I’m pinching my lips together to stifle my chuckle at her blabbering. Her questions are like taking Uzi fire, but I can’t quell her excitement. She’s just too damn adorable. “It’s beautiful, babe. The second most beautiful thing I’ll see that day.” Desi ducks her head down and moves her hair to the side, or at least tries. I’ve made her blush. “Are you blushing?” I tease, placing my palm to my chest and pretend to gasp.
“Shut up,” she pouts.
Mmmm…so delicious. I want to nibble those lips.
The lights set the golden flecks in her eyes aglow. “Oh yeah, speaking of blushing, I’m sending you a dress.” I crinkle my nose at this. “Don’t be like that. It’s gorgeous and not too girly. My friend Stephan Metcalf designed it just for you, so show some gratitude. I’m not walking down the aisle in something stunning while you wear those ratty jeans and high top sneakers.”
“They’re called Chuck Taylors, honey. Everyone wears Chucks!” A snicker bubbles up from me at the image of me in a wedding dress in my Chucks. She cuts me a fierce look that could make the mighty Thor cower. I sigh my consent. “Yes, dear.”
Joy radiates from her as she rambles on with more details about the wedding. Save the Date cards to be sent out next week and invitations a few weeks after. Calling on Maracella’s magical abilities to book the venue on such short notice and what colors she’s chosen spill in her conversation. I marvel at her ability to be on location and do all of this at the same time. She insisted on taking it on, stating my ineptitude for party planning, but I know it’s because she doesn’t want to add any stress since my surgery is two days. We both turned down Dad’s offer to use his event planner guy. Desi and I want simple, not over-the-top showy. Perhaps that was premature based on the dark circles under Desi’s eyes. She’s being pulled in so many directions right now, and I’m not doing jack shit. Nothing, nada, bupkis. Just sitting here bored and throwing up every now and then.
I tip my head. “Are you sure you don’t want me doing anything, babe? You look a little stressed. Maybe we should call Gabe and let him take on a few details.”
“No, sweetie, I’m fine. I want to make sure everything is what we want and goes the way we want it. Gabe doesn’t know us, and I don’t have time to give him a crash course.” Desi sighs and rubs her temple.
An idea hits and I sit up. “How about this, we send all the info you sent to Mom to Gabe. He can talk to Maracella about the venue. I bet he can also handle the invites and RSVPs. Mom knows who can sit next to who for the reception, and the least I can do is handle the favors. Even Daddy can help. Please let me do something.”
There is nothing Desi hates more than letting go of control, but I can see her contemplating the bulk loaded onto her plate. With too many plates in the air, at least one is bound to fall. Our wedding is not one of those things she is willing to risk. “Yeah, maybe he can handle a few things.” Her submission comes grudgingly.
“Tell me more about the venue,” I say to revitalize her zeal. It works, and she launches into a mania of exhilarated chatter.
The mischievous nymph in me pokes a finger to ask a question. I can’t help but to play Desi a little bit. With as much innocence I can muster, I ask, “So, what do you have planned for our honeymoon?” Her face falls as if I just hit her with a two-by-four cedar beam. Her eyes cloud over before she looks away. I press my lips together to squelch a smile.
“I wasn’t sure about flying anywhere, so I haven’t planned anything,” she says quietly, avoiding the laptop camera. As much as she tries to hide it, it is written all over her face so much as to tell me in words. You may not be here.
Little does she know, I’ve already talked to Mom and Dad about letting me use the timeshare in Puerto Vallarta. I planned to surprise her when she got back, but the look on her face compels me to spill the beans. She blows out one of my laptop speakers with her scream when I do. Alarmed, Mom comes running into the room to check on the commotion.
“I want to see my hot, sexy wife in one of those tiny bikinis.” She’s already flushed from jumping up and down, but my blatant disregard for subtlety makes her blush harder. Casting a glance out the frosted window, I sigh. “Spring break in Puerto Vallarta sounds pretty good about now.” Desi calms and gets that shy, doe-eyed, weepy look I love so much. Even though we may have to put it off for a few months, depending on my status, it’s something to look forward to. She tells me with her eyes that she is over the moon about the fact that I’m thinking of even having a future. A future of Mrs. and Mrs.
