by Aly Martinez
Am I right?
You should probably put her out of her misery and give her the last two pages. That’s her real letter. And tell her I love her. TONS. And TONS. And like fourteen more than that.
Don’t question it. Just do it!
A laugh bubbled from my throat. I shouldn’t have been surprised that Mia had manipulated us from the grave. She was a nut.
Liv tipped her head in question as she studied me warily. “You okay?”
“Um…she says she loves you tons. And tons. And like fourteen more than that.”
Her chin began to quiver as I peeled the back two pages off and handed them her way.
“That’s your letter.”
Snatching them from my hands, she yelled, “Turn around!”
“What? Why?”
“Turn around!” she screeched so loud that I decided right then and there that even going deaf had its perks.
As I turned away, she didn’t delay in burying her forehead between my shoulder blades. She didn’t wrap her arms around my stomach, but I suspected that was only because they were holding Mia’s final words in front of her eyes.
Good words.
Happy words.
Not jealous at all.
I blew out a relieved breath, and as Liv start giggling behind me, I decided to go back to reading.
First off, I need to apologize.
I’m sure you had to put on a suit and sit through some dreadfully boring funeral. My bad. I really wanted something a little more “lively,” but Mom nixed it, complaining that a DJ would be tacky. Whatever. Besides, I figure, if I let her plan my funeral, it will at least give her a distraction for a few days. It’s the least I could do since I croaked and all. Anyway, I hope it didn’t suck too much.
Now, on to the hard stuff. I’m guessing that you’re still mad at me for not telling you about Tommy the tumor. (Yes, I named him. Zip it.) But, if you’re here expecting an apology, I don’t have one for you.
Wait! Wait! Wait! Don’t start shredding shit yet. I do have an explanation.
It’s best if I start at the beginning.
(Imagine I’m dramatically clearing my throat right now.)
The day the doctors found that asshole Tommy in my brain was the most surreal day of my life.
I went from happy and healthy to dying in just one visit to the doctor.
My mom cried as he rattled off statistics about the typical life expectancy for someone like me, but with every number, I only got more and more pissed.
I didn’t want to know that shit. Months. Weeks. Days. Why? So I could waste the rest of my life marking days off the calendar?
That’s not living, Quarry.
That’s waiting to die.
I typed out no less than seventy-five texts to you on my way home that day, but in the end, the only one I actually sent said “I love you.” You know what you replied? “Love you too. Whatcha cooking me for dinner? I’m starved.”
I was dying…and you wanted me to cook dinner. I laughed until I couldn’t see the words through my tears. It was the first time I’d smiled since I had been given my life sentence—and the exact moment when I decided not to tell you or Liv the truth.
Fine. I have a brain tumor. But why does that get to dictate how my life ends? Why did I have to spend an entire afternoon holding my grief-stricken parents’ hands when we could have been making jokes over a greasy burger that I no longer had to worry would make me fat? I mean, who wants to live like that? Where everyone around you cries all the time and treats you like you’re made of glass. Definitely not me. I wanted to live the fun life I’d made with the people I loved while I still had it.
You might remember the feast of lasagna, salad, cheesy, garlic bread, and banana pudding I made you that night. But what I remember is the peace I felt while you sat on the counter trying to throw lettuce into my hair when you thought I wasn’t looking. I remember the rush of excitement that morphed into a fit of laughter when you threw me over your shoulder and spun around after you got caught mid-toss. And I remember the overwhelming sense of contentment that washed over me right before I fell asleep securely tucked into your side on the couch.
That night, and however many nights I got after it, I wasn’t waiting to die, Quarry. I won’t apologize for that.
I am sorry I couldn’t stay with you forever though.
I love you, Quarry Page. And I know you loved me too. But, if you’re reading this, I’m past tense. You can’t be afraid to move on.
Live, Q!
Love.
In the present!
Go!
Like, right now!
Put this letter down.
And live.
I know I did.
