She begins chewing the left corner of her lower lip, her signature tell of worry. She hasn’t asked the question of how long I have. Although avoiding asking isn’t going to change the answer. Pausing before she breaks skin and makes her lip bleed, Desi shoots her eyes to meet mine. “When are you leaving?”
“Friday,” I say standing to go to the kitchen. I need a beer. With a shorty microbrew to my lips, I stare into the mostly empty fridge. “Want anything?” She doesn’t answer. “Dez?”
The tumblers must have just fallen into place. “Friday!?! I can’t clear my schedule by Friday! How can you be so casual standing there grazing for food?”
Lifting my brow as my eyes stretch wide with faux innocence. “I’m hungry?” My answer seems to piss her off more. I admit, I find it kind of funny. She’s so damn cute, getting all puffy red with irritation. “Look, I’ve had time to assimilate this,” I say, trying to be as glib as possible with a passive shrug. Deflecting her narrow eyes, I turn back to the fridge and pull out a take-out box that I can’t remember when I put it there. Yeah, kinda scary, so I toss it.
Desi walks up to me, cell phone in hand and starts talking. “Hey Maracella, it’s Desi. I need to clear my schedule for the next few weeks.” With a hand covering her phone, she nudges me with her elbow. “How long are we going to be gone?” she asks me with a fierce glare.
I straighten my stance from the fridge as if someone shoved ice down my shirt. “You’re not coming with me.”
“The hell I’m not!” she yells, not bothering to cover the phone this time. “Maracella, let me call you back. Uh…I don’t know if I’m going to make it tonight. Let me call you back.”
As soon as she hangs up, she throws her phone at the couch and stomps over, spinning me around. Dragging me away from the fridge, she squeezes my shoulders. “I’m going. I’m not going to let you go through this alone anymore. I can’t believe you shut me out. You’re my best friend, and we don’t do that to each other. Ever! We support each other, no matter what.”
I want her to go. I really, really want her there, but she has a life and commitments here. The separation already feels present. I pull her in for a hug, inhaling cinnamon. “You have responsibilities and obligations here. You’re just starting your career. A model only has a few good years and right now, it’s your time. You have to establish yourself so that you can have a long acting career or something stable in fashion. And you need to keep up with school. You can’t do any of that from Wisconsin. You can’t stop living now or after I’m gone.”
After I’m gone. The words hang in the air, mud-thick and almost palpable. Like a poison, they affect her physically. Taking a few steps back, she doubles over, clutching her midsection as tears stream freely down her face. Like a rock dropped in the ocean, she falls to her hands and knees, heaving each breath. I kneel next to her, rubbing her back in soft circles, trying to ease her distress. Her body shudders under my touch as she gasps for air. “It’s not fair,” she sobs. “You can’t…” her voice trails off. “There has to be something...” It’s the most beautiful ugly cry I’ve ever seen. “Y-y-you can’t leave me. I n-need you!”
“Shhh…there’s not. It’s going to happen, and I need you to be strong. I can’t be away thinking of you like this. I have to know you’ll be a successful actress or fashion designer or model. That you’ll mention me in your Emmy acceptance speech looking beautiful in some fancy-smancy designer gown.” A walnut-sized lump forms in my throat. I try to choke it down. “I need to know you’ll find love—” I take a deep breath though my heart is shredding, “—get married, and name a child after me. Desdemona Marie St. Clair, I love you. Will you do those things for me?”
Desi leaps into my arms, squeezing the oxygen from me. I return her embrace and share her tears. I realize I haven’t cried at all since I found out. I thought of it as self-pity, though now I’m drowning, dissolving in Desi’s arms. I’m not crying because I’m dying, I’m crying because I’m going to be leaving her. Her sobs rock me ferociously. I grip her tighter as she fists my shirt at my back.
Through her matted dark lashes, she looks up at me. “Do you really love me?”
I’m taken aback by her question. The manner of her expression and delivered tone seem to mean more than just the base of the simplistic question. I wipe the streaks of mascara from her pink cheeks. “Of course I…”
Desi severs through my thought, palms my face, and kisses my lips. I’ve played this scenario a bazillion times in my head, knowing it’s an impossibility.
