Samson

by Marie James

  “Things must be getting serious with that handsome blond guy,” Kim, one of the day shift nurses, says with a gentle tap to my arm.

  “Everyone here gossips like little old ladies at a pinochle tournament,” I complain as I shove my arms into my lab coat.

  “So is that a yes?” Kim winks at me as she takes a seat behind the desk. I roll my eyes like an irritated five-year-old, but I don’t try to stop the smile on my face. “I’ll take your lack of response as your affirmative answer.”

  “Dr. Davison,” Dr. Hunter says as he walks up, “let’s make rounds.”

  Kim is chuckling as we walk away.

  ***

  “What’s this?” I ask Samson as he shoves a bag in my hand the second I open my front door.

  “Period essentials.”

  “Is that right?” I look inside the bag as he presses a kiss to my forehead. “Did you make me a mix-tape, too?”

  “That wasn’t on the list I found online.” He tugs his phone from the back pocket of his jeans. “But I can make a quick playlist if you like.”

  “This isn’t necessary,” I tell him. “But thank you.”

  “I just want you to be comfortable.”

  “Most guys would steer clear.”

  “I’m not most guys.” He shrugs before grabbing my hand and dragging me toward the couch.

  It’s true. He’s nothing like the guys I’ve dated in my past. Menstruation doesn’t make me squeamish. It’s literally a daily topic in my work-life, but guys tend to get grossed out.

  “Why doesn’t this bother you?” I ask, returning to the living room after putting the three different flavors of ice cream in the freezer.

  “Why would it?”

  “Umm, because you grew up with two dads.”

  “I also had a sister, and just because I grew up with two dads doesn’t mean they didn’t toss menstruation into the birds and bees talk they had with us when we were younger.”

  “They didn’t.”

  “They did,” he confirms. “I had to sit through the period talk while they explained everything to Delilah, and she suffered through the morning wood and wet dreams talk they had with me. They were very thorough.”

  A laugh escapes my throat. “Seems like it.”

  “But tampons?” I pull the mixed variety box out of the bag.

  “Did you need pads?” His cheeks flush. “I can go out and get some. I’ll need to know specifics though. There’s like an entire department dedicated to that stuff in the drugstore. The clerk is the one who suggested those.”

  “The store clerk?” I have to hear this story. “How old was she?”

  “He,” he clarifies. “And he was like forty. I think he only came to help because he felt sorry for me. I got to hear numerous stories about how I’ll be doing this for the rest of my life, and that women who get mad while on their periods hold grudges, and how I better not piss you off unless I like sleeping on the couch. Do you need pads? I’ll go get them. Just maybe send me with a picture of the exact kind you need. I’m a visual learner.”

  “I don’t need pads.” I lean forward and press my lips to his. “Thank you for the care package.”

  “No problem.”

  This is more than just sex. This is more than a man who only wants to get me in bed. This is a show of love without saying the words.

  I lean back on the couch, snuggling in his arms all the while ripping into the bag of dark chocolate Hershey Kisses.

  “Want one?” I offer him an unwrapped Kiss, relishing the way he sucks on my fingers as he pulls it from my hand. “I’m watching House Hunters. Is that okay?”

  “Anything you want, baby.”

  Sitting in silence with him, just vegging out and watching TV isn’t awkward. The silence surrounding us is safe and calm. There’s no anticipation or expectation. There’s no pressure to act a certain way or fill the silence with mindless chatter.

  But like any other time, the outside world and distractions don’t stop just because we’re in our little bubble.

  I groan when my phone rings, but it’s Samson who leans forward to grab it off the table.

  “Hey, Mom,” I say as soon as the call connects.

  “Sweetheart,” she returns. “I know it’s a little late, but I ran into Elijah in the cafeteria today.”

  My heart almost stops at the mention of Dr. Hunter’s first name.

  “He told me you were going to nights tomorrow. Dad and I were hoping to have you over for a late dinner tonight since we know how tired you’ll be for the next month.”

  My first inclination is to tell her yes, but then Samson reaches for the remote, muting the TV so it doesn’t interfere with my phone conversation. I feel like a jerk but spending my last day before I start on the night shift with Samson is all I want to do. He also starts school tomorrow, so our time is going to be limited.

  “I have to catch up on all the housework and laundry. I’m going to be a zombie for the next couple of weeks, but we can make plans for breakfast next week sometime.”

  “I’ll talk to your father and make a plan. I love you.”

  “Love you, too, Mom. Tell Dad I love him, too.”

  “Goodnight.”

  “Night, Mom.”

  “Does she know about us?” Samson asks as he turns the volume back on the TV.

  “Don’t think so.” I stuff my mouth with another Kiss.

  “Are you going to tell your parents about us?”

  “You’re not some secret I’m trying to hide, Samson.”

  When he holds his hands up in surrender, a chuckle releases from my throat.

  “Was that an aggressive response?”

  “It was a little snippy.”

  “I didn’t mean it that way, promise.” I press a quick kiss to his mouth as an apology. “I can have a meal with them anytime. I start nights tomorrow, and you start school. I want to spend the evening with you. Time with my parents is always spent with medical talk and what Dad read in the latest New England Journal of Medicine. I need a break from work.”

