I stole away to the bathroom once more, pulling out the phone.
Everett: You know I take creamer with my coffee and you deliberately refused to bring me any.
Guilt crept in and I was suddenly annoyed – with myself. A change of pace. That changed when I received the next text.
Everett: That’s rude, you know.
I bit down on my lip, feeling it tremble, as if tempted to smile. And then the door to the bathroom opened.
Charlotte stood before me and seemed unfazed by my presence in the bathroom. That’s how I knew she was expecting to find me. Her long blonde hair was thick, curled slightly at the ends. Her face was hard, her eyes narrow.
“How do you know Everett?”
She didn’t waste any time. I turned to the sink and started washing my hands, rolling up my sleeves, exposing the scar. I looked at the scar a moment before answering. “I don’t.” It wasn’t a lie.
I looked up in the mirror and saw her reflection staring at my back. “You do,” she insisted, crossing her arms over her chest. It emphasized her large chest. As if I needed further proof of her desirability.
I rinsed the soap from my hands and shook them, letting water splatter across the sink. I pulled down a couple paper towels and dried my hands before wiping up the splatters. I could taste her impatience in the air. It was insufferable.
I threw away the paper towels and looked at her pointedly. “No, I don’t.” And then I walked out of the bathroom, back to the kitchen. I stayed hidden this time, not peeking around the corner at Everett while we played our staring contest game. When I figured he had paid for the check at the cashier by the exit, I peeked around. He was indeed gone, with Charlotte. That knowledge sank in my stomach, holding me still. It was lead. And I didn’t want it.
I walked to the table to clear the plates and found a $50 bill under Everett’s plate. Under the bill was a note, torn from what looked like a notebook.
Parker,
I’m sorry about yesterday. Some of us have scars that aren’t meant to be seen.
Dinner tonight. My house. Six.
Everett
My stomach flip flopped as I read that. “Some of us have scars that aren’t meant to be seen.” That part was honest, heartbreakingly so. And those words touched me with their truth.
I tucked the note away and finished my shift, unable to keep my thoughts from straying to Everett.
Chapter Five
That night, I sat in my bedroom, staring at the note sitting on my desk. My eyes strayed to the clock several times as I debated what to do. Jasmine and Carly had already left for the evening. It was their understanding that I would pick them up from whatever mess they’d fallen into. I hadn’t been asked. But Jasmine had laughed at me on her way out. “See you at one! Or two, or three, or whenever we’re ready.”
I hadn’t corrected her, but I hadn’t acknowledged her either. I had two choices: sit in the apartment until I received Jasmine’s text or go to Everett’s.
My eyes strayed to the clock again. 5:45. I was really pushing it.
At 6:00, my phone vibrated across my desk. I picked it up.
Everett: Fashionably late is still late.
I had never been so completely undecided in my entire life. Stay or go?
Ten minutes later I was standing on his doorstep. Before I could knock, the door swung open. Everett had changed from his earlier clothing. He was wearing black jeans and a black tee shirt. My eyes traveled to his arms unwillingly before I looked back up at him.
“Sorry I’m late,” I said as we sized each other up.
“No you’re not,” he replied, stepping aside and holding a hand out for me to come in.
“How do you know?”
Everett closed the door behind me before gesturing me to follow him down the dark hallway into the bright kitchen that waited through a doorway.
“Because I don’t think you were planning on coming.”
I swallowed. “I wasn’t.”
Everett nodded and walked to the fridge while I took in his kitchen. It was warmly colored, lots of reds and golds, with splashes of modern influence in the stainless appliances and the small lights that hung over the kitchen island. I took a seat at one of the bar stools while Everett pulled a bottle of white wine from the fridge.
He held it towards me and I nodded. He poured two glasses before handing one to me. I watched him hold his glass and couldn’t stop the words that slipped off my lips.
“Should you be drinking that?”