Wait. What? Is this happening?
I push away, with my head spinning and sit back on my heels. I am beyond stunned. My eyes expand more and too much light fills them. I feel blinded by it, but I can’t blink. If I do, I might wake up from this dream.
“Oh God! I’m sorry,” she murmurs through her fingers. “I just thought…oh God, I’m so stupid.” She reaches her hands toward me, but retracts them in balled fists before touching me. “Reggie, please. Let’s just forget that happened.”
I’m blinking now, rapidly, as a matter of fact. “What just happened?”
“Reggie, I’m sorry! It’s just, when you said you loved me, I thought you meant…and with you…I thought I’d have more time.” She speaks in frantic, broken sentences. “I just needed that. I wanted you to know.”
There’s still too much light in this room and the wood floor is cutting into my knees, but I don’t move. I’m barely breathing. “Wanted me to know what?” Is she saying what I think she’s saying?
Falling back on her butt, Desi buries her face in her hands. When she finally looks up, her face is soaked with tears that streak through her perfect makeup. She’s a mess, but I see past it. The tiny freckles that I’ve memorized peek out under smears of mascara. Her waterlogged green eyes gleam, and she tortures me as she chews her lower lip again gauging her words. She takes a deep breath and deflates with the exhale. “That I love you. I’m in love with you.”
Gravity takes a hold of my blood. I can’t feel my limbs. My ass hits the floor; fast. Her words literally knock me down.
LAST NIGHT, SHE FLOORED ME. I remained silently seated on the floor as she abruptly got up and went to her room. When she reappeared, she looked lovely in a deep blue cocktail dress, but I still could not find speech. Ill-prepared to move from the floor, I watched her get ready to leave, the struggle still very apparent in her glistening eyes.
“I have to go to this party tonight. The financial backers for the movie will be there, and the director wants me to convince some up-and-coming actor to take the lead role,” she mumbled over her shoulder, then left.
Minutes of confused silence turned into an hour. The love of my life had told me she was in love with me. The thought repeated relentlessly as I stared at the door as if she’d reappear. Memories from a lifetime of her dates flipped through my mind. Her relationships seemed superficial, but I figured the green-eyed monster was taunting me. I thought back to how none of Desi’s relationships over the last few years went beyond a few dates. There was one guy; I hated him and to this day, I can’t even remember his name.
Recollections of little glances, silly shy smiles, pulling her hair to the side—all now can be deemed as her way of flirting with me. I can’t believe I missed every single one of them.
My legs ached because of how I was sitting, but really my whole body ached. It wasn’t the meds or anything to do with being sick. A Mac truck could have run me over and that would have felt better. I didn’t tell her. I didn’t verbally reciprocate her love even though I did love her with everything that I am. My immediate reaction would have been selfish, though. Tell her and live the next few months happier than I’ve ever been, only to disappear, leaving her to mourn our love. Could I do that to her? Or do I not tell her, and leave her unrequited? Allow her to find someone else to live a long, happy, loving life with? If she hated me for not returning her love, I’d die emotionally before I died physically. All I know is when I’m not with her, i
t’s like I don’t exist and nothing matters anyway. It’s a lose-lose situation from my end. I wondered if it was the same for her.
Being torn with indecision felt like panicking in quicksand. Rather than stay on my knees wallowing in it, I slowly picked myself off the floor. My fatigued gaze roved over to her luggage strewn next to the door. We always disagreed about her method of returning home, but in frustration’s place was surrender, and I took them back to her room.
No answer came to me in doing the small favor. In fact, it made the decision harder. From the unzipped side pocket of her carry-on, I recognized the cream-colored paper with a red bow. She always brought something back for me from her travels wrapped the same way. I bit down hard on my lip, because that was another sign I missed. I glared at it for a while but did not remove it, only zipped up the pocket, leaving it up to her to present…or not.
Back in my room, the space felt unfamiliar. For the first time since freshman year, I felt like a stranger in my own surroundings. The sense of home ceased to exist like an awaiting echo that was no longer heard.
