food and music. None of that church stuff. I want Beyoncé and Bruno. In person, if possible.”

  He laughed, and his laugh was a sign of his love, because he knew she couldn’t take it if he broke. “Anything else?”

  “Yes. Eulogy by Jen, toasts at the after-party from anyone who wants. And then I want to be cremated and mixed in with soil and have a tree grow out of me. They have these urns for that.”

  He kissed her hands, then looked at her, eyes wet, trying to smile. “What if the tree dies? How shitty will I feel then?”

  “Water me twice a week and stick me in the sun. It’s not hard, Joshua. Don’t be a loser.”

  “Did you know you can make your loved one’s ashes into jewelry?”

  “Okay, that’s morbid. And who would wear that? I want to be a tree. Just don’t let Pebbles pee on me.”

  He pulled her into his arms and held her tight. She adjusted the cannula and then squeezed him back, holding him with all her strength. “I love you,” he whispered. “I’m the luckiest man in the world because I married you.”

  And the thing was, she knew he meant it.

  “Tell me you’ll be okay without me.”

  “I won’t be.”

  She said nothing, and Josh was quiet a long moment, the only sound the rhythm of the ocean waves against the shore. “I will be,” he said, his voice rough. “I’ll be grateful for every day that I got to be your husband.”

  She turned and wrapped herself around him, and though they tried so hard so many times not to cry, sometimes you just had to. Even when it felt like your heart was being pulled out of your chest, still beating. Even when you had to cough and gasp and would need to up the airflow on your oxygen. Their tears soaked into each other’s hair, skin, clothes. But it was okay. Everyone died. Her death was just a little less theoretical than most.

  Besides, she had a new project now, unrelated to public space design, and one of which she thought her father heartily approved.

  A person had to plan for the future, after all. Even if she wouldn’t be there for it.

  10

  Joshua

  Still month two

  April, 12:51 a.m.

  WHY HADN’T HE gotten a fifth opinion? They’d gone to Dr. Bennett at Rhode Island Hospital, then to Mass General and Brigham and Women’s in Boston and, later, to the Mayo Clinic. Every pulmonologist agreed that the treatment plan Dr. Bennett had laid out was the same one they would’ve followed.

  And everyone could see how well that turned out.

  Josh should’ve taken her to Yale New Haven. And NewYork-Presbyterian. And National Jewish Health in Denver. UCSF. Cleveland Clinic. Shit, there had to be places that did better.

  Earlier in the day—technically yesterday, he noted—he’d tried to work, but got derailed when a notificat
ion from Pulmonary Fibrosis News popped up. A new trial was coming, and the lead researcher was from Yale.

  They should’ve gone to Yale. He should’ve kept looking. If he had, Lauren could well be here with him now, quite possibly even better. He could move closer to her, put his arm around her, kiss her shoulder. She would turn toward him, sleepy but smiling, and they’d kiss, and he’d slide his hand under her shirt and feel the warm curve of her breast.

  He jammed his fingers in his hair and clenched his head. He wasn’t going to make it through this night. He’d call Jen, but—shit, no, it was way too late. That grief forum he’d found for young widowers and widows? The subreddit group?

  No. No. He didn’t want to be around more pain.

  Time to call AppleCare.

  It was that, or he’d start howling or run into the streets or go into the first-floor gym to hit the punching bag, but the last time he did that, Creepy Charlotte had come in (at three a.m.) to do yoga in very little clothing.

  Apple it would be. He had an extended warranty, and it was time for that investment to pay off.

  He called 1-800-MY-APPLE, so easy to remember from that time when his laptop froze during a system upgrade. It had taken forever, but the person had been wicked nice.

  He punched the appropriate buttons and said the appropriate words—computer. MacBook Air. Software not updating. Then, finally, he heard a human voice.

  “Hi, this is Rory, who am I speaking to?”

  “Joshua.”

  “Can I have your phone number in case we get disconnected?”

  Josh gave it, then explained his nonexistent problem.

  “No worries,” said Rory, his voice chipper. “We can do a safe reboot and see what happens.”

  “Great,” said Josh. Rory gave him the instructions, and Josh pretended to do the things.

  “This might take a little while,” Rory said.

  “Not a problem.” Was Rory going to hang up? “Uh, if you could stay on the line till it’s up and running . . .”