  “I want to meet them.”

  “You have met them.”

  “I want to introduce myself as yours.”

  “Mine, huh?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s a big step.”

  “Good thing I want to take every step with you.”

  Good thing, I think but don’t respond out loud. The only thing I can do is bury myself deeper into his embrace and soak up the warmth of his body.

  When I start to yawn, he lifts me from the sofa and carries me to bed. After stripping down to his boxers, he lines himself up against my back and holds me against his chest. I dream of the two of us twenty years from now sitting on some tropical beach while on vacation, all the while not knowing that tomorrow brings a tragedy and regret so big, I can’t imagine living through it.

  Chapter 33

  Samson

  “Don’t you start school today?”

  “Why are you in my house?”

  Gigi grins from the barstool at the counter.

  “Jaxon is getting me a stain remover stick.”

  “You do laundry now?” I bend in the middle to grab a container of leftover macaroni and cheese from the fridge.

  “I wish I didn’t,” she muses. “Amelia spits up more than she keeps down some days, but it’s just part of being a mom.”

  I watch her face, waiting for her to scrunch her nose or get some disappointed look on her face, but it never comes. I’m shocked, but I don’t tell her so. She’s well aware of what others used to think about her. The way she acted brought all of that, but things have changed, and so has she.

  “Shouldn’t you be hitting the books?” Dad walks in, handing a Clorox pen to Gigi. “That’s all we have, but I can grab some Shout when I go to the store later.”

  “Thanks.” Gigi bounces off the stool and gives a quick wave before disappearing out the door.

  “Assignments, Samson. You won’t find them in the fridge.�
�

  “I’m foraging for energy,” I tell him with a smile. “I’ve already gotten everything printed out, ready for me to attack.”

  “I know. You left the printer without paper.”

  “Sorry.” My smile is wide when he grunts something about being grown yet still having to have a parent follow behind me like I’m a toddler. “I appreciate you, Dad.”

  He freezes, comically rolling his head on his shoulders to look at me. “What was that?”

  “I said,” I clap him on the back before reaching for a plate in the cabinet, “I appreciate you.”

  His eyes grow soft, and I feel like an asshole briefly for not saying it as often as I feel it.

  “Well, thank you.”

  “Want a sandwich?” I offer holding up the loaf of bread.

  His eyes narrow. “What’s gotten into you? Do you feel well?”

  I swat his hand away with a laugh when he tries to touch my forehead.

  “Stop. I feel fine. I’m just making me one, thought I’d offer if you were hungry, too.”

  “I think the last time you made me a sandwich was Father’s Day fifteen years ago.”

  “I can’t imagine how that turned out.” I don’t remember ever making the man a sandwich, but he has the memory of an elephant, so I don’t doubt it happened.

  “You made the biggest mess, but it was the best sandwich I ever had.”

  “Let’s see if I do any better this time.”

  I begin to make two sandwiches as he takes a seat on the other side of the breakfast bar. My mind drifts back to Camryn like it always does. We spent most of yesterday together, kissing in the parking lot when she headed off to go to work. Dad would throw a fit if he found out my first day of online classes was yesterday, and I didn’t do a damn thing but lay in bed with my girlfriend and talk about working on them.

  She hasn’t texted yet today, but I plan to go to her apartment in a bit, just so I can see her face before she heads back to the hospital. She complained about how bad nights are for her but assured me we’d make time to see each other, even if it’s in passing or spent sleeping during the day. I offered to stay up all night so we could sleep together today, but she explained that she was going to be hard to handle the first week or so. I told her the offer stood, but then she reminded me about how much little sleep we’d get if we were in bed together.

  The ache in my balls reminds me that it’s been four days since I’ve had her. I make a mental plan to head over even earlier, hoping I can catch her in the shower. She’d never be able to resist me if she’s naked.

  “You’re already doing better than last time. You managed the mayo without busting the jar on the floor.”

  “It’s plastic. I don’t think it would shatter if I dropped it.”

  “It wasn’t in a plastic jar fifteen years ago.”

  I scrunch my nose. “Sounds like a mess.”

  “It was. You and Delilah, more so you, made messes all the time. We were happy to have kids to clean up after.”

  After the sandwiches are made, I plate Dad’s and slide it across the bar. I put the sandwich makings away and toss the knife I used for the mayo in the sink.

  “We’re not so happy to clean up after adults, though.”

  Dad raises an eyebrow at the sink, and I laugh as I rinse it off and put it in the dishwasher.

  “I thought the rules were one cooks the other cleans.”

  “I thought this sandwich came without ulterior motives.” He takes a big bite and chews happily, the pierced star tattoos on his cheeks wiggling.

  “I’m going to head up and start on classwork.” I grab my plate and head for the stairs.

  “Make sure to bring that dirty dish down when you’re done.”

  I acknowledge him by throwing a wave over my shoulder, all the while wondering how amenable Camryn would be to us getting a place together. It would be so much easier to see each other if we're in the same place. I wouldn’t mind doing classwork in the bed while she sleeps.

  I take longer than necessary to eat because the thought of starting classwork makes my head ache.