Visualizing Liszt’s La Campanella as I tried to fight the nausea from my meds, I laid awake with my eyes closed. The rush I got from playing the piano concerto always helped me focus. Its quick tempo and fevered passion swept me into my fantasy of playing at Carnegie. Regardless of the distraction, I heard her enter the apartment. A creak of the door jamb alerted me to my door opening, yet I did not open my eyes to greet her. I was shredded and exhausted from the enormity of everything, and to be honest, filled with apprehensiveness.
The edge of the bed dipped with her weight, but my body was stone. I bet money the downstairs neighbors could hear my heart slamming against my ribs.
“I know you’re not sleeping. I can tell by the way you’re breathing,” she said quietly.
I had made my decision to not tell her. Perhaps this Canadian specialist’s treatment would work. Whether it did or not, that’s when I would tell her. Or maybe not. Either way, I was a chicken and remained cemented in place.
When I heard her leave, I rolled over to see she had left the package. The red velvet ribbon felt softer to my touch than ever before as the pad of my finger caressed the fabric. My eyes shot toward the door when I heard a faucet turn on. Carefully, I tugged the bow and unwrapped the cream-colored paper. Under the delicate tissue paper lay a silver bangle bracelet with an elegant inscription.
“My heart is yours forever. Love always, your Desi.”
Blankets cast off, my feet could not take me to her faster. When I busted into her room, I found her leaning against the basin in her bathroom with a startled expression. I swept her up in my arms and kissed her with all the love I had built up over the years.
Meh, so much for my plan.
DESI WAS IN MY ARMs when sleep finally came last night, but she is gone before the streaming morning sun wakes me. My pillow holds her scent, so I pull it closer to me and squeeze. A note falls on my cheek.
“Class and then errands. Dinner tonight at Dino’s?”
I smile and send her a text with an all caps, “YES!”
I drop my phone on my stomach and look around my room, contemplating what I need to do today. It’s difficult as Desi’s soft lips and her grip around my waist play in my mind, bombarding any stray thoughts of to-dos. We didn’t round any bases last night; we were close, yet both so emotionally spent. Instead, we kissed and nuzzled until we could not keep our eyes open any longer. It was like we were kids again, except we were kissing.
Shooting straight up, a thought slaps away the bliss. Oh my God! I was kissing Desi last night! And she told me she loved me. Shit! I didn’t say it back. Grabbing my phone, I blaze out a text to her with a goofy grin stretching my lips.
I crinkle my nose as I type, and my heart gurgles. “I love you, I love you, I love you!”
Saying it via text for the first time doesn’t do it justice and insultingly lacks the power behind the emotion. Last night should have communicated my feelings, but tonight, I decide, I’m going to blow her mind and show her how much I love her.
That thought in place, I look at my room again and wet raspberry out my frustration. When you’re packing up your life with the possibility of no longer living, what do you fill your suitcase with? It’s a struggle deciding what to bring other than clothes, some sheet music, my Tygenn violin, and some toiletries. My cello, guitar, and most of my clothes are already back home. I shipped them a few weeks ago. After only an hour, I rubberneck around my room to ensure I have everything. To my dismay, the room looks like an untouched guestroom. Well, that’s just depressing.
In the living room, the sleeved blanket Desi got me for Christmas is waiting. I curl up on the couch in it with a cup of tea and flip through the pages of her meticulously organized photo album. The gushing, warm sensation of tears strains my eyes. Each photo is a memento of the life we’ve had together. Us in pigtails on the first day of school, the summer she taught me how to drive, and how to get out of my first ticket on the same day. Our spring break road trip to North Carolina, where I learned how much of a lightweight I am when it comes to hard liquor. The massive snowball fight at the fountain our first winter here and the Halloween party where we dressed up in an Alice in Wonderland theme. Desi was the sexy Queen of Hearts, and I was the White Rabbit. She helped me find the perfect thigh-high white boots and white fishnet stockings for my costume. We looked fabulous and won Best Themed Costume at The Commons Bar and Grill. It was a great night.
