by Ellie Wade
Love takes the card from Quinn’s hand and skips her character piece over the colorful path until she reaches Queen Frostine’s spot.
“Make sure you ask her what she’s going to wear to King Kandy’s party,” I say to Love. “Oh, and ask her what her favorite candy is. Remember last time she said gummy bears, but that other time she said chocolate? See what she thinks today.”
“Okay!” Love grins and moves her character pawn in front of the queen. She starts talking rapidly under her breath.
“Sorry, Quinn. Love and the queen are besties. But you can go again if you want.” I nod toward the stack of cards.
Quinn picks up a card. “Well, seeing that I didn’t get to move, I’d hope so.” She looks at the card. “Oh, I got Gramma Nut.”
I hold out my hand, palm up.
“Really?” she snaps.
“Well, I have to ask her what she’s making for the king’s party because I don’t want to bring the same candy. That’d just be embarrassing.” I pucker my lips and raise my eyebrows.
Amos laughs, and Quinn smacks the card down in my hand.
Quinn picks up another card. “I got a red.” She looks around the table. “Does anyone own reds?”
“Nope,” I say cheerily. “That’s all you. Red is one of our least favorite colors.”
“Great,” Quinn mumbles and moves her pawn forward a space. “I don’t know if I like game night with the Harding girls.”
“What are you talking about?” I gasp in mock protest. “We throw a party at the end, and there will be candy.”
“Real candy?” Quinn squints, wearing a frown.
“Of course.” I smile sweetly.
“Fine,” Quinn mumbles.
The four of us move our playing pieces back and forth on the multicolored path, depending on which character we’re visiting while Lee-Anne catches up on her latest binge on Netflix. She’s enjoying watching a lifetime of shows that she missed out on as well. At least once a day, she tells me how incredible TV is.
Most days, I look around at my support system, and I feel so blessed. I’m so thankful to have my mother for the first time in my life. I’m grateful that Amos and I are still inseparable and that Quinn and I have stayed in touch after college. Love has so many people who adore her, and I couldn’t wish for anything more.
Eventually, all of us make it to King Kandy’s party at the end of the Candy Lane. Standing from the table, I grab the basket of treats from the top of the refrigerator and set it on the table.
“Your choice of sweets for the party,” I say.
Love stands up on the chair, leans over the table, and pulls a container of mini M&M’s from the basket. She loves all things miniature. I grab a bag of my trusty gummy worms.
Quinn holds up a package of seaweed crisps. “Why are these in here?”
“My mom.” I chuckle. “She’s always trying to trick us into eating her food.”
Quinn exchanges the seaweed for a Twix bar while Love and Amos negotiate some trades with her chocolate pieces and his gummy bears.
“Lovie, do you want to take the basket into Gigi to see if she’d like a movie snack?” I ask.
Love nods and bolts into the living room with the goody basket in hand.
Quinn takes a bite of her candy bar. “I think I’m going to have to eat my Twix and run. I have a presentation to do for the staff meeting on Monday, and you know how much technology hates me.”
Quinn has moved up in the fashion world over the past few years. She started as a personal shopper and glorified fitting room attendant, and now she’s the department store manager.
“No worries. I’m glad you could come over,” I say.
We chat for a few minutes before Quinn heads out. Amos helps me clear the table, and he starts loading the dishwasher. I wipe the counter with a rag. It’s littered with vegetable fragments from Lee-Anne’s kale smoothie preparation. The wall behind the blender is splattered with green.
“How’d you get stuff on the wall, Mom?” I call out but am met with no response. The TV is now blaring a song from Tangled, a new movie that we’ve recently added to our rotation. In all honesty, it’s my personal favorite princess movie to date. Love and I adore Max, the horse in the movie. “It’s like she didn’t even put the top on the blender,” I say to Amos.
“Some things never change.” He chuckles.
After the kitchen is presentable once more, I pick Love up from the sofa, despite her protests, and take her upstairs for a bath. After she’s squeaky clean, we brush teeth, get into our jammies, climb into Love’s bed, read books, and finally lie down. I hold her in the darkness as stars from her night-light dance on the ceiling.
