Closer

by Mary Elizabeth

  “I’m going back to work, too,” I reply. “We all came here together. We can leave together.”

  “We’re not scheduled to go back to the hospital for another two weeks,” Teller says. “And I’m not ready to go home. If the room’s paid for, we should go.”

  “If it’s the money you’re worried about, Tell, I’ll reimburse you for your troubles.” I sit back in my chair, feeling defensive, shrugging his arm away.

  The truth is, I’m terrified to return to St. Helena without my brother as a barrier between the hurt that town represents and me. Occasionally, it feels like another life, as if a different girl went through the heartache I experienced as a child. Coming face-to-face with my past isn’t something I’m ready to tackle, not when I’m scarcely holding it together as it is.

  “Look, Gabriella,” Emerson says, letting me down slowly. “I need you to go up there and check on the house. I won’t have a chance myself until after the academy. Enjoy the rest of your time off. Your shitty furniture can wait another week.”

  “Em,” I groan, crossing my arms over my chest. “You know how I feel about that place. I don’t want to go there alone.”

  He ponders what I’ve said for a moment, and I watch a series of emotions change his posture and the lightness and darkness in his eyes. From doubt, to grief, to almost waving the hypothetical white flag, Emerson finally exhales a large breath and shakes his head. He has a bad habit of interfering when times are tough, buffering so I never carry burden’s weight alone, but that ends now.

  “You won’t be alone, sissy. You’ll be with Teller.”

  I look away from my brother to the man who’s promised to love me—the only other person besides Emerson who has held my hand through the crazy and still dedicates his life to making sure I’m the best version of myself.

  “If this is what you want, I’m going to support you.” Em’s eyes shift from me to Teller and back. “I trust you. I mean, I practically raised you, so I know you’re not a shitty person and you’re capable of making your own decisions.”

  Laughing, I wipe tears from beneath my eyes. “Thanks.”

  “I’m serious, Ella. You’ll never get rid of me because we’re family, and I love you more than you’ll ever know. There’s nothing about my life I’d change, including taking care of you. It wasn’t your fault, and I don’t regret you, okay? I don’t regret anything.”

  Dropping my face into the palms of my hands, I cry out as heartache fills me to the top.

  “Take care of my little sister, Teller,” Emerson says confidently. “Because if you hurt her, I’ll snap your fucking neck.”

  The next morning, dark gray clouds blanket the sky, and the scent of rain carries with the cold breeze. I’m emotionally beat, having dealt with more heartbreak and self-realization in the last few weeks than I have in my entire twenty-five years. But my conversation with Emerson and my commitment to Teller have given me perspective, and I’m confident everything is how it’s supposed to be.

  I never loved Joe, but he came into my life when I needed him the most. He taught me things about myself I wouldn’t have known otherwise, such as my capability to care for another person without constant conflict, tolerance, and compromise.

  Losing him led me back to Teller, so I must trust fate, and trust everything happens for a reason.

  “Call me when you get to the house.” Em clutches me in his arms, holding me tightly against his warm chest. He kisses the top of my head. “I take that back. Call me every day, twice a day. Or call me every few hours. Actually, just call me when you get in the car and I’ll put you on speakerphone and it’ll be like we’re still together.”

  “I’ll be home in a week,” I mumble with my face pressed against his sweater.

  “But we’ve never been apart for this long,” he replies like a father with empty nest syndrome.

  “You’ll be fine,” I say, shoving him away, gasping for air.

  He pulls me back, more gently. “I promised Nic I wouldn’t say anything, but you’re welcome to come home any time. We have an open-door policy, so don’t lose your key. I can make you a few spares, or I’ll leave the front door unlocked all the time. If you ever want to spend the night, I can blow up an air mattress, or maybe I’ll go ahead and buy a new bed for your old room. Whatever’s easier.”

  “Emerson.” I sigh, amused. “I’ll call you when we get to where we’re going. But you have to let me go.”

  “Never,” he replies. “I’ll miss you too much.”

