I’ve read plenty of stories about people who live long lives with MS. I spoke with a counselor, even, who assured me the same. I’m sure it’s all true, but that won’t prepare me for the bad. And when MS progresses, for some people, it can be really bad.
He’s my first serious boyfriend, and two weeks in, I don’t know if I can do this. I’m not saying I want to run because of his illness—that’s not true at all.
It’s the doubt that’s slowly killing me day by day.
Doubt that I won’t be enough, doubt that I can’t be there for him like he needs. Ugly, horrible doubt that won’t shut up. It clouds up my thoughts, makes it harder to breathe.
It’s even leaking out into my painting. My colors have bled into dark ones, my focus all but vanished. I’m becoming obsessed with finding a plan. But you really can’t make a plan for something so unpredictable.
The doubt isn’t the only thing eating me up; it’s the guilt. He’s been so patient, so honest when I ask him questions. I want to know everything I can.
We’re still new to this relationship thing, but I’m not blind. If he sees something special in me, then I should be able to love everything about him. I shouldn’t be afraid. I should be strong and brave. I should be invincible and support him. I should be Superwoman when I really feel like permanently moving into a blanket fort. Stat.
How can I tell him this? How can I share the entire truth when it’s ugly and scary?
And if I tell him, does it mean I’ll lose him?
He gave me an out that night, telling me he’d understand. I wouldn’t understand, though. Maybe that’s what’s drawn me to him this whole time. Beau is the strongest person I know, a fighter. I see that now. There is nothing easy about what he’s dealing with—nothing fair, nothing kind.
And if it were me, I could only hope I’d deal with it like he is, not become this bitter shell of a person who never gets out of bed.
I wish this was easier. I wish we could be adjusting to things as girlfriend and boyfriend without this extra piece of baggage. I wish I didn’t sound like a total bitch for thinking that. I wish I knew if he loves me.
I wish I knew everything instead of nothing.
No one, not even me, can make a plan for nothing.
Beau
I can’t cut through the fog, even with Mati beside me in bed, her green eyes wide and unblinking. I want to sleep, and she’s constantly awake, always moving, always working.
“Can you show me?” she asks again quietly. She brushes a hand over my hair, dropping a kiss on my forehead.
My hand misses my eyes at first, but eventually I wipe away the tiredness bogging me down and swallow the dread lodged in my throat. “Why?” I promised her that we could talk about my MS whenever she wanted, that I’d be honest as long as she promised to do the same. I’m not great at letting her in, but I’m trying.
“It’s who you are and I want to see. I want to know you now, and I want to know you then.”
“But I’m not who I used to be.” It hurts to admit, but I guess the truth often does. “I can’t go back to being who I am in those videos and pictures. That Beau is dead.”
Mati’s developed this look since my confession, and she flashes it at me now. She might be uncertain in everything else she does, but she’s developed a sharp-edged determination when it comes to me. It sets heavy at her brows, fills up her eyes, and stretches her lips thin. It does something funny to me, makes me falter whenever I want to do the easier thing and shut her out.
“Give me my laptop.” I sit up in bed and yawn, glancing at the clock. I can’t make out what time it is, but I know it’s late. And judging by how the spot next to me is mostly cold, I guess Mati’s been up on another all-nighter. “I’m only going to show you if you promise to come to bed after.”
She freezes by the foot of my bed, my laptop clutched in her hands. “I have work to do.”
Mati always has work to do, but especially since I told her the truth. Now she’s always busy and I can’t help but think it has to do something with me. I don’t want to believe she’s hiding something from me, but there’s been this hole growing in my chest all week. She’s not pushing me away exactly, but she’s not letting me in as much as I am her.
This is what I was so afraid of—this disconnect. More than the usual awkwardness of a new relationship, we have this strange power struggle. I can tell she wants to fix everything, and I simply can’t be fixed. I’m trying to be patient, I’m trying to be here for her to talk to, but I’m beginning to think that telling her wasn’t the right idea. I’m not sure what we have is enough to support the weight of that truth.
