My Last First Kiss

by Weston Parker

  The little coffee shop was nestled between a hair salon and a drug store. The buildings were almost fifty years old, and the bricks were well weathered by the Alaskan winds and snow. The black trimmed windows were aglow with white Christmas lights, despite the fact that Christmas had come and gone months ago. Valdez was always a winter wonderland, save for two or three months in the summer when the snow finally cleared and everything bloomed green and vibrant for eight weeks.

  I stomped the snow off the bottom of my fur-lined boots outside the coffee shop before ducking inside. The bell rigged above the door announced my arrival.

  It was early still, so not many people were in the shop. Those who were sitting at tables were reading or chatting amongst themselves. I went to the bar and peered down over the counter at the owner, Mr. Gallant, and cleared my throat to get his attention.

  He looked up from the book his nose was buried in and pushed his glasses up his nose. “Ah, Miss Petty. I didn’t hear you come in. Is it that time already?”

  “Afraid it is.” I rapped my gloved hand on his counter, feigning impatience. “Where’s my latte? I thought this was supposed to be the best coffee shop in all of Valdez.”

  “It is, of course.” Mr. Gallant chuckled as he got unsteadily to his feet. “It’s also the only one in all of Valdez.”

  “Part of its charm I guess.” I shrugged.

  Mr. Gallant padded over to the espresso machine, and I dropped a five-dollar bill in the empty tip jar. He had always refused to let me pay for my coffee, and I refused to walk out without leaving him money behind. The shop was charming and quaint, but not in the best shape. It needed repairs to meet building code soon, and him giving me free coffees every day wouldn’t do his business any favors.

  Starving artists and entrepreneurs like Mr. Gallant and I had to stick together in a place as small as Valdez.

  He set to work steaming my milk and pulling the espresso shots for my latte. While he frothed and poured, we discussed the weather, which was always the same, and then he switched gears to asking about my work.

  “You’re still painting, I assume?” he asked.

  I nodded. “Yep. Every day, all day.”

  “How’s your shop doing? It’s hard to run a business like that in a place like this.”

  “I’m making ends meet. I wouldn’t say I have a lot of happy customers—I’d need customers before I could call them happy—but I’m enjoying it. I couldn’t spend my time doing anything else.”

  Mr. Gallant slid my latte across the counter and then handed me a lid. “I’ll have to stop by one of these days. I’ll bring the Mrs. She has a keen eye for design. Maybe she could pick a piece out and I could hang it in here.”

  I laughed and rolled my eyes. This was something he had offered dozens of times but never followed through with. I didn’t hold it against him. In fact, it was quite the opposite. I was just grateful that he wasn’t one of the people who told me I’d never make it as an artist. His optimism was a breath of fresh air. “I would love that,” I said as I popped the lid onto my latte. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “See you tomorrow, dear.”

  ***

  My shop welcomed me with open arms. I rented a loft above the only grocer in Valdez, practically in the middle of town. I had a view of town square—a snow-covered cobblestone courtyard with a statue of a polar bear smack dab in the middle—from my floor-to-ceiling, triple-paned windows, and in the evening after the sun went down, the warm street lights gave my loft a romantic, artsy kind of glow.

  I loved it.

  Valdez was my home and my solace. It was the inspiration for my art. Most of my canvases, which were scattered all over the loft, depicted scenery of Valdez and the nature surrounding it. The snow, the pine trees, the rivers of ice—it was all home to me.

  I stripped out of my puffy winter jacket and kicked off my boots. I left them by the front door and changed into my fluffy white slippers, which were speckled in paint. I didn’t care. They had been deemed my painting shoes ages ago after walking around on the hardwood floors had given me sore feet.

  I started boiling the kettle in the kitchenette of the loft and went to stand in front of my current project: a ten-foot by ten-foot canvas oil painting of Valdez Harbor and the surrounding mountains. I was nearly done, and this was always the toughest stage. The temptation to start another project was strong. Inspiration was humming in my fingertips. But I had made an oath to myself that each new project I started had to be completed before I moved on to the next.

