The Ending I Want

by Samantha Towle

  I slip on my silver ballet pumps and put the ankle boots I wore last night in the overnight bag to take with me. Then, I fill the bag up with essentials—clothes, underwear, and toiletries. Before leaving, I grab the photo of my family off the nightstand and put it in the bag.

  Then, I head back out to Liam.

  “Sorted?” he asks as I climb into the car, the bag safely in the trunk.

  “Yep.”

  He pulls out into traffic, and soon, we’re on the highway, heading toward Oxford, with music playing on the radio and a companionable silence between us.

  “Boston…can I ask you something?”

  The tone in his voice has me feeling like it might not be a question that I’ll want to answer.

  My head against the headrest, I turn my face to look at him.

  He looks so strong, so beautiful, driving his car.

  Those feelings I have for him twist inside me.

  I swallow against them. “Sure.” My voice comes out scratchy, so I clear my throat.

  He flickers a glance at me before looking back to the road ahead.

  There’s a pause before he says, “I know you said you don’t talk about your family—”

  “I don’t. And I meant that.” My words are hard. I hate the way my voice sounds.

  He doesn’t deserve my harshness. He’s been nothing but good to me.

  I turn my face away, feeling ashamed. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t mean to snap.”

  His hand touches my hand, surprising me, bringing my eyes back to him.

  “Don’t be. I didn’t mean to pry. I was just wondering about how they met. You said they met in Oxford…and curiosity just got the better of me. I’m the one who’s sorry, babe.”

  His apology makes me feel worse.

  And it makes me want to tell him. Talk to him.

  I’ve never felt the urge to talk about my family out loud since they died. In my head, I think about them all the time. I talk to them all the time.

  But it always felt like if I talked about them…then it would make everything so much more real. Would make me feel their loss even more than I already did.

  Maybe now is the time to talk about them, right before I go to join them.

  If they can hear me, then they’ll know that I think of them all the time.

  Maybe I should have been talking about them all along.

  But then again, I’ve never let myself get close enough to anyone to talk about my family.

  Except for Liam. He’s become my exception to my rule.

  I’ve let myself get close to him. I know how stupid that was.

  But I’ve already crossed that line of stupidity. There’s no going back.

  What more harm can I possibly do?

  “My parents met at Oxford University.” I stare down at our entwined hands. “My mom was a student there. She was in the first year of earning her master’s degree. My dad…he was a professor.”

  “He was her professor?” Liam asks softly.

  I lift my eyes to him. “No. My dad taught English literature. My mom was studying politics.”

  I know what he’s thinking—teacher-student relationship and the age difference between them. Like there’s an age difference between him and me.

  “My dad was seven years older than my mom,” I tell him.

  “And I’m ten years older than you. Should I take it that you Shaw women have a thing for older men?”

  “Actually, you’re the first older guy I’ve dated.”

  Dated?

  Is that what Liam and I are doing—dating? Because all we were supposed to be doing was having sex.

  But when we’re not having sex…we spend all of our time together. And we don’t act like friends during that time. We act like a couple. Isn’t that considered dating?

  This is bad. And wrong.

  While I’m internally agonizing over this, Liam doesn’t seem fazed by what I said because he responds with, “Glad to hear it.” His tone is gruff and very alpha-sounding. The alpha that usually sends a shiver down my spine.

  But not this time because my mind is in overdrive.

  “So, your dad was a professor dating a student…” Liam prompts when I haven’t said anything.

  “Yes.” I come back around, back to my parents’ love story and away from my own.

  Not that Liam and I are in a love story…

  Oh God.

  “They met on campus one day. My mom used to ride her bike to class. She was late, rushing and not paying attention, and she ran my dad over. Literally ran him over.”

  Liam laughs, and I smile at the memories of my mom telling me this story. I used to love to hear it.

  “He was fine, but my mom was mortified. He’d grazed his hand as he fell. So, she insisted on fixing up his hand. Her dorm was far away, but my dad had a first aid kit in his office. She went with him, cleaned up his hand, and put a Band-Aid over the cut, and then she left for her class, late.” I laugh softly.

  “Then, she started seeing him on campus all the time. My mom told me that she’d never seen my dad before that day. Suddenly, he was everywhere. My dad later told her that he started taking different routes to class just so he could bump into her.

  “And I guess…they fell in love. My mother always said she fell in love with him at the exact moment when she looked into his eyes, right after sticking that Band-Aid on his hand. But they had to keep their relationship a secret because, technically, it was wrong. Even though my mom was twenty-two, an adult, she was a student, and my dad was a professor. So, they hid their relationship.”

  It’s in this moment I realize that my mom was twenty-two when she met my dad.

  I’m twenty-two now.

  And I met Liam at twenty-two.

  And I’ll be twenty-two when I die.

  “My grandfather, my mother’s father, was a well-known politician here in the UK. You might have heard of him. Marcus Grant?”

  “The name sounds vaguely familiar,” he says. “But I have never been big on politics. My grandpa would probably know.”