We talk for another hour but sign off when Mom brings me my meds. I don’t want Desi to see how it wrecks me. The only thing that gets me through the agonizing bout is her, “I love you baby. I miss you and I can’t wait to hold you as Mrs. Desi Callahan.”
DR. SALAVICHNE IS CONCERNED ABOUT how my body is still reacting to the new meds. Fury rips through me and I just about rip him a new one when he suggests putting the surgery off for another month. Mom insists on another MRI to see if that’s necessary. Thank God for moms. The MRI comes back with no new growths, but the tumors have not changed in size as he had hoped. Dr. Salavichne prescribes anti-nausea pills so that I can continue the meds for another month and then do another MRI. If they remain unchanged by then, he recommends exploring other options. Other options…yeah, right.
Mom hands me her phone, as Desi has called every thirty minutes to check on how the surgery went. I only share the good news about no new tumors but tell her that due to scheduling conflicts, the surgery was put off. Pangs of guilt eat at me, but it would be worse if she knew the truth. I make Mom and Dad swear not to say anything, despite their protests.
The next month goes surprisingly well. The anti-nausea pills help keep the other meds down most days. When we get back from the second MRI, the news makes us celebrate. Well, as much as the promise of a dangerous surgery with 40/60 odds can make a person celebrate. It’s a hope, though. A hope other doctors and specialists did not give us before, a hope of seeing Mrs. Callahan in a tiny bikini on a white sandy beach in Puerto Vallarta.
MY EYES FLICKER HEAVILY AGAINSt the light blinding me in the recovery room. I slap my sandpaper tongue around my mouth to generate some kind of moisture. My breath must smell great because when I finally am able to swallow, it tastes like a metal pole and spoiled milk. Did I learn some kind of blue-collar trade while under sedation? My whole body aches, especially my head, but that’s it - just an ache. I anticipate the excruciating pain is coming, though for some reason, I feel lighter. It must be psychological. Especially when I see Mom and Dad hugging and crying. Then, under the depths of sedation, blackness takes me under.
When my vision flutters open once more, a shadowy blob moves closer to me and hear its voice calling Dr. Salavichne’s name. He comes in, all smiles, and tells me with tinged precaution that he was able to remove all of the cancerous masses. Nothing is absolute, but for now, things look good. He pats me on the shoulder and then ushers in my parents. I’m still processing the news as Mom and Dad squeeze all the air from my chest. Both sets of eyes are swollen and red, but mine are wide with disbelief. Happy tears spring from them as I limply hug my parents back.
Mere seconds pass before my phone rings. I sent Desi a picture of the bikini I want her to wear in Puerto Vallarta. She is crying and blubbering things I can’t understand, as I feel the pull of the sedative that is still swimming in my veins. Mom reluctantly takes the phone from me when the nurse comes in, insisting I get some rest. My eyes are heavy, but I reach out to get the phone back.
“I love you, Desi,” I whisper through my hoarse throat. “Wanna get married?”
“Ok, babe.” She chokes back another sob. “I love you so much, Reggie. Let’s do this.”
I fall back asleep with a smile on my face and dream of us growing old together.
IT IS A BRUTAL SPRING in Wisconsin this year, but I am oblivious to the chill that lingers in the air as I work in the stables. My strength has somewhat returned, and I’ve been helpin
g out so I can rebuild the muscle I lost in the last few months. I’m also working off the nervous energy that vibrates through my body, knowing Desi is arriving tonight. Mom says I have more color in my cheeks, but I still look too lanky from the weight loss. It’s a slow process, but every day I feel more alive than the previous day. I’ve planned a big welcome-home dinner for Desi in order to tell her the good news. Dr. Salavichne says I have several years before he can officially declare me cancer-free, but he boasts confidence for my long future. At first, checkups will be frequent, but over time become more spread out. He and Dr. Shaver are apparently besties now.
Our wedding is in two weeks, so we are flying back to New York next week, and then we’re off to Puerto Vallarta after that. I plan to reregister for school in the fall and have already spoken to the Dean. He was sincere when he expressed his eagerness for my return. Professor Nixon’s department is severely lacking his savant, according to him. We hang up, chuckling our goodbyes and well wishes.