  The kettle began screaming, and I poured the boiling water over my tea bag in my mug as someone knocked on the loft door.

  “Come in,” I called.

  I heard the door open and close, and it was followed by the sound of someone unzipping a jacket.

  I looked over my shoulder and smiled at my best friend Gracie Taylor as she shrugged out of her jacket and pulled her long auburn hair out from under her scarf. Her nose and cheeks were pink from the cold, and her lips were painted an elegant shade of red. I knew what that meant. She was in a brooding mood. An “I hate this fucking town” mood.

  “Hey,” I said. “You look nice.”

  “Thanks,” she said, spotting my mug of steaming hot tea. “Do you have any water left over?”

  “Yep, just boiled it. Green tea or breakfast tea?”

  “Green, of course,” she said, stepping down the three rickety steps from the loft entrance door to the main level. She was wearing a pair of Aztec-patterned leggings under a baggy black sweater, and I knew without a doubt that she must have garnered curious stares from everyone out in the town square as she made her way from her yoga studio to my loft.

  “Did you just get back from a yoga class?”

  She nodded.

  “How many people?”

  “Twelve,” she said with a sigh, pausing in front of a painting in the far corner. It was the northern lights, and it was one of my favorites. Metallic silver paint streaked the blue and purple sky, and if the lights in my loft hit it just right, it almost looked like a photograph rather than an oil painting. “This thing is still here?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I said flatly. “Someone will buy it one day. It just hasn’t been seen by the right eyes yet. Trust me. It will sell.”

  “Not in this fucking town it won’t,” Gracie muttered.

  I held in my sigh as I poured hot water over her green tea bag. I brought her tea over to her and sipped mine as we stared at the northern lights painting. “So, red lipstick,” I said. “Feeling broody today?”

  “Every day,” she said.

  I smiled into my cup. “I still can’t figure out why you hate it here so much. I know Valdez is a small place and all, but I think you’d miss it if you left. Los Angeles doesn’t have northern lights, you know?”

  “No, but they do have more than twelve people who practice yoga.”

  “Okay, fair.”

  “And people who would buy your art.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I don’t want to leave, Gracie. I love it here. Besides, can you picture me in LA, surrounded by preppy guys who wear polo shirts and drive ricers? Not my scene, girl.”

  Gracie giggled. “Maybe not so much.”

  “Exactly.”

  “But the men here aren’t any better. Instead of polo shirts, they wear thick wool sweaters their mothers or grandmothers knitted them decades ago. And instead of ricers, it’s big trucks and snow plows.”

  “Don’t forget snowmobiles. They’re fun.”

  Gracie nudged my shoulder with her own. “I know. You and I just like different things. Different vibes. You’ll still come to visit me when I finally get my ass out of here, right?”

  I grinned. “Of course, as long as you still come back to visit me.”

  “Promise.”

  Gracie and I sipped our tea quietly for a few minutes, and she eventually got up to walk a lap around the loft, or “showroom” as I sometimes liked to call it when I was feeling particularly artsy
. She paused by the one I was currently working on of the harbor and tilted her head to the side as her eyes ran over the many different boats floating on the water—which presently looked like snow more than the ocean. It was a work in progress.

  “I like this one,” she said.

  “Yeah, because it’s a painting of one of the only ways out of this place.”

  She looked over her shoulder at me and flashed me a white smile. My best friend was ridiculously beautiful. She would fit right in when she finally fulfilled her dream of moving to California. Her spray on tan and pink fingernails already lent her the look of a millennial socialite who was better fitted for sipping wine on a posh patio under a palm tree.

  “I can’t help it,” Gracie admitted. “When I move, I’m going to take one of your paintings with me so I can be reminded of you every day.”

  I chuckled. “As long as it’s not the northern lights, you can take whichever one you want. Consider it my going away present.”

  “I’ll leave you one of my yoga mats,” Gracie offered.

  “Don’t bother. As soon as you move, I won’t set foot in another yoga class again.”