  “This was a horrible idea,” I mutter to myself as I set my plate to the side and reach for my first textbook.

  I plow through one subject’s assignments, working on it until the words start to blur together. My phone doesn’t have any missed calls or texts, but I imagine she’s still sleeping. I catch myself texting Griffin to see if he wants to hang out for a while to give my head a break, but I’m quickly reminded by a text calling me an idiot that he’s left, along with Ivy, Lawson, and Delilah back to Rhode Island. The girls started school yesterday as well.

  Griffin got his wish to have Ivy all to himself since Melissa took off a few weeks ago.

  Still needing the break, I shoot off another text asking about his search for a new doctor. We’ve always called it that. He grows uneasy if the words therapist or counselor are used.

  Griffin: Meeting with a doctor tomorrow afternoon. I hope she’s as nice as Dr. Alverez. This shit is hard enough to deal with as it is.

  He doesn’t know how far he’s come if he can speak that freely over text.

  Me: She’ll be great, and if she isn’t, find someone who is.

  Griffin: How are things with your doctor?

  Pondering that for a moment, I let my eyes close. To my surprise, my normally filthy mind doesn’t travel to a naked place in her bed, but the way she stretched her legs across my lap yesterday while we ate Chinese take-out while watching some stupid game show. The moment was perfect, and I can’t wait to have a million more evenings like that with her.

  Me: She’s amazing. We’re doing really well.

  The three dots pop up telling me he’s responding, but my bedroom door opens before he can respond.

  “Dad? What’s wrong?”

  He doesn’t say anything at first, which is weird. My dad always knows what to say.

  “I went to deliver bad news to Kincaid, and Gigi was over there.” He hitches a thumb over his shoulder, which scares me even more. Dad isn’t known for needing extra movements to explain himself. “Why didn’t you tell me you were dating Camryn Davison.”

  I’d smile at the mention of her name, but the look on my dad’s face doesn’t allow for it.

  “Dad? What happened to Cam? Is she alright? What was the bad news?”

  As I pelt him with my questions, I climb off my bed and cross the room to him.

  “Angelica Davison died yesterday.”

  My throat closes, making my next words come out in a voice I don’t recognize. “H-her mother died?”

  He nods, his strong hand grasping onto my shoulder.

  “Yesterday?”

  Another nod.

  I rush across the room, once again checking my phone and finding it void of any calls or texts.

  “She didn’t call me. How did it happen?”

  My father is beside me, pulling the phone from my hands before I can connect the call.

  “Calling her after losing a parent isn’t the way to do things.”

  “Okay. Good point.”

  With my dad standing in the middle of my room, I strip out of my sweats and worn t-shirt and pull on fresh clothes. I could really use a shower, but the only thing I can think of is getting to her.

  “What happened?” I ask again, unsure if he explained and I missed it.

  “Brain aneurysm. Do you want me to drive you?” He stops me with his hands up in front of him before I can leave the room. “Are you okay to drive?”

  “Yes.” I nod, but I’m not so sure. “She didn’t even call me. Are you sure it happened yesterday?”

  “I’m certain,” he says. “They were getting ready for bed.”

  “I have to go to her.”

  He must see the urgency in my eyes because he steps to the side and lets me leave without another word.

  Chapter 34

  Camryn

  Regret is a common occurrence in my life.

  I regret cho
ices made in surgery.

  I regret the carbs I eat most days.

  I regret pushing Lucinda down in second grade because she kicked the soccer ball too hard and hit me in the chin.

  I regret many things in life.

  But I get over them. My surgical errors have never led to long-term complications for the patients. I get so much exercise at work that my carb count hasn’t had any lasting effects. Lucinda forgave me right after I shoved her because she already felt bad that she hit me with the ball. We cried together.

  Regrets usually fade with time.

  However, I will never be free from the regret of turning my parents down for dinner two days ago. The guilt of staying tangled up with Samson instead of spending my mother’s last day on earth with her will never go away. It will eat me alive, and I’ll let it. I deserve all the pain I feel. I deserve the anguish filling my blood.

  But I can’t show my pain right now. I’m tasked with taking care of my father, who seems to be trying to stay strong for me.

  With my hands clasped in my lap, I listen to the empty robotic tone of his voice as he explains to the man at the funeral home what he wants for my mother’s service.

  “She had all of this planned out?” Mr. Troughton asks when my dad hands him my mother’s neatly written burial plans. “She knew about the aneurysm?”

  “She… we didn’t know about it. The headaches were manageable. She has… had an appointment scheduled with her optometrist for next week.” My dad sounds the same way I imagine he’d sound if he were delivering the news of someone he hadn’t spent the last thirty-five years in love with.

  He’s dead inside, just like me.

  “If you haven’t already spoken with a minister from your church, we can arrange someone for you,” Mr. Troughton offers.

  “I’d like the chaplain from the hospital to do that,” Dad says. “I’ll make those arrangements myself.”

  Mr. Troughton nods and makes his way further down the list.

  They discuss her burial clothes, music, transportation, dates, times, and flower versus donation preferences, all while I sit there, silently running memories of my mother through my mind.