“I know.” I curl my finger toward her, smiling a little. “I miss you, though. Come here and I’ll show you whatever you want.” I waggle my eyebrows, forcing the charm offensive.
Her shoulders drop and the tension that has been buzzing off her slowly fades. And the gentle Mati returns, the one who’s a little broken in the middle and raw. “You have such a dirty mind.”
I do, especially watching her crawl up the bed in those boxers of hers, her long legs exposed. I’ve been so tired lately, but all I want to do is have sex and be a normal new couple.
She crawls up and sits between my legs, leaning back against me. “I like your dirty mind,” she says, opening my laptop. “And I like you.”
It’s three in the morning, and Mati wants me to confront my ghosts. I nuzzle against the side of her face, stealing a quick kiss before I log on.
My desktop icons are huge, the text blown up so it’s easier on my eyes. I usually use a speech-to-text command to help with papers now that I’m back in class. Those are smaller details that I’m not hiding, but still details that make this all too real. I’m worried what she’ll think. I’m worried that the more I show her, the more I let her in, she’s going to realize it’s too much and leave.
And the hellish part is that I can’t blame her. I couldn’t be mad if that happened because I can’t imagine being where she is. This is my reality, my battle to face. I can’t expect her to march in and win this all over, too. At some point, it might be too much. It’s going to change our dynamic. Things will get uneven, and I’ll have to rely on her. I can’t expect Mati to let me plow down her plans and make room for me.
I ask her to navigate to my videos folder, sure that I’d look like an idiot. My hands are tingling, my fingers twitching now and then. I really need to sleep.
“What were you working on?” I ask, waiting for her to pick a video of me skating in an old hockey match.
“I had to finish my English paper.”
The cursor hovers over one of my best games. I hold my breath. I haven’t watched this game in a long time.
She clicks the video, and it starts to play, instantly bringing me back to the feel of the ice under my skates as I hauled my ass across the rink, how I danced circles around the other team, the roar of the crowd as I scored my first hat trick of the game. I scored three more goals that game. That day, three years ago, I had everything in front of me. It was simply me on the ice with the puck and a desire to score.
It was simple, but I never appreciated it. I almost didn’t play this game because I’d had a fight with Coach the night before, my ego too big. I was seeing a girl but was caught up in too much drama, and I was heading out to Vancouver for another photo shoot. I had everything, but I wasn’t happy with it.
It’s hard to say I wouldn’t want it all back now, though. I lived off the pressure, and I was addicted to the feeling of being wanted. I was great at hockey, I could fuck like a champ, and people wanted to pay me to sell things because of my body.
“Is this what you wanted to see?” I ask Mati.
She nods, taking my hand in hers, her eyes glued to the screen. “What are you thinking?”
“How much of an idiot I was then.” It’s so strange to watch myself take something for granted, something I want back so desperately now. “I think I’m a little mad, too, that I never apprecia
ted it then.” I turn off the video and let her pick another, waiting for the same tide of feelings to wash over me. And they do. Video by video, I’m growing angrier. I don’t want to be looking down at myself as if I’m dead. I’m here and alive and I’m trying my fucking best to keep moving until that’s taken away from me, too. I’m not ready to be helpless yet.
My heart picks up at the words waiting at my lips. I hope someday this will get easier. “What are you thinking? Why did you want to see these?”
For a while, Mati’s quiet. She opens new videos, then closes them, drifting to my photos. She shuffles through my life, opening and closing my memories as if they can be seen and stored away. Quick and tidy, black and white.
“What are you looking for?” I finally ask. I can’t stand it. I lived all these moments. This is my life, and I want to know why she wants more. “Am I not enough for you now? I get it. I do.”
She shuts my laptop and places it on the floor beside the bed, then turns to face me. At first she meets my stare, then she peeks over my shoulder, focused on the wall. It has to be past four now; we both need sleep.
