Desi flails her arms, the gold in her eyes turning to flames. “Why not? Moments, isn’t that what you said? Marriage is a celebration of our life together for however long that is. It’s a symbol of the strength of our love. None of us know if we’ll be here tomorrow. A fuckin’ asteroid could come down and blow our asses away. Korea could launch its nukes. A bus could grind us into the ground!”
My dry mouth caverns open. I am beyond stunned. Desi never swears unless she’s really, I mean really, pissed. “Can’t we just wait and see what happens after my last treatment. Once we get the test results, I’ll have a better grasp on things.”
She bolts for the door, grabbing her coat. “I need some air.”
“Desi, please. Let’s talk about this.” Seeing her practically run from me kills me like no other.
Stopping with her hand on the doorknob, she angles her head just enough to look over her shoulder, but not directly at me. “You’re so selfish. I didn’t know you were so hypocritically selfish,” she says before walking out the door.
I slump back into the couch and stare at the fire with the returned peach pit scraping inside my belly. The crackling logs seem to be hissing the same lecture as well. Merry fucking Christmas.
THE FOLLOWING MORNING IS A molasses of silence. Desi didn’t come to bed last night, and I surmise she slept in a guestroom when I wake alone.
Sounds of movement draws me into the kitchen, but Desi does not greet me. Both my parents say their good mornings like we are in a library. As I move around the kitchen, Desi stays opposite from wherever I go. It’s a dance I do not like. I do my best to counter her moves, but she evades well. When I reach out to her, her glare scorches and turns further efforts to ash.
Desi flattens me by announcing she’s trying to get a flight out early. Something about an agency party she has to go to. We all know it’s an excuse. She’s leaving because of me. Most likely she won’t get a flight out today, but if I let this simmer, there’s no way she’ll stay for Timeless’ annual New Year’s Eve party. My insides are churning; every second of silence is a razor blade slicing through me. I have to say something to make her stay. The looks I am getting from Mom and Dad tell me the same. I get up from the table with the intent of going to her, but she moves away from me again. The sharp pain of my nails digging into my palms is not enough detract how deeply that cuts me.
“I have a few calls to make,” she softly says grabbing her coat. I notice she grabs her Christmas presents too. And there it is—hope. Though the red hat and scarf are out the door before I can reach her.
The throbbing of my heart pulses in my ears. It is all I hear in the kitchen with the exception of the battery-operated clock ticking away on the wall. The echoes click seconds away as if reminding me my time is limited.
Dad gets up and walks to the sink, standing next to me. It feels like an intrusion, almost offensive, as he is filling the space Desi has abandoned. Putting his arm around my shoulders, he sighs. “Regina, don’t wait. Life is not practice for the real thing; it IS the real thing. We can’t wait for the next test result, we can’t wait for the next treatment; we can’t wait for the next next. Go ahead and give yourself permission to own the moment. Moments are ours for the taking, and we have to grab it whenever we can. Make every moment, and make it count. Love like you have no tomorrow.
Do you really want this to be the last thing she remembers? Live your joy, live your love, and live your life as if it is. Nothing else matters but you and her. Remember what you said: don’t live like you’re dying.”
Everything inside me is clamping down, and it steals my breath. I can’t lose her now, not after waiting for so long to be with her. I can’t lose my best friend and the girl I’ve loved all my life. Determined, I snatch my down coat and wool scarf. I throw a weak smile at Dad, telling him ‘thank you’ with my watery eyes, and with my heart in hand, I go to her—the reason I breathe.
A creak from the side door announces me, and her shoulders tense at the sound. Desi shoves her phone back in her pocket, wiping her face and sniffling. A weight drops low in my belly knowing I caused that reaction. My fingers find her tiny waist and I sigh, leaning the crown of my head against her back.
“Don’t leave me,” I whisper, barely louder than the snowflakes falling around us.
Her hand jetties to her mouth to stifle a whimper. Her tremor shakes a few tears loose from me, melting the snow-covered ground I am staring at. Breath from both of us is crystallizing fast and rapid, surrounding us in a mist.
“You’re right, I am a hypocrite, and I am selfish. I’m sorry, baby. I can’t stand making you cry.” I am grateful she allows my touch, so I risk slipping my arms around her waist.
