Until the End of the World Box Set

by Sarah Lyons Fleming

  I watch the sky through my window and wonder if this could have been written somewhere up there. If it’s possible the stars have led me to a cabin in Alaska and a bed shared with my best friend. It doesn’t lessen what I had with Adrian. Maybe love doesn’t have to be quantified as more or less—it’s just different than anything I’ve ever felt. This has grown out of heartbreak and friendship, out of forgiveness and being truthful about our real selves. I’ve been around for Peter’s worst moments as well as his best. And I love everything about him. He’s perfect for me.

  63

  There’s one good thing about living with the person you’re secretly in love with, which is also the most torturous—they’re always around. I can hide my feelings and act normal for the most part, but when I find myself swooning at the muscles in his forearm that still has a trace of summer tan, I tell myself to get a grip. I force myself not to daydream about what I want his rough, capable hands to do to me. And I know from past experience that they’re extremely capable.

  I would move to the couch rather than lie awake at night with every nerve ending tingling in anticipation, but I’ll take a platonic bed-sharing arrangement over nothing. I’m thinking on this while I make the bed—or as close as I get to bed-making, which is to confirm the covers aren’t in a ball—and freeze with my hand to my mouth. I’ve become Dan, waiting for someone who might never be ready to love me back. It’s not the most uplifting of thoughts.

  I have the day off and plan to paint while Hank and Bits are at school and Peter’s on guard. The kids are already gone and Peter’s lacing up his boots in the living room when Nelly, who sees the door as a formality with which he’d rather not be bothered, breezes in. “What are we doing on our day off?” he asks me.

  “I’m painting,” I say, and point to the corner window where I like to paint in what little light we get this time of year.

  “Bor-ing. Let’s do something fun.”

  “Does it involve going outside? Because I wasn’t planning to do that until dinner time.”

  Nelly sinks to the dining table with his chin in his hand. “Stop being a hermit. C’mon. We’ll bother Pen or something.”

  “Working,” I say. “She’s on lunch today.”

  “They’re like slave drivers here. She’s about to pop and they’re making her work?”

  “They are not, and she still has almost two weeks. Stop being so dramatic.” I sit at the table and decide Nelly’s right. “So what are we going to do?” He whoops in delight.

  Peter dons his coat and covers his hair with an equally black hat. “All right, have fun whatever you do.”

  “Don’t forget your water bottle,” I say.

  He touches my shoulder on his way past. “Thanks. We’ll meet at dinner?”

  “Yeah. I’ll bring the kids.”

  “Okay. See you then.” Sometimes, when he looks at me like this—dark eyes locked with mine—I think that maybe it’s not just me. It’s probably wishful thinking. And although Hank is probably right that wishes don’t work, I could kick myself for wishing that things stay the same because I want things to be very different. I watch him leave, trying not to think about how his shoulders are solid under his coat and how his jeans sit low on his hips and slouch perfectly on his shitkicker boots. To think I once made fun of those jeans.

  “—it warms the cockles of my heart,” Nelly finishes.

  I return to the conversation. “What does?”

  “To see you guys playing house.”

  “We live in the same house. What are we supposed to do—ignore each other?” I stand and stack dishes next to the dry sink so I don’t have to look at him. I know Nelly can read me like a book, but I wonder how obvious it is to the rest of the world.

  “The lady doth protest too much,” he says.

  “Whatever, Shakespeare. Where are we going?”

  “Let’s stay here and chat.” His boots hit the table and he leans back with his hands behind his head. “Sit down, darlin’.”

  “You’re supposed to take your shoes off when you come in,” I say, dodging his request. “I’m tired of washing the floor.”

  “You’ve never washed a floor in your life.”

  I ignore him and step into my boots. Nelly’s like a bloodhound on a scent, but he bides his time and attacks when you least expect it. I’m going to have to be on my guard. He looks at me for a long moment before he strolls to the door. “Let’s see who’s at the clubhouse.”