Everett raised an eyebrow and proceeded to sip. “Just did,” he replied after swallowing.
I played with the stem of my glass. “But you said you’re an alcoholic.”
“I did. And I am.”
I looked at him, confused.
“I’m not a recovering alcoholic, Parker. I know what I am. A lot of alcoholics are in denial. I’m not. I know it’s one my many weaknesses.”
I was still confused. And my face must have made that clear. Everett sighed and set his glass down, on the other side of the island from me.
“I’m an alcoholic, but I’ve no desire to be otherwise.”
“Why not?”
“I didn’t fall into alcoholism the way some people do, the people who are desperate to get out but feel themselves slipping away. I am completely in control of myself.”
“Except when you’re drunk.” The words were bitter on my tongue and I pushed the wine glass away. It was a small move, but one that Everett noticed.
“Yes. Fortunately, I don’t make a habit of getting drunk in the company of others. I get drunk at home, alone, so the only danger I am is to myself.”
“You were drunk yesterday. I had to drive you home.”
Everett looked down into his glass. “Yes, I was. I’d say I’m sorry for that, but then I’d be lying.”
“And you don’t lie?”
“No.”
We were staring at each other now.
“Ever?”
Looking at me square in the eyes, he shook his head.
“Why not?” I took a large swallow of my wine. I was tiptoeing into dangerous territory.
“You’ve told me that I’m rude, Parker.” I nodded, confirming that. “I am. I’m rude because I don’t conform to society’s belief that white lies are inconsequential. I don’t believe in hiding behind words that aren’t truthful. I’m an impatient man. I don’t beat around the bush. If you ask me something, I won’t lie to you.”
I let that sink in. “You lied to the bartender. You told him you were my boyfriend.”
Everett looked surprised. “You’re right, I did. I guess you’re a bad influence on me.”
“I don’t believe I influence you at all.”
“Oh, but you do,” he insisted.
“How?”
“You bring out something in me.”
“Is that something rudeness? Because if so, then I agree.”
He nodded, nonchalant. “I don’t say things I don’t mean.” He took a sip of his wine, finishing it off. “Take this wine glass for example. If I had poured milk into it and told you it was wine, would you be upset when you took the first sip, expecting the bite of fermented grapes and getting milk instead?”
“I like milk.”
Everett fought a smile. “I do too. But I also like to know what’s coming. It all boils down to control.” Everett grabbed the bottle of wine from the fridge and came around the kitchen island, refilling my glass. His arm was stretched alongside mine as he poured. Inches. That was all that separated us.
He was standing beside me, so I sucked in a breath and turned to face him. He was looking down at me. His hair was long in the front, drawing attention to his eyes, which were searching mine. He leaned down on the island, bringing our faces closer together.
His eyes searched my face, slowly. And then his lips parted. “I like control, Parker.” His words were a thick whisper, moving the air across my lips.
I licked my lips. “Why?”
/> “Because,” he whispered, his air warm on my wet lips. He moved his arm slightly, so it was now touching mine on the granite countertop. I felt the heat from his arm ripple up my own arm. It was a shock; his touch was an electric wave, moving through me with his closeness and his words. He brought his face closer to me and my body hummed. “I need it,” he whispered, his other hand coming up to my hair. I felt his fingers touch my strands, but I kept my eyes trained to his. “I want to control the things I can’t control.” He pulled a chunk of my hair towards him, playing with it. “There are a lot of things in my life that are out of my control. Big things. Bad things. So when I can,” he said, leaning in, “I grip control like it’s my lifeline. I don’t surrender control.” His lips were hovering over mine. “Ever.” My chest heaved heavily, the breaths coming in short and fast. My heart beat loudly, the blood thrumming in my ears.
And then he pulled back. “I have cancer, Parker.”
My heart stopped for a minute, restarted. A moment later, my breath caught up. I’d been underwater, slowly, gracefully gliding with his words. And then I was thrust back to the surface, sucking oxygen into my cramped lungs. And I was without words.