She sniffles. “Do you know how hard it was to keep up appearances dating all those guys, pretending I didn’t just want to stay home with you? I wasted so much time, and for what? My career? My image? I kept thinking, if I saw a glimmer from you, then I could tell you. I kept looking for hints, and clues, and innuendos. You should have been an actress, Reggie.”
I snort a laugh, which makes her chuckle.
“We are so stupid,” I say, which makes her laugh harder. “Let’s stop being stupid, babe.”
I don’t let her go as she slowly turns around to meet my begging eyes.
“Are you saying yes?” So much love and hope fills her falling tears.
Both our fears burned time we could have had together. My fear drove a crevasse between us, scorching through more. I realize fear is an incendiary element that tempts us away from greatness. I don’t have time to be afraid. I only have time to be great.
My fingers trace the trail of tears down her delicate face, and I kiss her with everything I have. “You fill the grey with light and love, so much it blinds me. Loving you surrounds me and feeds my strength. My desire to see the next dawn with you and witness the stars grace the black lace sky knows no limits.” She pulls away, breathless, unsure of my answer. She needs to hear me say it. I nod. “Yes, Desdemona Marie St. Clair, you are my beautiful life, and now you will be my beautiful wife.”
An “ep” from the window catches our attention, and we both turn to see my parents trying to eavesdrop. Mom is crying with Dad’s arms cradled around her. He too has tears trickling down his cheeks. I roll my eyes and knock my head to the side, telling them to go away. Dad laughs and pulls Mom away from the window. Desi throws her head back, laughing.
The moment we step back into the kitchen, Mom smothers us with hugs, then attacks Desi with kisses. Desi, unlike me, welcomes it, and they even hug-dance. Oh, brother! They both leap into hyper planning mode before I even get to shed my coat and scarf.
“Wait, wait!” Their squeals are at glass breaking decibels making me yell. “This isn’t right just yet.”
Back on the fireplace mantle, the ring box sits where I left it last night. I snatch it up and head back to the kitchen.
Pulling out a kitchen chair for Desi to sit in, I take a knee in front of her, and hold both her hands.
Her lips twitch, holding back her radiant smile, waiting for me to ask the question. Desi’s eyes soften as fat tears stream down and fall off her jawline.
“You have been the love of my life from the moment we met. The friendship we’ve shared over our lives has bonded us more than any couple that I know, other than them.” I thumb back to my parents, making Desi chuckle and Mom squeak. “With this ring, I promise to never again doubt our future. With this ring, I vow to love and cherish every minutia of time we have. With this ring, I give you my word of honor to be the wife who deserves you. With this ring, we align ourselves to battle this stupid cancer, and we will win. We will have a lifetime of happy. We will laugh, cry, and have that kind of ineffable love that dreams and fairytales are made from. That is my oath to you if you will take my hand in marriage.”
Opening the blue box, I remove the ring from between the cushions and hold it up to her.
“Desdemona Marie St. Clair, a few months ago, I would have n
ever thought this could happen. I didn’t have dreams of grandeur about us, I never did about anything regarding love. I thought I could live my last few months without you knowing, and now I realize how very wrong I was. Your love is the reason to live each day. Will you spend the rest of your life allowing me to love you? Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
Desi’s tear falls onto my hand as she shifts her hair to the side over her shoulder and gives me a coy smile. “Yes, Regina Amylene Callahan. Yes, I will be your wife and love you all the rest of our days.”
When I slip the ring on her finger, it stops at her knuckle. Oh God. The sides of my mouth pull down as I attempt to wiggle it further down her finger, but it won’t budge. Fucking shit!
Looking up, I give Desi a sheepish smile, and she tilts her head, curious. Taking her hand to my lips, I put her entire ring finger in my mouth swirling my tongue around, coating it with saliva. It makes a pop sound when I draw it back out. We both smile with a tint of lewdness as I slide the ring easily, but slowly, down the remaining distance of her finger.
Mom clears her throat behind me as Dad’s voice interrupts the erotic moment. “Ummm…ok then.”