  After we say our goodbyes to everyone, Teller and I get into the G-Wagen, bubbling with excitement. We’ve gone on vacations with his family—Mexico for Thanksgiving, Florida for spring break, and Hawaii when his cousin got married—but this will be the first time we’ve done anything like this alone. Together. In love.

  “Do you know how to get there?” I ask, pulling my seatbelt across my chest and buckling it in.

  “No, but we will in a second.” Teller programs the navigation, typing in the address to the hotel in San Francisco. The fastest route shows up a second later, suggesting we go back in the direction we came from.

  “Do we seriously have to drive back through Las Vegas?” I ask, dumbfounded.

  “Maby didn’t plan this out too well,” he says, checking for alternative routes. We soon realize going any other way will add a substantial amount of time to our drive, and we don’t have time for that. “I bet we can get the Skyloft for another night.”

  “No way,” I mutter, settling in for the eleven-hour drive. “If I never see the inside of that hotel again, it’ll be too soon.”

  Four hours later, when we drive through Las Vegas, I look over at Teller and smile. What went down in that dingy hallway wasn’t the worst thing that ever happened to me, and while I wish our time here would have ended differently and I don’t want to come back anytime soon, I wouldn’t take it back for the world.

  By the time we reach Death Valley, I can’t stomach another hour in the Wagen, so we get a room for the night at a ranch style resort. It’s an oasis in the middle of the desert, and unlike Vegas, it’s low-key and focuses on relaxation. Teller and I explore Dante’s View on the north side of Coffin Peak, taking pictures of each other alongside the black mountains before we head back to the hotel and soak up the last of the sun poolside.

  After dinner, I show him exactly how my lips look around his cock.

  I even wear red lipstick.

  “I’ll drive this time,” I offer the next morning, jumping behind the wheel before he has a chance.

  From Death Valley, we planned on driving to Bishop, but I trash those plans and head toward Sequoia National Park. We spend two days amongst the tallest trees in the world and underground streams, bird watching and driving through tree tunnels over and over again, because, oh my God, we can drive through an actual tree.

  Sex outside is overrated, but when in Rome…

  “Give me the fucking keys.” Teller snatches them from my hand. “When you drive, we don’t end up where we need to go. Now we’re two days off schedule.”

  “You like it,” I say, winking.

  “I could have gone without the sticks in my ass,” he grumbles, eyeing me playfully.

  “All of a sudden,” I whisper to myself.

  We stop in Fresno for lunch and drive through Palo Alto, where we flip off Stanford University as we pass by. Because fuck their medical; UCLA is just as good. And fuck Theodore Reddy and his expectations; Teller is fantastic, and he’s going to be an amazing doctor despite what field he ends up in.

  When we reach the Golden Gate Bridge, Teller rolls the windows all the way down and turns the music all the way up. The massive structure doesn’t compare to the size of my love for this boy who cusses too much, drinks too much, and smokes too much. I touch him because I can, because he’s mine. I lean over the center console to smell his skin, feel his warmth, and whisper, “I see you, Teller. You’re all I ever see.”

  He kisses me with such conviction that n
ight, it feels like it might be the last time. But when he shoves my dress up and my underwear down, and torture pushes himself inside of me, I remind myself this is just the beginning.

  We’re only getting started.

  Now

  When you grow up an hour and a half from San Francisco, it’s where your parents take you to get out of town for the day. I remember how excited my mom used to get when we planned a trip to the city. St. Helena would fill up with pretentious vinos, gushing over the small town and vineyards, and she hated it. During the weekend, she’d pack the car with food and blankets, and we’d go to the Golden Gate Park to visit the Japanese Tea House, paddle the lakes, and eat lunch in the botanical gardens.

  She also scored pills because junkies are everywhere, but Emerson and I didn’t know the difference.