  The clubhouse was once a restaurant and now where they feed the overflow of people at meals. At other times of the day, people hang out at the tables and couches. It’s the social hub of Talkeetna, and while I like to visit, I’d rather spend my free time at home or with small groups of people. Sometimes I worry that I won’t be able to hear something coming. It may not be a concern in the winter, but old habits die hard.

  When we enter, we’re deluged with offers to get in on a card or board game. Nelly leads me to a couch where I lose at poker with Tara and Philip before they leave for their street shoveling shift.

  Patricia strides our way, turns a chair backward and pushes her hair off her face. “What’s up?”

  “Hey, Patty,” Nelly says.

  “Stop with the Patty already,” she says.

  “Terry calls you Patty,” Nelly says. “You don’t seem to mind.”

  She flashes a look that says to tread no further, which goes completely over his head.

  “You know, maybe you two gals should think about dating,” Nelly says to us. “You could have your pick of the litter. Like, for instance, Patty and Peter would look good together.”

  Here it is—the attack. I shrug and find it easy to be dismissive since I know she has no interest, but it still makes my stomach roil.

  “No thanks,” Patricia says.

  “Or you and Terry,” Nelly says to me. “You seem like his type. Should I see if he’s interested?”

  I elbow his side when Patricia looks like a kid whose birthday was canceled. “I have no interest in Terry. He has no interest in me. You know that.”

  Patricia bolts from her chair, mumbling something about guns, and I sincerely hope it wasn’t something about coming after me with one later. I pull him up by his sleeve and push him into the snow-covered street. “You’re an ass! She’s so in love with Terry she can’t see straight.”

  “Shit. I had no idea.”

  “You know, for someone so observant you can be completely clueless when you want to get your way.” I sink against the side of the building, heart drumming and mouth dry. I don’t want to say it aloud and make it real, but Nelly will never stop pestering me until I do. “So just do it. Say what you want to say. Ask whatever you want to ask.”

  Nelly rubs his cheeks and deliberates before his sky blue eyes meet mine. “No.”

  “No?”

  He puts his hands in his pockets and shrugs. “You’ll tell me when you want to.”

  I’d like to walk because I’m freezing, but I’m frozen in shock. He must have something up his sleeve. “Seriously?”

  He takes my arm and wanders back toward the cabins. “Yup. So what shall we do next? The world, or a small fenced-off part of it, is our oyster. We have three hours until sundown at the ridiculously early time of 3:30.”

  “Let’s go to the big cabin and see who’s there.”

  “Your wish is my command.” After a block, Nelly clears his throat. “So, anything you want to tell me?”

  “Can’t think of anything,” I say.

  He throws me into a snowdrift and laughs while I splutter obscenities. But, to his credit, he doesn’t ask again.

  64

  We have a Christmas tree. Really, it’s the top of a fir tree that’ll be kindling next year, but it’s pretty with the decorations we made during art class at the school.

  “Did we get Barn a present?” Bits asks. She lies on the floor next to the dog, fiddling with the earrings Penny and I put in on her birthday, and Peter followed with a French fry an
d vanilla milkshake party. Making ice cream is easy when your entire world is snow and ice.

  “We’ll give him a bone.”

  “How about Sparky?”

  “Also a bone,” I say.

  “Did you get something for Peter?”

  “A bone. Everyone gets bones this year.”

  She giggles. “He’ll make soup with it. And then he can give us soup for Christmas.”

  “Perfect,” I say.

  Hank pokes his head out from the loft. “But did you get him something for real?”

  “I have something from you guys. It’s a pot. He really can make us soup.”

  Bits rolls on her back and looks at me upside down. “A pot? Why on Earth would you get him a pot?” I’d like to ask her where she got that tone, but it’s like listening to a recording of me.

  “It’s a fancy pot, like hundreds of dollars fancy. It’s turquoise.”

  She stands. “Can I see? Hank, come and look.”