Mom pokes her head in to give me a hard time for looking like a mess hours before Desi’s flight arrives. “I don’t know why you insist on doing this now,” she says, hovering. “You need to start getting ready, and I’ll get started on the ham.”
Lifting the shovel of horse manure, I toss it onto the pile I am building. “All done.” I slap my gloved hands and grin at her. I am a mess though and really, really stink, so we hoof it back to the house. Mom and I giggle our way along the slippery pathway. The afternoon sun has done nothing for this morning’s frost and residual snow; both have stayed on the rooftops all day. Even though we’ve shoveled and salted, enough of a thin sheet of ice remains to give us pause with each step.
“Careful,” Mom says. “You don’t want to break your leg before the big day!”
I snort a laugh. “Oh, Desi would be pissed if I’m in a cast at our wedding, let alone in Puerto Vallarta!” Mom smiles that aw kind of way, and I roll my eyes. “Let’s go.” I playfully link arms with her, a tender gesture, but really so we can support each other and not fall on our asses.
The house phone rings while I’m in the shower, and no one seems to be inspired to pick it up. “I’m in the shower!” I yell. It rings again. “Can someone get that?” The phone continues to ring. Pissed and dripping wet with a towel wrapped around me, I snatch up the phone.
“Hello,” I say caustically.
“Aw, man! I thought your dad would pick up.”
All my irritation falls away. “Hey, babe! You on the plane already?” I ask, a bit confused.
“Uh…no.” I detect humor in her tone. Desi pauses. I can almost hear her chewing on her lip. “Damn, I wanted to surprise you, so I got an earlier flight. I was calling so Papa Nick wouldn’t come and pick me up. I’m at the car rental desk now.”
My heart leaps between happiness and panic. “Oh my God! I’ve literally just jumped out of the shower. I haven’t even started dinner yet!”
She chuckles. “Don’t worry about it, babe. I’ve got to stop by the mall anyway. I want to pick up something sexy to wear for you tonight.” The way she says “sexy” sends goosy prickles all over me. A warmth swirls inside me and settles below. Crossing my legs, I think I need another shower or at the very least, a naked roll in the massive snowbank outside. “I can hear you blushing, Reg. And with what I’m thinking,” she purrs, “you should be blushing.”
Fuuuuccckkk! She has me all crazy lusty. I’m completely flustered, and the heat gushing through my body is practically drying my hair.
Laughing at my silence (probably reading my mind), she interrupts my fantasy. “Ok, car’s here. Gotta go, see you in a bit, my sexy wife!”
I lean against the wall and bite the tip of my nail. “You’re going to get so lucky tonight,” I tell her in a husky voice.
“I’m counting on it. Love ya, babe!”
“Love you too,” I say before I hang up. Sighing, I smile contentedly, fantasizing about Desi and tonight. Me, her, naked…GAH!!!!
“What are you doing? You’re getting the floor all wet!” Mom screams, stomping up the stairs and pointing at the pool around my feet.
Lashed from my musing, I snap my head up. “Mom! Desi caught an earlier flight. We gotta get going on dinner!” The puddle becomes moot and I scurry back to my room.
“Holy shit!” She too jumps into action, hauling ass down the stairs while I grab my best pair of jeans and the new sweater I knitted. I throw them on and do my hair in record time. It’s not hard, I am a cancer patient in remission. I swipe on some mascara and apply lip gloss so I don’t look like a farmhand at sundown, shove my phone in my back pocket, and fly down the stairs.
“What the hell is wrong with you two? It’ll take her a while to get here from the airport,” Dad says over the newspaper he’s reading.
Mom and I look at each other and burst out laughing. “Oh yeah. And she’s stopping by the mall to…’ I stop myself when my entire body erupts in red tones. Mom’s eyebrow raises. “Uh…she just forgot a few things,” I invent to finish the thought appropriately in the company of parents.
Mom places her hand on my forehead, her mouth quirking to the side. “Are you feeling ok, honey? You look a little flushed. I told you not to go out to the stables today.”