  Doing these same exact things with Teller feels like a whole new experience, and as I lie against his chest between his legs, bundled up in a blanket we took from the hotel, under the bright sun, I’m glad to be here again. We’re people-watching on the lawn in front of the conservatory of flowers, content in each other’s arms. There’s no pressure to steal small touches in case someone sees us, or to make every second count because we’re going home with someone else. We’re together, and we’re good.

  “What do you want to do tonight?” he asks, brushing my hair away from my neck to place a small kiss over my fading bruises.

  “There’s a band playing at The Fillmore,” I reply, biting my bottom lip as his kiss deepens.

  “Sounds fun.” His words reverberate against my bones, sending a warm chill down my arms. “But I was thinking we could do something that requires less clothing.”

  “Don’t tease me, Teller,” I say, breathless as his tongue presses against my pulse.

  “I could fuck you right here, right now, and none of these people would even know.” His hand slips under my sweater, cool against my warm body. “Can you be quiet enough?”

  “No,” I answer honestly. “Not even close.”

  He groans against the top of my shoulder and falls back, resting his head in his palms. Sunlight intensifies the green in his eyes, tiptoes on his dark lashes, and deepens the scent of ginger on his skin. I lie on my stomach alongside love, soaking up warmth radiating from his body.

  “Can I tell you something, Smella?” Teller asks, watching the clouds move through the sky.

  “You can tell me anything.” I rest the side of my face against his ribs, feeling his heartbeat there.

  “I have no interest working in a hospital once my residency’s over. I’m not like my dad. That’s not where I see myself for the rest of my life.” His heart’s beat quickens, but Teller shows no sign of unease on the outside. “For a while, I thought I could do it to make my parents happy and keep them off my back, but I can’t. Not with the rest of my life falling into place. It feels too good.”

  Theodore Reddy’s adamant his only son will eventually live up to his full potential, as if the last twenty-seven years are a phase he’ll grow out of. He raised a headstrong man who vaguely followed in his footsteps, resenting him every step of the way. A fourth-generation doctor, medicine’s in Teller’s blood, but he’s never had interest in the bureaucracy that comes with it. I have no doubt he’ll be an amazing physician, but it’ll be on his terms.

  “What’s your plan?” I ask.

  “How many times have you seen patients turned away because they don’t have fucking health insurance, or they can’t afford their co-payments and deductibles? I’ve watched people dying from cancer leave the hospital because they can’t afford treatment. If I’m going to do this, I want to help those people.”

  My stomach drops and my eyes immediately well up, because he’s right. Medical care’s a luxury the less fortunate can’t afford. I’ve watched many families lose hope when money runs dry. It was my family at one point. It was my dad, and it was my brother and I who came undone when we couldn’t pay for Dad’s medication. People shouldn’t have to choose between their homes or their lives, but finances determine what kind of healthcare each individual receives.

  “I have money,” he replies easily, not like it’s a burden, but knowing it’s a gift. “And I’ll get the rest in a trust when I’m married. It’ll be enough to open a community clinic somewhere in need of accessible healthcare. There are a couple other residents at the hospital who are interested, baby, and we can run the fucking thing with med students—”

  “Will this clinic need a nurse who’s good with kids?” I ask, blushing.

  Determination rolls over, supporting himself above me on his hands, smirking the most gorgeous smirk I’ve ever laid eyes on.

  “You don’t think it’s a bad idea?” he asks.

  “I think it’s an amazing idea, Teller,” I answer honestly. “And if this is what you want to do, I support it.”

  He looks down at me for a stretched second, from my eyes, to my nose, to my mouth, as if he can’t believe I’m real. When his lips touch mine, I second-guess how quiet I can be.

  I might be willing to find out.

  “He’s somewhere in this area,” I say, looking out the window to a sea of tombstones in the cemetery my dad’s buried in. “I think he’s under that tree.”

  Teller parks the Wagen on the side of the paved road, looking over my head before he turns off the engine. We skipped the show last night, spending the entire evening in bed, connected, forgetting there’s a world that exists beyond us.

  I woke up this morning knowing St. Helena was the next stop.