  I take them into the bedroom and pull it out of the closet. They like it but look unimpressed. “You know how I love art supplies? Well, cooking’s an art, too. The most famous chefs in the world used pots like these. People would travel all over just to try their food.”

  “Really?” Bits asks. “Maybe they’ll come here one day just to try Peter’s food. It’s good enough to fight zombies for.”

  I kiss her cheek. “Tell him that, he’ll love it.”

  It’s true. The food here was decent but boring, especially made in large quantities, but now the restaurant is always full when people know he’s on.

  “So he’ll really like this,” Hank says.

  “Thanks for getting it.” Bits grins, eyes the same color as the Dutch oven. “Can we wrap it?”

  The cabin door opens in the outer room. Bits places the pot on the closet floor and then yanks most of my clothes off the hangers to throw on top. Like I need any help being a slob.

  “Hello?” Penny calls.

  I follow Bits to the living room. She shows no interest in cleaning up the clothes even though it’s not Peter. Another wonderful habit inspired by me.

  “Hey, Mama,” I say. “Anything?”

  She sinks to the couch. It was her due date almost a week ago. “Nothing. Nada.”

  “It can only be a couple weeks at the most. Glory’s never seen anyone go more than three weeks past.”

  Bits wanders back into my bedroom when Hank calls. “Hey, pick up those clothes,” I yell after her. I’m met with a non-committal reply.

  “Glory says to try sex,” Penny says. “This is easier said than done, but I’ve told James he’s on tonight. He looked a little frightened.”

  I snort and throw a log into the woodstove just as Nelly enters in his usual sweep of wind and snow. “Shoes!” I yell, and he stops to remove them before he launches himself onto the couch next to Penny.

  “I bagged us a turkey for Christmas,” Nelly says.

  “What?” I ask. “I didn’t think there were wild turkeys in Alaska.”

  “I didn’t shoot it, I won it in poker. Peter’s going to cook it in the kitchen the night before.”

  We’re having Christmas dinner at the big cabin. Chuck and Rich are invited, along with a few others besides our group. It’s such a large town that everyone couldn’t eat dinner together anyway.

  Adam walks in and removes his shoes, unlike his other half. “It’s so warm in here.”

  I wedge another piece of wood into the stove. “But the bedroom is still cold, even if it’s ninety degrees out here.”

  “Why don’t you snuggle with Peter?” Nelly asks. “That’ll warm you.”

  “Would you stop?” I ask, and head for the kitchen without looking up because I know they’re all staring and my face is a dead giveaway. I’m most afraid of Penny thinking I’m usurping Ana, or that I don’t miss her.

  Adam sighs. “Nel, shut—” He breaks off when Peter walks in.

  “Hey, are we having a party?” Peter asks.

  Adam stands and drags Nelly to the door. “We were just leaving.”

  They say their goodbyes, and Peter moves to where I’m wrapping up what’s left of dinner, my cheeks finally cool. “Dinner was yummy, thanks,” I say.

  “I knew you wouldn’t leave the house in this, and then you’d eat something crappy.”

  A layer of ice swooped in this morning, and with my walking skills being what they are at times, I came home after breakfast shift and art class. “It’s a good thing. We were going to eat your cookies.”

  His mouth drops. “You wouldn’t.”

  Peter may love Bits more than life itself, but he doesn’t share his Oreos. I refused when he offered me some because I never would’ve enjoyed the corn syrup as much as he does. I like to tease him, though. As long as I keep things silly, I don’t worry that he’ll see how I feel. I stand on my tiptoes and pretend to reach for their hiding place in an upper cabinet.

  “You wouldn’t dare,” he says, and spins me around by my belt.

  I lean against the counter and smile up at him. “You don’t know what I’m capable of.”

  It comes out low and flirty instead of silly, and his eyes darken in response. His hand is still on my waist, its warmth radiating through my shirt to my skin. I think he wants to kiss me, and I’m pretty sure I’m failing at hiding how much I want him to. His gaze lowers when I moisten my lips, his fingers digging into my waist.