Thank you for an amazing life,
Mia
P.S. It’s safe to exhale now.
My breath left my burning lungs on the rush of a laugh. God, Mia. In all the times I’d imagined the words on those pages, I’d never once considered how I’d feel after having read them. The relief was just as surprising as it was exhilarating. Her note didn’t really say anything I didn’t know, but it still freed me. The last memory I had of Mia alive was her connected to a slew of wires and machines at the hospital. And the one before that, she was seizing in the front seat of my car. But, in that letter, she wasn’t broken and helpless. She was laughing and cracking jokes. Which was exactly how I wanted to remember her.
Two arms folded around my waist. “You still okay?”
“Yeah, Rocky, I’m good. You feeling any better?” I asked, tilting my head to wipe a stray tear away with my shoulder.
“Much,” she replied, squeezing me tight. “I’m getting a tattoo!” she announced. “Right now. Tonight.”
I dropped my chin to my chest and sighed. Fucking, Mia. Somehow, in only two pages, she’d convinced our little Miss Preppy to get inked.
“I wouldn’t mind starting on my sleeves,” I said, glancing over my shoulder.
Moisture was flowing from her eyes, but a wide smile split her mouth. “Thank you. I know you didn’t exactly want to be here, but I needed that.”
I grinned because, deep down, I knew I’d needed it more. Instead of admitting that, I said, “Come on. Let’s get that virgin skin some ink.” I paused, shoving my letter into my back pocket. Quirking an eyebrow, I said, “You tell your dad I took you to get a tattoo, I’m kicking you out.”
She hiccoughed a laugh, drying her eyes on the back of her sleeve. “I’ll blame it on Mia. He can’t be mad at her, now can he?”
“I’m sure she’d be willing to accept the blame even if he could.” I laughed.
With quick goodbyes and promises of returning for dinner, Liv and I left.
Three hours later, we headed home newly inked.
Alone—together.
Three years later…
“LIV!” GWEN YELLED AS I exited my classroom at the community center.
I made my way toward her desk. “Would you stop yelling? You’re making the sign language students wish they were deaf. No one wants to hear you shouting all the time.”
“It’s not all the time! Only when I need you. If you have such a problem with it, maybe you could talk to that rich boss of yours and see if he’ll fund getting the intercoms fixed.”
I rolled my eyes. She wasn’t talking about Melvin, the man who ran the local community center where I ran the American Sign Language program. She was talking about my other boss. The one who more than likely wouldn’t bat an eye at buying a new intercom system. I, however, refused to ask him for anything else after he’d paid for all new desks and books not even six weeks ago.
“Nope. No way,” I replied.
“Fine. Then learn to deal with me yelling.” She shrugged. “Anyway, the new volunteer is waiting up front.”
Folding my hands together in a prayer, I pleaded, “Tell me he’s better than the last fifteen people I’ve seen.”
“Can he really be any worse than the lady who brought her parrot to the interview?”
“God, I hope not. Who would have thought it would be this difficult to find some decent help?”
“Uh…” she drawled. “It’s a free assistant position. Who would have thought anyone would want that job?”
“Well, let’s just pray this guy does. He’s my absolute last chance of hiring someone and getting them trained before I leave next week.”
“Okay. I’ll have a chat with the big guy upstairs. And you hurry up before he gets sick of waiting and decides to find a real job.”
Smoothing my dress down, I sent up my own prayer. Please, please, please let this guy work. “Give me a minute. I need to grab my phone so I can give him some dates.”
“I’ll put him in the after-school room.” She closed her eyes, dramatically craned her head back, and began loudly praying to the ceiling.
“Thanks,” I laughed, snagging the papers from my inbox on the corner of her desk.
While flipping through the various announcements and memos, I wandered back to my classroom just in time to hear my phone chirping in my purse.
When I picked it up and saw the two names I’d been added into a group message with, I knew it wasn’t going to be good. It chirped repeatedly as message after message popped up on my screen.
Quarry: Fuck face?