Everett watched me go through the series of reactions. The lust that burned a fire across my body had been doused with reality.
“A brain tumor,” he continued.
My lips were open, but no sound came from them.
Everett broke eye contact and sipped his wine. “It’s a good bout, too. Strong.” He raised his hand and tapped his forehead. “The bastard is hanging out right here.”
He was being nonchalant about it, drinking his wine and leaning back on the counter. A million thoughts rushed in at once.
“Are you doing chemo, radiation? Or whatever it is they do?”
Everett set the wine glass down and moved to the other side of the island, grabbing an oven mitt and opening the oven door. “No. Just waiting.”
“Waiting?” I asked. “For what?”
I watched him pull lasagna out of the oven and set it down, pulling off the oven mitt. He looked at me, an eyebrow raised, as if annoyed that I didn’t get it. “To die.”
It was a slap. A viciously cold slap of truth. “Is it inoperable or something?” I was trying to understand what he was telling me, so I could wrap my head around the fact that he was waiting to die, and was nonchalant about it.
“No, I’m sure it is. But I’m not interested.” He grabbed two plates from the cupboard. “Do you want to eat here or in the living room? I rented a couple movies.”
I threw my head back and looked at him like he was out of his mind. My anger burned bright, like a candle that had been doused with gasoline. “Are you kidding me right now?” I asked, standing up from the kitchen island. Everett set the plates down and looked at me wearily, waiting for me to rant.
“You were just leaning into me like you were going to kiss me and a second later you’re telling me you have a brain tumor and you’re not going to operate, and in that very same breath you’re asking if I want to eat on the couch and watch movies with you?”
He pursed his lips. “Yep. That’s about right. Except for the kissing part; I wasn’t going to kiss you.”
Whiplash. That was the best way to describe the current situation. I forced the kissing part from my brain and concentrated on the rest. “Why aren’t you operating? Why aren’t you doing anything about it?”
“Because Parker, this isn’t my first rodeo. I’ve had this same cancer before.” Everett walked around the counter to me. “This,” he said, exposing the scar along his hairline, “is my every day reminder. I fought this cancer for three years when I was a teenager. And then I spent another three years rehabilitating. I was homeschooled, a loner, a sick nobody.” He thrust his arms in front of me. “I was pricked and prodded and I spent years stuck in a bed or rehabilitating.” He put his arms down. “I fought for a long time. And I’m tired. I’m tired of fighting. The cancer is there, even worse than before. The odds aren’t great. And I’m okay with that. I’m okay with my life. I’m okay with death.”
Fury narrowed my eyes. “What does that even mean? Who can be ‘okay’ with that?”
“With death?” he asked. “Easy. I am okay with it. There’s no other way to say it. It is what it is.”
“What does your family think?”
“Don’t be stupid, Parker. What do you think they think?” He shook his head at me, growing impatient. “They want me to fight it again, of course they do. But this is what I want. I need to have some kind of control over my life. So this is it.”
“This is it?” I asked, gesturing around. “Being an alcoholic and waiting until your time’s up?” I couldn’t say why I was enraged, but I was. It was none of my business, and normally I would bathe my brain in indifference. But something about this was so completely wrong. I couldn’t help but speak my mind.
“This is it,” he confirmed. He grabbed a serving spoon and looked at me. “Everyone is going to die, Parker. You’re going to die, I’m going to die, we’re all going to die. And I want to leave this world with a little dignity. I want to spend the rest of my life, no matter how much is left of it, doing what I want. I don’t want to die in a bed, in a hospital, after fighting a losing battle. I want to die peacefully.”
I realized I was standing from my earlier outburst, so I sat, calmly. “How much time do you have left?”
Everett served up a heaving spoonful of lasagna. “That’s the beauty of this situation – I don’t know. My doctors don’t know. The type of cancer I have is a ticking time bomb. I might live a while, a long while, or I could die tonight.”