Oops, I forgot they were still in the kitchen. Both Desi and I blush furiously as Mom begins to scurry around the kitchen. Dad and I become invisible when she begins to pull out bridal magazines from the cabinet. Apparently, she and Desi had been talking about this for a while. The cackling gibberish and squealing laughter make me cringe and hold my ears. They never notice us backing up slowly to escape into the living room. Dad turns the TV volume up, and I curl up next to him to watch the Bears take the lead over the Eagles with seven minutes left in the first quarter.
This is my ideal. This was my fantasy and now my reality. This is the memory I imprint.
Best. Christmas. Ever.
NEW YEAR’S EVE IS A close second favorite new memory. Our annual party attracts every muckety-muck from across the state. From the actual invite to the last of the midnight countdown, it is a coveted affair in upper echelon social circles. The ballroom walls of the Madison Concourse Hotel and Governors Club is awash with silver and gold streamers. Guests wear Happy New Year top hats and tiaras and carry Dad’s favorite Krug Rose champagne in tall flutes. The money we raise from tonight’s festivities will go to the Children’s Hospital in Wisconsin, specifically to the Oncology Department. No child should suffer a tenth of what I have gone through, let alone what worse things they may be experiencing in the search for a cure. We have even started a foundation to help the families with medical bills, provide emotional support, and organize fun activities for them to spend with their children for as long as they possibly can.
The night is magical, and I could not feel more alive. Desi and I slow dance as glitter cascades lightly on us. It’s a shimmery dream that is our exclusive, and shadows everyone around us. The woman I love is going to marry me after she gets back from her movie shoot in April. Her flight leaves for Los Angeles in two days, so we take in every second we can. Tonight she looks beyond amazing in a floor-length, ebony evening dress with silver sequined straps and trim. I don’t look too shabby myself in a dress I would have never worn by choice. A match flared behind Desi’s eyes when I huffed at the cobalt blue, sparkling, gown she brought for me. Since I almost destroyed her Christmas, I decided it would not be a good way to start the New Year with her pissed at me, so I agreed to wear the dress.
She takes my hand, curling it intimately against her chest, her other hand on the small of my back. At first, I protest, what with the attention we are drawing, but the minute her body folds into mine, I am helpless pile of mushy goo. Desi has only two inches on me, but she stuns me into submission with the way she holds me and reads my blush. My heart is beating furiously, and flutters tickle my bones. Lost in our own sepia atmosphere, we barely hear the beginning of the countdown.
“To our Happy New Year,” I say with a lilting breath. I tilt my head to seek her succulent lips when the clock strikes midnight. Desi’s mouth tastes like berry champagne and honey. I want to devour that delicacy for days—hell, forever! A tear falls from her dark lashes, making me pull back.
“Hey,” Another tear falls and I catch it with my thumb.
Desi’s smile edges her lips, staggering to full but tight-lipped. “I’m happy,” she titters, shaking her head. “We’re starting the new year together in a new way. A way filled with star dusted fairy tales and days of roses and wine. You touch every part of my being. I am full to completion in this way. It’s always been you—always.”
My hand glides from the curve of her hip to between her shoulder blades, pressing her closer to me. Desi’s shiver tingles under my fingertips. I brush her lips with mine, kiss the warm tears from her cheeks, and return to her lips. Their plumpness makes me want to nibble, but her reaction is wanting, almost desperate. I thread my fingers through her hair, and it just makes her more feverish. She moans into my mouth, arousing my tongue to ravish hers. We melt into each other. One breath. One body, spirit, and soul. One perfect moment.
AT THE AIRPORT, WE BOTH are blubbering messes by the time Dad wedges between us to deliver his own goodbye hug. It is sheer agony watching her walk through security. I wish they’d let us hang out at the gate like they used to. Then again, it would be the same soggy scene there. Before she disappears into the masses, I yell out, “I love you, Mrs. Callahan!” We still haven’t decided who should take whose name. She’s been like a Callahan most of her life, so I’m pretty sure I can convince her to take my name.