Quarry: Limp dick?
Flint: How old are you again?
Quarry: Old enough to know that if I can wipe my ass with a hundred dollar bill, I can damn sure dress myself too.
Flint: As your agent, you’d have to pay me 30% before you even found a shitter.
Quarry: Good point. You’re fired.
Flint: Oh please, I’m not that lucky.
Me: What the hell are you two blowing up my phone for now?
Flint: Thank God! The voice of reason! Tell him he has to wear a tux tonight.
Quarry: She’s not telling me shit. She’s gonna tell you that I can wear whatever the hell I want.
Flint: Liv?
Me: Please hold. I need to catch up on all 78 messages I missed while I was…ya know…WORKING!
I quickly scrolled up to find that this argument had started when Quarry had asked if Flint or I would drop off the red Chucks he’d left in his locker at the gym. He wanted to wear them to the On The Ropes Youth Boxing Fundraising Gala we were attending that night. This had resulted in Flint’s telling him that he had to wear a tux. Which had led to Quarry’s refusal. Which had led to Flint’s insulting him for his lack of professionalism. Which had led to Quarry’s rattling off his vast knowledge of curse words in search of just the right one to accurately describe his brother. It had apparently been going on for over an hour. I hadn’t heard Quarry refer to anyone as a unicorn dildo in a while, so I was almost sad to have missed all the action.
But not really.
Me: Okay. All caught up.
Quarry: So tell him.
Me: You don’t have to wear a tux.
Quarry: BOOM! Forget about bringing my Chucks. I’m about to drive over to your house just to rub this shit in your face.
Me: Not so fast. You don’t have to wear a tux, but you do have to wear a suit. I hung a new Armani in your closet this morning.
Quarry: Fuck. That.
Flint: Oh look! The great and powerful Oz agrees with me. How’d that go again, Q? Boom? LOL!
Quarry replied with a picture of Flint taking a hard right to the chin back in his boxing days.
Me: You two need to grow up. Q, wear the damn suit. No tie and with your black Chucks. You can take the jacket off after we get there. BOOM! I win. Now, leave me alone. I have to finish up here so I can go get my hair done.
Flint: Thanks, Liv.
Me: No prob. Later.
Quarry: I just cut you out of my will.
Me: I’ll survive off the money I’ve been swindling out of your bank account.
Quarry: Ha. Ha. Ha. So funny.
Me: Who’s kidding? My heels aren’t cheap, and you pay shit.
Quarry: And here we go again. You aren’t getting a raise!
Flint: He can’t afford a raise. I went up 2% last month.
Me: 2% for Flint is my entire salary! What the hell?
Quarry: No hablo Inglés.
Me: No seas un cabrón tacaño y dame el maldito aumento!
Flint: Runs to Google Translate.
Quarry: Waste of time. They don’t do all the cuss words. I tried.
Me: Fine. No raise. But you should know, it’s your month to pay our water bill. I will be taking approximately 427 baths, washing 333 loads of laundry, and flushing the toilet 8422 times. I have a weak bladder. Sucks for you!
Flint: You’re going to bathe over twenty three times a day?
Me: If I have to!
Flint: While doing eleven loads of laundry?
Me: Hey, don’t doubt my commitment. I’m all about sticking it to The Man.
Quarry: Good to know we at least have transparency in the workplace. But, as The Man, I’m curious how you’re going to manage to pee 280 times a day.
Me: Oh, I forgot to mention I’ll also be drinking 1298 oz of water. Cha-ching! You sure you don’t want to just give me the money and save us all the trouble?
Quarry: Nah. This sounds like more fun. See you tonight.
Me: Later, Q
Quarry: Later, Rocky.
Shaking my head, I hurried toward the after-school room, continuously praying that this guy had actually read the help wanted ad all the other people I’d interviewed had seemed to struggle with.
“Sorry I’m late!” I said as I entered the room.