I heaved out a heavy breath, worn out from my anger. The emotion had grated on me, raw and dangerous. I settled down. Not back into indifference; there was no way I could feel indifference again around Everett. But I was settled. That was the best way to describe it. My emotions were neutral.
“Please don’t die tonight.”
Everett laughed and pushed a plate towards me. “That would be keeping with the picture you’ve painted of me, wouldn’t it? It would be poor manners for me to drop dead into my lasagna.”
It was uncomfortable to laugh about, but I felt compelled to ease the tension I’d created. “Yeah, and that would not be a dignified death either.”
Everett chuckled softly. “I want control, Parker. I don’t want to have an expiration date. Who wants to know when they die, really? I don’t want to dwell on my death. I want life. I want to put my hands into all the life there is and let it flood my senses, all of them, all at once.” Everett hadn’t moved from behind the other side of the island, and yet I felt his words as if he’d whispered them directly in my ear.
“It sounds like you have a plan,” I said, swallowing a sip of wine.
“I do. I leave this weekend.”
“For where?”
“Eventually, I plan to get to the Grand Canyon.”
I picked up my fork, took a small bite of the lasagna. “And then?”
Everett took a bite, swallowed. “The Four Corners.”
I took another bite. “This is good, Everett.”
“Extra cheese, Parker.”
I bit my lip. How could I go from feeling indifference, to lust, to anger, to calm, to wanting to smile within just a few minutes? I looked up at Everett, watched him chew.
“Where else?”
Everett shrugged, took another bite. After swallowing, he continued. “I’m going to visit ghost towns, weird attractions, and whatever else I feel like.” My heart picked up pace. There was nothing more intriguing than the idea of visiting an abandoned city, devoid of people. Unchanged, trapped in time. The fact that you could step back into time and see an intimate part of someone else’s life hit the happiest place in my soul. Which was to say, the only happy place. The place that I kept hidden, the place that found enjoyment in the small luxuries I indulged in.
Jealously flared up. I bit the inside of my cheek.
“What?
” Everett asked.
I lifted my eyes to his. “I didn’t say anything.”
“Sure you did. Just not with your voice.” His eyes glittered under the light. Their cool color was warm with what I assumed was excitement for his upcoming adventure. For the first time in a long time, I longed. Not just for the prospect of traveling, but for connection. I actually wanted to be around Everett. I wanted human connection. And I wanted touch. I wanted his touch. I wanted his hands and his lips, and his skin against mine.
When I was around Everett, I forgot why I avoided it all.
I got up from where I was sitting and walked around the island. This was an experiment. I normally lived life through observation, not through experience.
This would change that.
Tentatively, I walked to Everett. He watched me carefully, with eyes that seemed to sense my intentions. He dropped his fork and turned to me, opening to me.
With all the courage I had, I stepped closer, until we were a breath apart. And then I rose up on my tiptoes and pushed my lips to his.
What I’d intended to be a quick meeting of lips turned into a devouring of lips, of eyes. His hand immediately found the small of my back and pressed, pushing me further into him. I pulled back and looked into his eyes. There was a fire in his eyes that made my heart skip, tumble, and fall in my chest.
He looked at me like he was starving. And perhaps he was. So I fed his hunger with my lips, pressing them along his jaw line, kissing each laugh line. And then my lips found his and he sank in. Our teeth clashed. My hands gripped the fabric of his shirt tightly.
I felt his fingers thread through my hair and then I felt the tug as he pulled the hair, bringing with it a delicious sort of pain.
And then I pulled back and heaved a breath. Tears pricked my eyes in an instant. I turned away, towards the kitchen island, and held my breath, squeezing my eyes shut.
Everett didn’t let me collect my thoughts. In an instant, he trapped me against the kitchen island. I couldn’t look at him.
[2014] Ten Below Zero Page 6