  “Well, I’ve got a date,” Penny says.

  We jump and turn to find Penny standing, fingers on her glasses. I’d forgotten she was here, and so must have Peter, because his hand drops like a stone and he takes a step back. My throat tightens when I think about how it must look that I sleep in the same bed and spend most of my time with her dead sister’s boyfriend. How obvious my desire must have been to the both of them just now. It doesn’t matter that I haven’t done anything to feel guilty about; wanting it makes me guilty enough. Even if Ana did say she’d want Peter to move on, even if I truly think she’d be glad.

  Penny eases her feet into her soft boots and heads to the door. Just before leaving, she smiles our way, although it’s tinged with sorrow. It doesn’t exactly give me the go-ahead, but maybe it says she wouldn’t hate me forever. I can’t tell if Peter’s noticed since he looks everywhere but at me.

  The kids come from the bedroom. Bits’s eyes widen when she sees Peter, and she holds her arms straight by her sides. Peter clears his throat. “Everything all right, baby girl?”

  “Yes,” she says. “We were in your room for a reason.”

  “Okay. Do you want to tell me the reason?”

  Hank shakes his head at Bits, who will blurt out everything as if under torture with almost no prodding. “No. It’s a pot for you,” she says, and slaps her hand to her mouth.

  “You’re the worst,” Hank says with a groan. “I should’ve wished for you to be able to keep secrets.”

  I burst into laughter while Peter bites back a smile. He meets my eyes and the awkward moment passes. Peter’s still my best friend, and I don’t want to lose that. If he doesn’t feel the same, I’ll have to find a way to let this go.

  I lose at Monopoly for the thousandth time, even using Hank’s secret system, after which we head to bed. I’m almost asleep when Peter’s hand brushes my hair. I don’t know if it means we’re back to normal or if we’re heading somewhere new, but either way, he’s with me.

  65

  Barn and Sparky devour their bones while Bits and Hank tear through their presents. Hank holds up the X-Men comics and raises his eyebrows at Bits. When he gets to his stocking, he sits quietly with the small portrait I made of his family in his lap. I’m never sure if it’s a good idea to make a portrait for someone who hasn’t asked, but so far it’s always been appreciated.

  I sit on the floor behind him. “I thought you might want them here today. I was going to wait, but…”

  Hank nods and moves into my lap. It won’t fit in a pocket like Bits’s locket, but it’s small
enough to tuck in a bag if we have to leave.

  “Sometimes Christmas can be hard,” I say. “It’s when we miss people the most.”

  “I’m excited it’s Christmas, though.” His voice cracks. It’s been doing that occasionally, but this isn’t puberty.

  I twist one of his dreads. “It’s normal to be a whole lot sad and be happy at the same time. And it’s normal to feel guilty about being happy.”

  “It is?”

  “Absolutely. But your dad would want you to be happy. It wouldn’t hurt his feelings. I know that for a fact.”

  “Okay.” He traces Henry’s and Dottie’s faces with his finger and stops on Corrine’s purple shirt. “How did you know Corrie liked purple?”

  “She kept wishing she’d brought her favorite purple shirt to the campground,” I say. “She told me all about it, so I made it up from her description.”

  “It looked just like this. She wouldn’t shut up about it. I forgot about that.”

  He rests his head on my collarbone and doesn’t move for a long while. Finally, he goes up to the loft and comes down empty-handed. “I put it by my bed. It’s near my bag in case we have to go.”

  “Good idea,” I say. “But I don’t think we’ll have to go anytime soon, and I can always make another.” He’s slow to smile, but when he does like he is now, it lights up his face.

  “Open yours, Peter!” Bits says. Peter winces when she drops the heavy pot in his lap.

  “Whatever could this be?” He unwraps the fabric we’ve wrapped it in and looks my way. “You remembered the color. I love it, thank you.” He hugs the kids and admires his pot some more, then passes me a package. “Here.”

  It’s a large canning jar full of something thick and brown. “What is it?”