A tall, older man with salt-and-pepper hair and blue eyes greeted me with a warm smile. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, pushing to his feet and extending his hand in my direction. “I’m Don Blake. I’m here about the assistant position.”
After returning his shake, I lifted my hands and signed, Nice to meet you too. I’m Liv James.
His smile grew as his hands fluidly replied, Nice to meet you too. I believe we spoke on the phone earlier.
“Oh thank God!” I rushed a relieved breath. “You actually know how to sign.”
He tipped his head in amusement. “I figured that would be a requirement to assist the director of the ASL program.”
“You would be amazed! I had a guy come in earlier and the only sign language he knew was a song he learned at church when he was eight.”
He narrowed his eyes in question as he settled back into the chair, signing, Jesus loves me. This I know. For the Bible tells me so?
“Yes! That one!”
He let out a deep laugh then signed as he spoke. “Wow. I didn’t know my competition would be so steep. Should I just leave now?”
And he was fluent! Maybe that first guy hadn’t been wrong. Jesus really did love me.
“You’re hired!” I yelled. “And, when I say hired, I mean, I’ll be working you to the bone for free. I do, however, bring Starbucks every day. Oh, and baked goods on the days my roommate doesn’t demolish them. So there will be perks.”
“Now there’s no way I could turn down an offer like that,” he teased with a grin.
“You have no idea how excited I am right now. I’ve spent weeks trying to find an assistant who could help out on the nights I can’t be here. I adore teaching, but with my other job, I just can’t keep up with all the tutoring and grading. Plus, I travel a lot, so I need someone who could cover some group exercises on the nights I’m away.”
“I should be able to handle that without a problem. What do you do for your other job?”
I swayed my head from side to side in consideration. “I’m an assistant.”
He chuckled. “So you need an assistant so you can be an assistant to someone else?”
“Pretty much.” I shrugged. “My best friend is a hearing-impaired professional boxer. What started out as translating for him during post-fight interviews as a favor quickly turned into a full-time job. Now, I’m his translator, personal assistant, chef, maid, stylist, and, most recently, acting refe
ree when he gets into arguments with his brothers. That alone could be a full-time job.”
“Wow. You sound busy.”
“You could definitely say that, but I love it. I’ve been doing most of those things for the last four years anyway. At least, now, he pays me. It’s fun too. Quarry and I have been friends forever, so it’s more like just hanging out than really working.”
He leaned in close. “Wait. Quarry Page?”
“That would be him. Are you a boxing fan?”
“Absolutely! I’ve lived in Indy all my life. I remember seeing his older brother fight back in the day.”
“Oh cool. Yeah, Till’s retired now. He still trains Quarry and some of the other kids at the gym now.”
“This is incredible. I can’t wait to tell the friends I’m the volunteer assistant to Quarry Page’s paid assistant.” He smiled teasingly, but I could see the genuine excitement sparkling in his eyes.
It always made me laugh when people thought of Quarry as famous. I mean, I knew he technically was, but to me, he’d always be that boy I’d met in a back alley all those years earlier. Sure, he was loaded now, but our lives hadn’t changed all that much since his career had taken off.
Thanks to fights and a few big endorsement deals, Quarry was worth millions, but it’s not like he was out blowing money all over town. Yes, he had a mild obsession with expensive sports cars, but that was about the extent of his frivolousness. We still lived in the same apartment we had since I’d first moved in.
There was a brief period about two years earlier when he started house shopping. We must have looked at over a hundred.
Big houses.
Small houses.
Expensive houses.
Starter homes.
Mansions.
Condos.
And everything in between.
Quarry was too picky though. I had fallen in love with one, but no matter how nice the place, he’d managed to find something wrong with it. Till had even set him up with the architect who’d designed his and Eliza’s house, but Quarry had hated everything she had come up with.
Eventually, he had given up and decided to buy a huge TV and new furniture for our apartment.
I hadn’t complained because…well, I hadn’t wanted him to move out. I loved living together. He’d also let me pick the furniture out. Win-win.