  “Ah, well, he died years ago. But my grandfather had found out about my mom and dad because of her sister—my aunt whom I’ve never met. My mom had confided in her about my dad, just wanting someone to talk to, and my aunt had gone home and told my grandfather.”

  “Wow, what a bitch,” Liam says. Then, he immediately says, contrite, “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that about your family.”

  “No, you’re right. She was a bitch. My mom had trusted her, and she’d stabbed her own sister in the back. They never spoke again after that. After my grandfather had learned of their relationship, he hit the roof. His main concern was his political career. If it got out that his daughter was having a relationship with a professor at her university…apparently, it would have looked bad on him.”

  “The British press have a great way of angling a story to make it sound juicy.” He sounds like he’s speaking from experience.

  “My grandfather told my mom to end the relationship. He told her that he’d have my dad’s job taken from him and that he’d have my dad deported back to the States. My dad was from Boston and here on a work visa,” I tell him. “My mom didn’t want to be the reason that my dad lost his job, and she didn’t want him to be deported. So, she did as my grandfather had told her, and she ended things with my dad.”

  “But that didn’t stick,” Liam says, gesturing to me.

  “No.” I laugh. “My dad is…was…” I take a deep breath. Talking about them like this…for a moment, it almost feels like they are still here. “My dad was stubborn. He wasn’t going to let my mom go. He finally got the truth out of her, and the next day, he handed in his resignation. But giving up his job meant his visa went, too. He tried to get another teaching job in the UK, but he couldn’t get one. I don’t know if that was because of my grandfather, but my mom believed it was.

  “Then, he got offered a professorship at Harvard. He couldn’t turn it down. So, my
mom went with him. She finished her degree in Boston. Then, she got a job working for The Boston Globe as a political journalist. She scaled it back when she had me and Parker, and then when Tess was born, she left her job and stayed home.”

  “Parker and Tess…” His words are soft, hesitant.

  “My brother and sister.”

  Liam glances at me. The sadness in his eyes nearly unravels me.

  I feel myself shutting down. This is getting too close to talking about what happened, and I can’t talk about that.

  Liam seems to sense that because he doesn’t ask me anything more.

  I lay my head back on the headrest, turning my face to stare out the side window, while the sound of the radio softly plays Zara Larsson and MNEK’s “Never Forget You.”

  And I just let myself think of my family.

  I let myself feel the agony of their loss. I let it curl around my insides and crush my heart.

  Because I need the reminder.

  I need to remember the reason I’m doing all of this. Why I’ve chosen the path I have.

  For them. To be with them.

  And Liam is making me forget that.

  He’s making me feel things I shouldn’t feel.

  It shouldn’t be easy to talk about them. It shouldn’t make me smile.

  It should hurt. It should cut me to the core.

  But, in that moment, talking about my parents with him…it felt…good. Manageable.

  I want to blame him for that. I want to feel anger toward him.

  But it’s not Liam’s fault. It’s mine.

  I have no one to blame for everything that’s happened in my life and everything that I have coming to me but myself.

  And I need to stop feeling…for him.

  We don’t talk on the journey after that. It’s not an uncomfortable silence. More that Liam knows I need time with my thoughts, and he gives me it.

  When I see the first sign for Oxford University, I wonder if Liam’s grandpa lives near here.

  But when he pulls onto campus, I know that’s not the case.

  He’s come here first for me.

  Tears push at my eyes. I have to take a few calming breaths before I speak, “You came here.” My words come out quieter than I intended. I bring my eyes to him.

  He presses his lips together before casting a glance at me. “Was that the wrong thing to do?”

  No, it was the right thing to do.

  Everything you do is right.

  I need now more than ever to remember my parents…my brother, and my sister. I need to remember why I’m letting myself die.

  Because, sometimes, with Liam…it doesn’t seem so clear anymore.

  “It…” My throat thickens on the word. I pause and take a breath. “It was the right thing. Thank you.”

  The smile that touches his lips is beautiful. And it hurts me.

  It hurts even more when he says, “Don’t thank me. I know, coming here…it’s important to you. That makes it important to me.”

  I’m important to him?

  My brain is screaming to me that I have to stop this—whatever this is that’s happening with Liam—before it goes any further.

  But the selfish part of me…my heart…doesn’t care.

  My heart wants to be with him for every single moment I have before it’s time for me to go.

  My heart wins out.

  I’m not usually selfish…well, not since my selfish acts caused the loss of my family.

  Maybe my heart is just stronger now because my brain is sick. It’s making me weak.

  I can only hope that my selfishness doesn’t hurt Liam.

  “We’re good for as much time as you need here,” he says to me.

  “Your grandpa isn’t expecting you?”

  “I’ll text him and let him know that we’re running a little behind schedule.”

  “You told your grandpa I was coming?”

  “I called him while you were in the shower.” He glances at me and smiles. “He’s looking forward to meeting you.”

  “I’m looking forward to meeting him, too.” I smile.