With a sigh clinging to nostalgia, I carefully pull a few choice pictures of Desi and me out of the album and place them in a sturdy envelope. I will need those seasonal memories to hold me over till I get to see her again. Although I was disappointed when she told me last night, I knew her schedule could not be cleared in time, and she will not be traveling home with me.
My phone buzzes on the coffee table. “Across town. Meet me there at 5 pm. Love you!”
There is no audience to see how my face flames at the context of her text as I dance around the empty apartment.
“I love you always.” No limited shorthanded text could encompass what I want to tell her. We have all night, and she is seeing me off at the airport tomorrow. That gurgling, gushy feeling rushes through me again. The strain in my eyes almost hurts, but I’m smiling all the same. I haven’t really stopped smiling.
ITALIAN SPICES WAFT FROM THE entrance of our favorite restaurant, Dino’s, as I walk in. I pick at the red ribbon wrapped around the multicolored roses I chose, making sure they look perfect. The familiarity of the hole-in-the-wall we found so many months ago seems revitalized with new colors and a buzzy hum. Taking it all in, I look around and realize nothing has changed. Same lighting, same red and white checkered tablecloths with Plexiglas protective squares. Servers smile with recognition, and even regular patrons nod in greeting. Thursday nights are usually pretty slow for most restaurants, but not Dino’s. I’m not surprised to find Desi’s name already on the seating list and find my girl’s lovely, curly locks waiting for me at the bar. My girl, as in mine. My chest swells with an overwhelming warmth that makes my eyes water. I stand there for a moment, absorbing her. She lights up when her eyes find me and she sees my token. My face hurts from smiling so hard all day, but I can’t help myself and do it again, though bigger and brighter. The bouquet of roses I present make her squeal like a four-year-old. We exchange cheek kisses, but I want more. Based on the shimmer in her eyes, she does as well.
Desi steps close enough that with each breath, our breasts touch. She captures my mouth with hers before I can object. “I’ve missed you,” she whispers against my lips before they touch for another kiss. She is an exotic elixir that I cannot get enough of.
I ache for her so my arms flow around her and draw her close. With my face buried in her neck, I breathe and savor each second. Her hair smells like freesia and honey today.
The hostess tells us our table is ready, breaking the surreal scene. Desi pulls away with a sniffle and
a quick swipe of a fresh tear.
Dinner is a blur of conversation, laughter, and a lot of physical contact, although tactical on my part. This is so new for me with Desi, and for some reason, I find myself hesitant. Too many eyes can see and judge.
The thought surprises me as one, this is Dino’s. We’ve come here so often, the servers know us by name. It’s a relaxed joint and almost familial. Two, I’ve been on a few dates with other girls. Mind you, it was only to keep my mind off of Desi and who she was with, but still, they count. The places we went were much more public than this, and I never had an issue before.
Then again, this is Desi we’re talking about. My mind goes back to the way things were before, and I have a hard time wrapping it around the now.
For every move I make to pull back, she counters it. She has no problem with making how things are between us known in living color.
Something warm touches my leg, startling me. My eyes widen under my raised eyebrows when I figure out it’s her shoeless foot stroking my leg. The higher she goes, an unyielding flutter blossoms between my thighs, making me squeeze them together tightly. That does nothing to quell the sensation, it just makes me wetter. I shift in my seat as it builds at my apex below, the tingle intensifying.
She strokes my hand in small circles while she talks about her plans to adjust her schedule so she can come home as much as possible. I find it hard to concentrate on her words. Desi agrees to not discuss the what ifs or the whys, because it doesn’t matter. What is the point of wondering about the past when the future is so limited?
Our first official date goes better than I would have ever expected. Every flavor is more savory, the wine more robust and intoxicating, the desert sweeter, and the atmosphere at our little table in the corner sublimely sensual. Our fingers intertwine when she lifts her gaze. Her eyes hood after a look that burns through every cell in my body. With a hair flip, she bows her head coyly and glances up. There is a twinkle in her eye.
My Last Season With You Page 3