I suck my lips in, but can’t hold back the goofy smile that hides my naughty thoughts. “It’s not that, Mom. I feel great.” My eyes twinkle with thoughts of Desi’s body and how she reacts to me.
“Oh,” is all Mom says with a devilish smile on her face. I do feel a little dizzy.
Soon, the scents of honey baked ham and fresh apple pie fill the house. I busy myself laying down a white linen tablecloth and taking care of the little details to make this night perfect. Mom and I set the table with her favorite china with the little pink roses in the center and her great-grandmother’s Waterford crystal. The bread is cooling on the windowsill, the green beans are ready, and the potatoes are mashed. Think I’m set.
After dinner, Dad is taking Mom to the movies to give Desi and me some alone time. Since I don’t want to deal with a kitchen full of dishes, I begin to clean up. I want to make sure my evening isn’t disrupted by the guilt of leaving Mom with a disaster of a kitchen. It looks like a culinary explosion at an amateur cooking competition in here.
My hands are in a sink full of suds when my phone rings in my back pocket. It’s probably Desi telling me she’s on her way or something. Sometimes it irritates me when she calls instead of just sending a quick text. Then again, the thought of hearing her voice dissolves my stupid annoyance immediately. “Mom! Can you get that? I’m kinda in the middle of something here.”
She comes into the kitchen and looks around. “Where is it?”
I shove my butt out. “In my back pocket.”
Mom removes it, tapping and swiping in all directions, but the phone keeps ringing. She pushes all the buttons that do nothing to answer the call. “How do I answer this thing?” Showing it to me, I don’t recognize the number.
A grumble comes from the living room. “Beth, bring that damn thing here.” Between the two of them, Dad has a slight edge over Mom in the technology department. Both of them want to think they still live in the 60’s, but integrate the privileges of living in this decade. Things like the Internet, satellite TV, cell phones, and Kindles are good evolutions for humanity. Ummm…whatever.
With a dishcloth in hand, I dry the dishes and put them in the cupboards. I hear Mom's voice, but it’s being drowned out by the TV.
“Honey,” Mom says in a raspy voice behind me. “We have to go to the hospital.”
“I’m fine, Mom. I told you, I didn’t do too much this morning” Staring up at the full shelves, I try to figure out how she’s managed to fit all the glassware in the cupboard. As a kid, I always thought she had some sort of secret compartments. As an adult, I realize she’s a Tetris Master with a double black belt in organization.
Movement catches my eye. Dad is grabbing our coats, and I no longer hear the TV. In fact, the who
le house has fallen silent. My ears prick up. I hear nothing, no whinnies from outside, no birds chirping, no wind, no sound at all. The hairs on my arms rise as icy tingles begins to creep in, making my eyes water. Mom is shakily holding out the phone to me, wide-eyed, tears glistening down her face. In the depths of my guts, I feel the wrongness of it. Numbness travels with the chill that engulfs me. Suddenly, I can’t breathe. Something crashes, but I don’t feel the shards from the plate I’ve dropped slicing into my bare feet.
“There was an accident,” she murmurs, choking on something lodged in her throat. “A drunk driver, icy roads, I don’t know. We have to go.” Mom struggles to breathe the next words that shatter my world.
“She didn’t feel a thing.”
LOVE IS BOTH HARD AND soft. It is the most believable truth and fiction. It is something we fight for and fight with. It is the yin and yang. It is the most contradictory of emotions, making you believe in both the extraordinary existence of heaven and scorches of hell. If you allow it, a saturation of complexities can destroy it and leave you desperately choking for the remnants, clawing for a miniscule flake of ash of what you had. True love is a rare miracle held in the highest veneration. Blessed are those who even come close its illumination. Only those who are selflessly brave can become victorious and claim this exceptional phenomenon, if just for a memory in time.
I survived cancer, so they say I am brave, yet your absence cripples me. I have many memories, but I am selfish and I miss you.
YOU DIED ON A FRIDAY, slipping from your coma and away from me. The doctor told us you were revived twice en route to the hospital. Was that your way of hanging on so that I could say goodbye?
My Last Season With You Page 9