“One more story, Momma.” she requests, her little voice soft and tired.
“Which one?”
“A Daddy one. Your Moana day,” she urges, referring to our wedding. Moana, another favorite Disney princess, lives on an island much like Hawaii, so I’m sure Love is picturing a scene straight from the movie.
“Okay, well, Daddy and I waited until Mommy was all finished with school to get married. When I graduated, Daddy was so happy, and he wanted to spend forever with Mommy. We were in love and didn’t want to wait to get married, so we flew to Hawaii.”
“You were pwincess?” Love asks.
“I was. I had a beautiful dress.”
“Daddy was pwince,” she adds. The fact that Leo and I were royalty is her favorite part of this story.
“He was. He was the most handsome prince in the whole world, and I was the happiest princess. We stood on the beach and promised to love each other forever and ever.”
“And then you swam in your dwess?”
I hug her tight. “I did, and it was magical.”
“I miss Daddy.” She repeats this sentiment often, and it breaks my heart. It’s so unfair that she didn’t even get a chance to know him.
“I do too, sweetie. Everyday. But he’s our angel, right? He’s always watching out for us and protecting us, and even though he can’t tell you himself—he loves you from Heaven. He loves you so much.”
“Okay.” She nods against my chest.
Her breaths even out as I continue to hold her against me. I run my fingers through her soft hair and close my eyes. I picture Leo in my mind. His hair, the exact shade as Love, and his eyes, too, a bright sky blue. Thanks to his precious mini in my arms, I’ll never forget his hair, eyes, or smile. I know it’s crazy, but I swear she’s starting to laugh like him.
I imagine a time that Leo and I were together, and I go over every detail in my mind—what he looked like, smelled like, felt like, and what he said, how he sounded, all of it. I think of as many details as possible, and then I hold on to them as tightly as I can.
After Leo’s death, every detail was so clear, so real that I felt like I was there, with him, at that moment. Yet now, it’s getting more difficult to see the details. The image is blurry, and it’s like my senses are blocked. I can no longer imagine the little things like the smell of his cologne or the feeling of his skin as he held my hand in his. Now, instead of remembering what it was like to be at that moment with him, it’s as if I’m looking at a picture of us. And the photo isn’t clear.
I don’t want to forget a second of my life with Leo, yet I am a little more each day. Maybe when they say that time heals, they mean that time forces one to forget. Staring at a muted photo of my husband doesn’t hurt as much as feeling him around me. At the same time, it’s much more painful because the knowledge that I’m losing him all over again is more than I can bear. The universe stole his body and soul from me, and now it’s pulling away my memories.
Stay with me.
Please.
Stay with me.
10
Amos
Lee-Anne and I finished watching Love’s Rapunzel movie. I don’t know why we didn’t turn to something else after Alma took Love up to bed. I think it was part laziness and, quite honestly, mostly due to the fact that it’s a good mo
vie. Granted, it’s Love’s new obsession, so I haven’t yet watched it a hundred times like I have the others. But it’s enjoyable enough that two grown adults kept watching long after the three-year-old of the house had gone to bed.
As the ending credits rolled, Lee-Anne said her goodbye for the evening and left for her condo. I offered to drive her, but she insisted on walking the few blocks home, if that is what one would call it. She’s only ever there to sleep. Most nights, Alma suggests her mom take one of the guest bedrooms here, but Lee-Anne always insists on sleeping at her place.
I suppose I’m only ever at my place to sleep, as well. To know Alma is to love her, and I want to be with her all of the time. Now that Lee-Anne is finally in a place where she can have a relationship with her daughter and granddaughter, she probably never wants to leave, either.
Alma has been upstairs for a while, which usually means she’s fallen asleep, and on those nights, I see myself out. Given the fact that it’s still relatively early for a Saturday night, I wait for a bit.