  The ninety-minute drive felt like ninety seconds, and in the blink of an eye, I was directing my boyfriend around my old stomping grounds. We passed the diner Em and I ate breakfast with our father every Sunday morning until he died, the hardware store Emerson worked at after he graduated high school, and we drove past the side street where I saw my mom for the very last time.

  Despite the amount of time that’s slipped away, old feelings I left behind welcome me home with bells and whistles, and I’m the same seventeen-year-old girl without parents as I was then.

  “Do you want to go alone?” Teller asks. He rests his hands on the back of my seat, patient with my madness today.

  Shaking my head, I don’t take my eyes off the oak tree I stood under when they lowered my father six feet under. “No, I want you to come with me.”

  I walk three paces ahead of him, between tombstones and over grave markers, recognizing an old teacher’s name, and kicking myself for not bringing flowers. Death doesn’t scare me. I’ve lost enough people I care for, and in my profession, patients pass on regularly, but it’s not something I’ve become immune to. As I come upon my father’s final resting place, I decide I’ve visited too many cemeteries lately. This will be the last time for a while.

  “That’s it.” I point to his headstone, unwilling to take another step closer alone.

  ABRAHAM EMERSON MASON

  BELOVED FATHER AND HUSBAND

  “He insisted we add the second part,” I say, remembering the day we hashed it out. Dad planned his own memorial service to relieve us of the burden, but when I saw what he wanted engraved on his headstone, I objected. Adamantly.

  “I’m the one dying, Ella,” he insisted. A shadow of the man he was healthy, his headful of dark hair had fallen out, and he’d lost a lot of weight, but he commanded every inch of the room like he always did. “If I find out you don’t follow my wishes, I’m coming back to haunt you.”

  “I thought it was utter bullshit to acknowledge that woman at all.” I kneel in front of his stone, brushing fallen leaves away. “But he said it was an important part of who he was.”

  Teller kneels beside me and helps clear away overgrowth, not saying a word, but doing a fantastic job of being present.

  “Dad wore a football jersey instead of a suit. His idea, of course. Em might have had something to do with it, too.” I laugh, even as my eyes shine with grief. “Guests at the funeral were horrified.”

  “I won’
t spend eternity in a penguin suit.” He laid his favorite 49ers jersey on the bed. “I lived for this team, and now I’m going to die for them.”

  “But that was my dad,” I reminisce joyfully, sitting on my bottom once the leaves and decay are gone. “He was a stubborn son of a bitch.”

  “That must be where you get it from,” Teller replies under his breath. The right side of his mouth bends, and I slap him on the arm before leaning my head on his shoulder.

  “Yeah, anger was inherited from my mom, and stubbornness was passed down from my father. I don’t even know how I managed to evolve into a responsible adult.”

  “Whoa,” Teller exclaims. He looks down at me with a stellar grin. “I wouldn’t go that far. You’re an okay adult.”

  Pinching his side, I collapse deeper into his embrace, tracing each letter of my father’s carved-in-stone name with my eyes, reading only parts of the rest.

  BELOVED

  BELOVED

  BELOVED

  “You have his eyes, too,” Teller says. His voice’s even, smooth amongst the silence. “That picture you have of him beside your bed … they’re identical.”

  “Yeah,” I reply thoughtfully. “I do, but Emerson resembles him more than me. I don’t think I’d be able to handle it if he grew a mustache.”

  I miss my brother, but there’s something magnificent about having the love of my life and my father in the same place, even if it’s in spirit. During the next hour, the sun fractures dense cloud cover overhead, burning the fog away and warming our cold faces. Dry leaves drop from nearly bare branches, gathering around our bodies in heaps. An occasional person strolls by, offering quiet hellos and polite smiles, visiting nearby graves with flowers.

  “I can’t believe I didn’t bring anything,” I say as a woman three plots down sets a bouquet of red carnations at a headstone. She leaves a few minutes later.

  “Do you think the dead mind sharing?” Teller asks. He stands to his feet, wiping grass from his black denim.