  Liam navigates the car, following the signs for the English Faculty Library. When we reach the building, he slows the car to a stop and parks up on the street outside of it.

  “The university is probably pretty much closed up for the summer,” he says, turning off the engine.

  Then, he pulls his cell out of his pocket and starts tapping. I’m assuming he’s texting his grandpa.

  He continues, still texting, “But I’m sure there are some summer classes, so if we’re lucky, the doors might be open, and we can have a look around. Then, we can check out the politics department where your mom would have studied. Maybe have a walk around the grounds. How does that sound?” He puts his cell back in his pocket and looks at me.

  I press my lips together. Emotions are choking me. I clear my throat. “Sounds perfect.” Like you.

  Liam opens his door and climbs out of the car. I follow suit. Leaving my handbag behind, I meet Liam at the front of the car. He locks it using the key fob.

  Then, he puts his hand out for mine. I place my palm against his. Liam threads his fingers through mine, and the riot of emotions I was feeling calm at his touch.

  It surprises me. Nothing has been able to calm the way I feel inside when it comes to my family. But with the simple touch of Liam’s hand, the pain that always comes when I think of them seems manageable in that moment.

  The sign says the building is called the St. Cross Building. Liam and I walk up the steps. I think of my dad walking up these steps every day, going to work.

  Liam tries the door. It opens. He gives me a smile of success.

  I follow him into the building. The smell reminds me very much of a library filled with old books.

  It reminds me of my dad.

  “Where to first?” Liam asks.

  “Let’s just…walk,” I tell him.

  So, we do. We just wander the halls, and I think of my dad being here.

  Liam opens the door to a lecture theater just a crack. “Empty,” he tells me in a whisper.

  “Why are you whispering?” I whisper back.

  “I have no clue.” He laughs.

  He opens the door, letting me in first.

  It’s a large lecture theater, and we’re on the ground level.

  I look at the floor before me and the row of seats going up, wondering if my father ever lectured in here. I close my eyes and let myself hear his voice.

  “Taylor, words and the ability to write…they are the guide in life that God gifted us with.”

  Liam’s hands touch my shoulders from behind. I open my eyes and look back at him.

  “Okay?” he checks.

  “Yeah.” I lift my lips into a half-smile. “Just remembering.”

  We leave the lecture theater and come across the library.

  Liam tries the door, and it opens. “Must be our lucky day.” He grins. “Ladies first.” He stands aside, gesturing me through.

  Even though being here is hard, it is impossible not to smile at him.

  We venture into the library, which is empty, except for us.

  I head straight for the book stacks with Liam following behind me.

  “Do you read much?” I ask him as we walk beside the shelves, my fingers trailing over the books stacked on them.

  “Not as much as I should.” He chuckles. “You?”

  “I try to.”

  “I haven’t seen you with a book in your hand since you’ve been here.”

  I give him a glance over my shoulder. “You’ve been keeping me busy.”

  “True.” He gives a wicked grin.

  “I studied English lit during my undergrad,” I tell him.

  What I don’t tell him is how I ghosted through those years, living in the stories of others, just to get through each day. I only went to college because I had applied and been accepted before my family died.

  “Following in your dad
’s footsteps?”

  “Mmhmm.” That was true a long time ago. I wanted to be an English professor like my dad.

  That option isn’t available to me anymore.

  “So, when you go back to Boston, that’s what you’ll do—get your master’s and become a professor like he was.”

  “I haven’t decided yet,” I lie. I stop and turn to him. “Shall we go find the Department of Politics now?”

  He steps close, cupping my face with his hands. He brushes his mouth over mine. “If that’s what you want to do.” His voice and breath are gentle against my lips.

  “It is.”

  Turns out that the politics department is on the same street as the English building.

  We walk around the empty building, and I imagine my mom rushing through the halls with books under her arm. She was always rushing, always busy. But never too busy for us. She always made time for me, Parker, and Tess.

  There’s not much to see inside the building, and I don’t see anything related to my mom here, not that I thought there would be. I just hoped, I guess.

  Liam and I walk back outside, following the path.

  There’s a bench that overlooks the grounds with a bush surrounding back edge of it, pretty pink flowers filling it.

  “Sit?” I suggest to Liam.

  He nods.

  I take a seat on the bench. Liam sits beside me.

  “Those flowers are pretty,” I say to him.

  Liam glances back at them. “Peonies,” he tells me.

  “You a secret gardener?”

  He smiles. “My grandpa likes to garden.”

  He reaches back and plucks a flower from the bush. Then, he brushes my hair behind my ear and places the flower there.

  “Almost the same color as your hair,” he says softly, his fingers lingering on my face.

  I take his hand and kiss the tips of his fingers. “Thank you…for bringing me here.”

  His eyes stare into mine. “Boston…I told you…it’s important to you; it’s important to me.”

  And there it is again.

  My heart sings, and my head weeps.

  Letting his hand go, I pull my eyes from his and stare ahead.

  This is the place where my parents met and fell in love. It feels magical to me. But even more so because Liam is here, sitting beside me.