  “Until you visit me at my dream studio in LA.”

  I smiled. “Obviously.”

  After finishing her tea, Gracie layered herself back up in her puffy jacket and made for the door. Before she left, she reminded me that we had a yoga class that night, and I assured her I would be there while mentally kicking myself for forgetting about it. Yoga was not at the top of my list of favorite pastimes, but Gracie loved it. Her studio here in Valdez was small and quaint, but she was slowly modernizing it to fit her vision. I knew, however, that it was nothing close to her vision, which she would one day bring to life in California.

  I sighed as I stood in front of my harbor painting before dipping my brush into royal blue paint. I would miss Gracie when she was gone, and I would forever wonder why she wanted to leave in the first place.

  Valdez offered everything a person could want. At least, it held everything I wanted. The town was family. It was home and a snowy paradise that the rest of the world had yet to discover.

  Chapter 3

  Brayden

  Bella descended the metal staircase from the plane to the tarmac in front of me. I had her pink suitcase in one hand and my briefcase in the other when my feet hit the asphalt.

  Fuck this fucking shithole.

  Valdez Airport looked and smelled exactly as I remembered it: of fuel, pine, and wet pavement. The air was dry and ice cold and bit through my jacket instantly. Bella seemed content in the fur-lined parka I had purchased for her after discovering we had to leave Florida to come take care of my mother. My daughter was hurrying along in front of me, her fur-lined hood bouncing on her back, and hollering for me to hurry up.

  I was in no rush to get into town. If there was a way for me to delay it, I would have.

  A rental truck was waiting for me outside the airport. I took the keys and thanked the employee who had been waiting with the truck. Then I piled our luggage into the backseat. I had requested a car seat, which I strapped Bella into.

  “Where are we going now, Daddy?” she asked as I finished clipping her in.

  “We’re going to see my mom. Your grandmother. Remember?”

  Bella hadn’t seen my mother in a long time. Probably two years. That was the last time I had seen my mother, too. At Christmas, she had tried to get me to come home to Valdez and to bring Bella with me. I bought her a plane ticket to Florida and told her if she wanted to see us, she could come spend the holidays at my estate and enjoy the sunshine.

  “Where is she?” Bella asked, pulling me from memories of a Christmas that I knew my mother hadn’t enjoyed.

  “We’re going to go see her at the hospital. If the doctors let us, we’ll take her home today.”

  Bella was content with my answers and let me get into the driver’s seat and start the truck. It took a while for the beast to heat up. The engine roared and the cab vibrated, and soon, I was pulling away from the curb. The chains on the tires crunched across the snow as I drove straight for the hospital. The closer we got, the sweatier my palms became on the steering wheel.

  I hadn’t seen my mother in a long time.

  A really long time.

  I parked the truck in the small visitor’s parking lot in the northeast lot of Valdez Hospital. Bella asked dozens of questions as we walked across the salted pavement and through the sliding doors into the foyer of the hospital. For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t bothered by her incessant string of unnecessary questions. They proved a welcome distraction for whatever awaited me on the fourth floor in the cancer ward.

  “What’s that?” Bella pointed at a hospital bed pressed against one of the hallway walls as I held her hand and guided her to the elevator.

  “A bed.”

  “Why does it have wheels?”

  “Some of the people who have to sleep in them aren’t healthy enough to walk on their own, so they get to stay in bed.”

  “All day?” Bella asked, big doe eyes swinging up to stare at me.

  “Sometimes,” I said.

  “Is Grandma stuck in a bed all day?”

  We arrived at the elevator doors, and when they slid open, Bella and I stepped on. “I’m not sure. We’re going to find out, though.”

  When the doors opened, it took every ounce of will power I had to step off and stand in the hallway. I followed the signs to the cancer ward, trying to ignore the pungent and sterile hospital smell filling my nostrils. I stopped at the nurses’ station.

  A pretty young blonde woman looked up from her computer and smiled at me. I read her name tag. This was Nikki, the nurse who had called me to tell me the news about my mother’s situation.