Desi nearly stumbles trying to get her boots back on as she scuttles as close to the security exit as she can. “I love you, Mrs. St. Claire! I love you, I love you!” she screams, waving frantically and jumping up and down. Strangely, the TSA agents do not appreciate her crazy, love-induced yelling and instruct her to move along. Rude. Desi huffs and pouts, trying to utilize her feminine gifts, but they fall on deaf ears.
Seeing her narrow her eyes in resentment makes me chuckle and sniffle at the same time. It’s a slurpy, snorting kind of sound. I’ve officially become pathetic.
Dad engulfs me in his arms and leads me to the car, whispering comforting phrases to calm my shaking. “Silly girls. She can get arrested for a stunt like that, ya know.” He squeezes my shoulder. “You’ll video chat constantly and before you know it, she’ll be coming home, and then you guys will fly back to New York for the wedding, Regina. It’s better this way, you have your surgery coming up and need to be well rested. Dr. Salavichne has sent new meds to prep you starting next Monday.”
“Ughck.” The last round of meds made me puke for a week. After this, I am never eating broth and saltines again. Dad’s knitted eyebrows make me surrender. “Fine, fine, you’re right, whatever.”
I slump into the passenger seat and stare out the window, thinking about Desi. My stomach flips as a dreamy smile pulls the corners of my mouth. She was so tender with me last night, and yet all I wanted was to be with her, feeling every inch of her. Her beautiful curls cascading down her back and then fanning across the bed as I lay her down. The roundness of her breasts and the pebbling of her nipples under my hand as I kissed her torso. My other fingers exploring the heated moisture between her legs. A swirling pressure builds between my legs at the sultry thoughts, and a blush stains my cheeks. Luckily, Dad is too busy trying to navigate through the unplowed roads to notice. Last night, I showed her again how much I loved her, and in return, in equal measure, she gave me another memory.
MY SURGERY IS SCHEDULED FOR February 16th, but due to a reshoot, Desi can’t make it back for it. On top of that we will be missing our first Valentine’s Day together. Although that bums me out, I don’t want her here anyway. All those wonderful negative side effects of the new meds are adopted by yours truly. If she came, she’d never go back to finish the movie, and there is no way I’m having any of that.
Pulling my bedroom drapes closed, I stage the room in dim shadows to mask my appearance for our on-line date –
a Valentine Skype chat. I pull the tropical mix of three dozen gorgeous Valentine flowers she sent me into the shot. My pulse shoots up when the silver bracelet she gave me almost slips off my hand when I put on my engagement ring. I am grateful my weight loss does not alter the boney knuckles of my hand. I extend my fingers admiring my ring. It is as close a match to hers as we could find. We selected it together on December 26th. Word to the wise, do not do that the day after Christmas.
A dorky, bubbly, happy feeling overtook me when the giant bear and wine I sent her got there just in time, according to the delivery confirmation email.
Her absence today pulls me into a solemn mood. I miss her horribly, but she needs to focus.
“What’s wrong?” she asks before I get a hello in. She knows every tone, inflection, gesture, and tic I have. Being married to her is going to be like being married to a clairvoyant. Being married to her. That silly smile pulls my lips tight. That sounds nice.
“Reggie?” Desi’s tone frays with worry, so I flash her my best smile, ditching the goofball one. It’s not hard, seeing as she is still in her set wardrobe. I didn’t realize she was playing a part out of some kind of Mad Max sequel. Her ratted-out hair surrounds her made-up, dirt-smudged face, windblown and tangled.
I clear my throat. “Nothing, babe. I was just thinking about the wedding. Are you still on set?”
Desi’s eyes twinkle. “Yes, like my wardrobe? I would have washed my face because I didn’t want to scare you, but I ran out of time.” I roll my eyes. “I have to soak my hair in argan oil to get the tangles out. Oh! Did Mama Beth get my email? Tell her I want the light pink roses and mini white calla lilies. I could go with orchids, but they’re kind of hard to get in April. Then again, so are calla lilies, but whatever, I want them. I’ll have to do more research on that. Did you see the pictures of the cake?” I nod. “Awesome! What did you think? I figured three tiers is just right. Anything more and it becomes obnoxious. The sampling went well and I’m having the caterer send samples overnight express tomorrow. I won’t tell you my favorites till you try them yourself.”
My Last Season With You Page 8