“I meant what I said about staying,” Mati says quietly. “I know this isn’t going to be easy, but if I’m going to give you a chance, you need to give me one, too.” She wets her lips, then swings her gaze back to me. “I wanted to understand why you shut everything out sometimes. Why when I first met you, you treated life like a joke.”
The two of us sigh into the stuffy quiet of my room. I trace my fingers over the knobs of her knees, then skirt them higher to trace lines up her thighs. She shivers. “Come to bed?”
Mati yanks back the covers and climbs in next to me. “I didn’t mean to make you mad.” She runs her hand through my hair when I twist to face her. “I’m sorry.”
I can’t let go of this guilt that presses against me. I want to go back to New Year’s Eve. I want to go back to that first night we spent in this bed. I want to go back to the first time I undressed her with my hands. I want to go back to when she didn’t know that those small moments might not last. “You don’t have to be sorry.”
“Do you wish it never happened?”
I take her palm and open it, pressing my lips to the very center. “It’d be a huge lie if I didn’t say yes.” I close her palm and kiss each of her knuckles. Her hands were made for art, all gorgeous long lines. I smile at the black paint stuck underneath her nails. I’m never going to get sick of all her colors.
“And if it happens? If it gets worse and you can’t walk someday?”
That hole in my chest grows bigger, threatening to swallow me up. “Then I can’t walk, baby.”
“Just like that? You’re going to give up?”
Her voice breaks around the same time as my hands snap to her face. “It won’t be giving up.” I tap my thumbs over her cheekbones, trying to draw her attention back to me instead of my door. I don’t want her to leave. “But I can’t change what’s going to happen, either. It doesn’t mean I’m not angry. I am, Mati. I’m furious.”
I take the little comfort that settles over me when her eyes meet mine and she nods, my hands still framing her face. “I don’t know when everything is going to fall apart, or if it ever will completely, but I’m going to hold on as long as I can. I wish I could promise you more—”
She leans in and kisses me softly, trapping my bottom lip between her teeth. It’s sweet and painful, grounding even. What we have is deep like the water that runs miles beneath the earth. I’m starting to think we won’t always see it, but if we believe it’s there, it might be enough to keep us going. I meet her lips with my mouth and get lost in the fact that, if I focus on right now, on this moment, I’ll have something to remember later.
We grow hot and fevered, frantic on the wordless promises we’re making to one another. I strip her out of my hockey jersey and those frilly girly boxers, my hands reaching up to cup her breasts in my hands. She doesn’t say anything about how they tremble over her skin. Exhaustion clouds up my head and limbs, even when I slip inside her from behind and we slowly rock together, building a steady rhythm of hips and skin.
I’m thankful for this, too, for still being able to feel her warmth wrap around me, to feel her body move beneath my hands, to hear her staccato sighs as I move my hand between her legs. Her fingers curl into my hair and tug as she grinds back against my hips. I don’t let up on my touch, not when she tenses beneath me.
She comes, shattering around me, quick and breathless. I think I’m too tired to follow, my body being dragged into sleep while I’m struggling to stay awake, to enjoy this with her. She slips beneath the covers, taking me in her mouth and twisting her hand tight over my cock. I come a few minutes later, so turned on that she won’t give up on me.
She dresses and goes to the bathroom, then comes back to clean me up. There’s a softness to her eyes now that wasn’t there when she first marched in tonight.
“That wasn’t supposed to happen,” she says, wiping a wet facecloth over my abs. “I didn’t come see you to get laid. Well, that wasn’t the only reason.” She ducks down to kiss my chest.
I like the smile that teases her red lips, love the way her hair is messed up and her cheeks are pink. I like how my sheets smell like us, like sex. I like the way she strips again and lays her body over mine, tucking her head beneath my chin. “I can’t stay long. I have to open the coffee shop this morning, but I can take a short nap.” She yawns and wiggles over me as she sets the alarm on her phone. “I’m not leaving you, Beau. You’re stuck with me.”