The Detroit Tiger’s baseball game is finishing up when Alma emerges from the second level.
“Hey,” she whispers, clearing her throat. “Sorry. You didn’t have to wait.”
She rubs her face, and her eyes are a little puffy.
“I don’t mind. Lee-Anne and I had to finish Tangled, and I wanted to watch the end of this game, anyway.”
“You did not finish watching that cartoon with my mother?” Alma laughs.
I shrug. “I know. It’s a little pathetic, but it was good.”
“It is? Right?” She disappears into the kitchen. “I’m grabbing some water. Do you want anything?”
“A water would be great. Thanks.”
She returns, setting two waters down on the end table before plopping down beside me. “If you think we’re watching baseball, you are sadly mistaken.”
“I know.” I grin. “I was just watching it while you were upstairs. Shall we continue with your dreamy vampires?” I reach for the remote.
“Yes, please.”
I scroll through Netflix to find the episode that we left off on.
“Do you think Quinn is happy?” Alma asks.
“Yeah, don’t you?”
To be fair, I don’t spend much time analyzing Quinn. I would consider Quinn a friend but only through Alma. I’ve only texted or called her in the past seven years if I needed something for Alma. I wouldn’t say that I regret my time with Quinn freshman year, but I know now that my decisions regarding her were fueled by unsettled feelings for Alma, and admittedly, jealousy.
Alma turns toward me. “I don’t know. She’s been difficult to read lately. I mean, she ended things with Beau after dating for over a year. At one point, I thought she would marry him. And she didn’t go into details about the breakup either. It was all very vague. She’s spending her Saturday with us playing Candy Land instead of going to a club with her other single friends. Then she went home to work. It’s just different for her. Don’t you think?”
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” I say, tucking a loose strand of hair that’s fallen from Alma’s ponytail behind her ear. “She’s still in her twenties. This is the decade when we all figure everything out. She’s probably just transitioning from who she was to who she wants to be. Everyone changes from the person they were in college.”
“You’re probably right,” Alma says, satisfied. “Though you haven’t changed much since college. I don’t think I have either, really, if you don’t count the fact that I’m a widowed mother.”
“We haven’t changed because we’re old souls. You and I have always known who we were and who we wanted to be.”
“That’s true,” she agrees. “How’d you get so smart?”
“I guess I was just born this way,” I tease.
“Me too.” she turns back toward the TV and leans into me.
I wrap my arm around her shoulder and click the remote, turning on her show.
We sit facing forward, but I can’t concentrate on the episode. My senses have a sole focus. Alma. My side burns beneath my shirt as her body leans against me. When I inhale, I smell the sweetness of her shampoo. My heart beats a needy rhythm within my chest as the blood races through my veins. I work to steady my breathing, but everything about her is intoxicating.
I’ve always felt that she was my soul mate, my other half. And for years, every time I’ve had the overwhelming urge to kiss her, I focus on the invisible barrier between us. It’s there for a reason, and there’s always a reason. Or at least I thought they were valid explanations as to why a friendship was all we could have. I’m done with excuses and baseless logic. We’re single. We’re adults. And I love her. I don’t want to live the rest of our lives with this barrier between us when I know that what lies beyond it is breathtaking.
I pause the show. “Alma?”
“Yeah?” she twists to face me.
Everything that I’ve been wanting to say to her eludes me, and I’m left speechless. Years of fear over losing her, and the closeness we share, paralyzes me.
What if she’s not ready?
What if she doesn’t feel the same as I do, and I jeopardize everything?
I can’t lose her.
I move my head from side to side. “It’s nothing.”
She reaches toward me and grasps my face in her hands. “What is it? You can tell me.” Genuine concern lines her expression, and I want to say so many things.
My heart pounds in my chest, and I can feel the thrumming through my body. The beats echo in my ears.
She holds my gaze in hers. “You know you can tell me anything,” she says, leaning her forehead against mine.