  “Hey, Nikki,” I said. “I’m Brayden Hennie. I’m here to see my mother, Arlene Hennie. What room is she in?”

  Nikki stood from her computer chair and reached across the counter to shake my hand. Her grip was firm and her smile was friendly. “Hi, Brayden. You made good time. She’s in room 407. She just finished a quick walk around the floor and is back in bed now to have her lunch. Go on in. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  “Thanks,” I said, turning with Bella and making our way down the hall. I read the room numbers and did everything I could not to make eye contact with any of the patients stuck in the confines of their rooms. I didn’t want them to see the pity in my eyes.

  I stopped outside room 407 and took a deep breath. Bella was staring at me, clearly unsure of what was expected of her. I looked down at my daughter and gave her tiny hand a small squeeze. “Ready to see your Grandma, kiddo?”

  She nodded, and we walked in.

  My mother was in bed, as I had expected her to be. Her face was turned away from us, and she watched the big flurries of snow fall on the other side of her window. The sky was darkening, and soon, the mountains in the distance would be invisible—until the stars and moon brightened the sky. Then everything would be cast into a pale light that I remembered better than anything else in Valdez.

  Well, almost better than anything else.

  My mother’s hair was gray and thin and pulled back in a long amber-colored clip. Loose strands hung around her face, which even from the side, I could see had changed. Her cheeks were hollow, her jawline was more prominent, and the normally flush pigment of her skin was now yellow.

  She turned her head to the side and saw us. Her thin lips stretched into a smile, and she used her hands on either side of her to push herself up into a sitting position.

  “Brayden,” she said. Her voice was soft and weak. Then her eyes were to my side. “And Bella. My goodness, you’ve grown so much since I saw you last. You look healthy and happy, my dear.”

  Bella giggled shyly and pressed her cheek to my knee.

  “Hey, Mom,” I said

  She looked at me, really looked at me the way only a mother can. Her smile saddened a bit, and I knew she would never have wanted me to
see that. But she couldn’t help it. “Hi, Son,” she said.

  I went to the bed and Bella came with me. I pulled up a chair and sat down and reached for my mother’s hand. Her veins were dark beneath her skin, and an IV was embedded in the thickest one on the back of her hand. I ran my fingers over her knuckles. “How are you?”

  “Well, I’ve been better, but everyone here is just lovely, and I have a beautiful view. And my family is here.” She smiled brightly at Bella, who was still lingering around me. She was nervous. It had been too long since she had seen my mother. “Today is a good day.”

  Bella moved to stand behind my chair. I took her hand and guided her out in front of me. “Do you remember when Grandma came to see us at Christmas time? She made those sugar cookies you loved, and we all went and looked at all the lights on the houses on our street?”

  Bella’s eyes widened a bit and she nodded.

  “Did you miss Grandma?”

  Bella nodded again.

  I turned her to face my mother. “Then go give her a hug because she missed you too.”

  Bella went to the bed, climbed up on the side, and let my mother wrap her arms around her. I watched as my mom put her cheek on Bella’s head and closed her eyes. The moment was short and sweet, and when Bella dropped back to the floor, I could feel some of the sadness in the room evaporate.

  Nurse Nikki arrived seconds later and asked my mother how she was doing. The two of them chatted briefly about when she would be discharged. Nikki assured her that she would only be in the hospital for one or two more days at most.

  I got to my feet and cleared my throat. Nikki turned to me. “Do you mind taking my daughter with you out into the hall for a moment? I just want to have a word in private with my mother.”

  “Sure thing.” Nikki smiled. She dropped to one knee in front of Bella. “Hi, my name is Nikki. Can I show you the cool playroom at the end of the hall while your dad stays here?”

  Bella nodded, and I watched her leave with Nikki before sitting back down in the chair to face my mother. It took me awhile to decide where I wanted to start. There were so many things I wanted to say to her, so many questions I wanted to ask, and now that the time was here, my brain couldn’t seem to string them into intelligible sentences.