Only it feels as if I’m falling behind already.
I kiss the crown of her head and close my eyes, finally crashing into sleep before anything else changes between us.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Matisse
The flower shop is still quiet from the post-Valentine’s Day lull. All the arrangements for the day are finished. I grab some flowers and place them on the counter, beginning to sketch.
A half hour before closing, a woman walks in. She looks out of place, all polished and in pearls.
“Can I help you?” I slide my sketch off to the side of the counter and pretend I’m arranging flowers.
“I’m looking for the owner. I’ve been trying to contact her for weeks now.”
“Oh, sorry. Aria is gone for the night. Is there something I can help you with?”
The woman sighs and pulls her camel-hair coat tighter. “This is completely ridiculous.”
I don’t hide my surprise. “Well, I can tell her you stopped by…”
“No, forget it. I’ll find another florist.” She steps closer, and now I’m wondering what the hell she’s going to do.
“Listen, I can’t help if you don’t tell me what the matter—”
“—the matter is that I’m getting married in two months and the other florist canceled on me. I moved from Manhattan for my fiancé so I have no idea where else to go, and I’ve been trying to reach Aria for a few weeks now.”
I’ve heard about this—the bridezilla. “Well, I can’t help you tonight, not officially, but if you want, we can look at some flowers for ideas. I’ll fill in Aria first thing in the morning with all the details. Happy to help.”
“You’d do that?”
“Absolutely.”
Her patent heels click over the polished mahogany floors. She’s the kind of woman I’ve always envied, the one who looks effortlessly put together. Her makeup is flawless, her clothes are crisp and clean as if she just picked them up at the dry cleaners, and her hair is perfectly styled. She’s an adult when I still feel trapped in my twelve-year-old awkwardness.
“I’m Kim.” She sticks her hand out, folding her impeccably manicured hands over mine like the queen. I’m not sure if I should curtsey.
“Matisse,” I say, returning her handshake. Where her fingernails are painted a demure pink, mine are painted every color I own. Beau painted them last night, daring me to wear them for a week in public. He has to do the dishes for
a month if he loses, so you better believe I’m winning that bet.
“Like the painter,” Kim says, happy with herself for guessing.
I nod, too self-conscious when she studies me. Especially after I spot the giant rock on her ring finger.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Kim. So tell me about your wedding.”
She does…in detail. I’m all about details, but I not expecting her to whip out a planner full of ideas and clippings. She’s marrying the CEO of a comic company here in Portland. She wants everything to be refined, but with a fun twist. It’s a challenge, but I make up a few floral arrangements she could consider, then snap photos for Aria.
We get so involved that I miss that technically the shop closed an hour ago. I don’t mind. I feel comfortable here, figuring everything out, designing something beautiful.
She thanks me for my help and is about to leave when she spots my sketches.
“You’re an artist?”
Fake it till you make it, right? “I’m still in school, but yes.”
Her eyes light up. “I saw this idea…”
Another hour later, Kim finally leaves and I have an interesting new job. She wants me to design her wedding stationary—a comic book illustration that features herself and her groom as superheroes.
Beau
A big smile and purple hair comes barreling my way. I open my arms for Quinn as she launches herself at me.
“I missed you, pissant,” I say into her hair. She slips out of her hug and punches me playfully in the gut.
“Stop calling me that.”
I grin. “How was your flight?” I try to take her bag, but she elbows me away, starting for the exit.
“Uneventful.” She peeks at me over her shoulder, dramatically rolling her eyes. “I was so bored.”
“So purple now?” Last time I’d seen her, she was rocking the hipster Ariel look.
“Why not? Life’s too short to stay a brunette.”
I choke back a laugh. “Yeah, right. Of course.” My phone vibrates in my pocket, but I ignore it.
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