In this space of shared breaths, desire overrules concern, and on instinct, I move closer until my lips are on hers. The kiss is hesitant and soft. It’s short, just one peck, but the contact sends a jolt through me. I pull away slightly, my lips a vibration from hers, and wait. There are no words spoken as her hands remain on my face.
The air between us is heavy and charged. I press my lips against hers once again, this time with more resolve. The kiss deepens as my hands circle around her back, pulling her closer. I lick against her lips, requesting entry, and her mouth parts ever so slightly, allowing me access. She releases a slight whimper as my tongue enters her mouth. The kiss is everything I knew it would be and so much more. It’s utter perfection.
A weight lifts off my chest as our lips move together, our tongues entwined in a dance they were destined for. I’m happier than I’ve ever been…and then I feel it, the moisture on my skin as the warm tears roll down her cheeks. I pull away, and my chest aches when I see the pain on her face. I feel sick when I realize it. She doesn’t feel the same.
She drops her hands and presses her fingers against her trembling lips as the tears fall faster. There’s so much regret and sorrow on her face. It’s palpable, creating a bubble of thick air pregnant with grief around us.
Her name is on the tip of my tongue.
She shakes her head, dropping her hand. “I can’t,” she says through a sob. “I can’t forget. I’m sorry. I’m so…” She swallows hard “Sorry.” She chokes out before jolting up from the sofa and running up the stairs toward her bedroom.
Elbows on my knees, I clutch my hands together and press my forehead against my fist.
What did I just do?
11
Alma
I can still feel his kiss. I hold my fingers against my lips, willing the sensation of his mouth on mine to vanish. It’s too much.
Leo was my first—everything. He’s the only man to ever touch me, to kiss me.
Until now.
I can never again say he’s my one and only, and that reality hurts. Heartache pours from me as wet tears course down my face.
I lie in my giant bed. I’ve rarely slept here since Leo’s death. It’s too hard. The bed feels empty without him beside me. The vast, hollow space threatens to pull me down into an abyss of solitude that I’ll nev
er escape. Leo stares at me from the bedside table. The two of us smiling on our wedding day. Within the walls of the frame, we’re safe, happy, and have our whole lives before us. At that moment in time, I could’ve never imagined the path I was destined for.
The thing is, I know, with every fiber of my being, that Leo wouldn’t want me to walk through this life alone. He’s never coming back, and he would want me to move on. I should move on. It’s been almost four years. I need to move on. But I simply can’t. I still love him too much. Betrayal emits from my pores, and shame holds me hostage. I feel like I cheated on Leo.
I kissed another.
I kissed Amos.
Yes, Amos initiated the kiss, but I didn’t stop it. I should have. The truth is, there’s a small part in me that wanted it, if only to see how it would be. I admit I’ve been curious throughout my life. Amos is absolutely beautiful, inside and out, and I’ve loved him as long as I can remember. If he wasn’t my sole companion and only real family growing up, we might have dated when we were younger. Yet he was always too important to risk. Growing up, if my attraction for him surfaced, I’d push it down. Always.
I never wanted to jeopardize what we had. Amos, and our relationship, saved me in every way possible. Everything I am today is because of him. Everything I’ve accomplished is because he believed in me. I was never afraid of falling because I knew he’d catch me. His love and devotion gave me a life outside what was intended.
I’m eternally grateful for Amos, and I love him beyond measure. Even still, though, my heart belongs to Leo. I don’t know how to get past that. In another life, Amos could’ve been my other half, but in this one, it’ll always be Leo.
It’s true that I’m young and I should move on, but what’s true and what’s possible isn’t up to me. Some things just are.
I hug Leo’s pillow to me. It’s long lost all scents of him. There are few physical signs of him left anymore. All I have are my memories, and they’re fading. Closing my eyes, I picture our wedding, our first Christmas, Leo’s graduation, Mackinaw Island when he proposed, and the day we got the keys to Lion’s Lair. I play the highlights of our life on a reel and picture every detail I can. I recall what he was wearing, how he felt, how he smelled, and what he said. I remember everything I can and then I imagine it again and again and again.