One Moment at a Time

by Thomas, K. S.

  I must be disappointing her on a whole new level because her sarcasm sounds sincere. “I’m sure. Meanwhile, what vision is it you’re following out onto the open road today?” I don’t know why I want to know, except maybe I’ll feel like I can gauge how long she’ll be gone this time if I know what she’s off doing. Not that she’s guaranteed to come straight back here once she’s done. Probably has a solid three or four detours in her before good ol’ Georgia is on her mind again.

  “A brothel in Texas,” she says, straight-faced. I hate when she does this. I have no choice but to believe her until she cracks. Because it’s her. And shit like that could be for real when it comes out of her mouth. “I’m kidding. This chick I met a while back just landed herself a food truck. I’m going to go help her get it going. In Texas.”

  “Just...all over Texas?”

  “Dallas. It’s where I met her. We worked for the same caterer last spring. Did a shit-ton of weddings together.” She laughs. “If ever a girl needed a reason not to want to get married.”

  “Not this girl,” I mutter dryly.

  Silence sets in. Normally it’s comfortable. Today it’s awkward. Forced. Like neither of us wants to say the stuff that needs to be said to move this moment forward. Because it’s hard. And neither of us likes doing hard stuff. That much, at least, we have in common. Even if we consider the easy way out to be two very different things.

  “So, you need help loading these into your car?” I ask when the silence gets harder to bear than the inevitable.

  “I mean, if you’re offering.” She grins.

  Apparently, I am.

  Doesn’t take long between the two of us and the fact she keeps everything packed at all times, and before my coffee is even empty, her apartment is completely bare but for the furniture it came with.

  And one last box that just won’t fit.

  “Favor?” she asks, holding the box after repeatedly trying to shove it into her car from every possible opening and failing.

  “You want me to tie it to the roof?” I guess.

  “I want you to hold onto it. Just stick it in a closet or your attic, or wherever, until I come back around for it.” The corner of her mouth hitches up in the most adorable way possible.

  “You want me to keep your stuff.” Until she comes back. “This feels kind of like a commitment of sorts. Are you aware? Do you even recognize the gesture?”

  “Don’t get too excited. It’s just a box of junk I’m likely to forget I ever owned if enough time goes by.” She smirks. “But yes, I recognize the gesture. Will you do it? Will you keep it for me?”

  I reach out and take the box from her. “I can commit to a box of your junk.”

  “Thank you.” She slams the trunk shut. “That settles that then.”

  “Yep.” I catch myself taking a step back again. “You’re free to go at last.”

  “Almost.” She moves for the driver’s side door. “One last stop on my way out.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “Cemetery. Can’t leave town without telling my Grandmother where I’m headed.” She takes the steps to bridge the distance between us and places a soft kiss on my cheek. “Goodbye, Ben.”

  I don’t answer. I just nod. All the times I’ve seen her come and go, I’ve never been able to say those words to her. I always wait. Until she’s gone.

  Then I whisper them to myself.

  “Goodbye, Ky.”

  Her grandmother. Ky never left town without a trip to the cemetery. Not once. The answer to where she is has been with me all along, hidden away in my memories just waiting to be found. Like her.

  chapter

  eighteen

  BEN

  I skip the plane and opt to drive this time. A little open road does my mind well even if it does choose to spend hours running every detail of the past week on repeat. I don’t mind. Almost enjoy it even. It’s been an eye-opening adventure on every level, including the fact it opened my heart along with everything else. I’m not scared of finding out what matters to me anymore. Not scared of wanting something that won’t fit in with my father’s ideas for me. And Ky, she definitely won’t fit. Nor will my desire to give up the family business in search of something that actually feeds my soul. The way the ocean did. And the way the laughter with the Laurents did. And the countless other moments I’ve lived since deciding to find Ky. Seeking her out, really did lead me to myself.

  But satisfying my soul’s ache for passion and purpose will have to wait. At least for now.

  First, it’s my heart I intend to make whole.

  The cemetery Ky’s grandmother is buried in lies in the foothills outside of my hometown. I’ve never been, but it’s well known for its parklike setting, and when I arrive, I’m not at all surprised this is the place her grandmother was laid to rest.

  It’s serene and beautiful and I can already imagine Ky walking through, taking her time to take deep breaths and sink into the peace of being here. Because she would find it peaceful. There’d be nothing creepy or cold about a bunch of headstones in Ky’s mind. She’d read the names as she walked by and see the people they once were. And knowing that about her, makes me do it to as I pass them by in search of one specific name.

  Silvia Hannigan. Ky’s grandmother.

  I’m nearly to the edge of the grounds when I find her, tucked among the trees growing thicker here. Fresh flowers on her stone suggest she’s visited often, by whom, I don’t know. Friends who outlived her, I suppose. As far as I know, her son is the only other family she still has, and I don’t get the sense he travels here from Kentucky often.

  I kneel beside the grave to say a prayer in hopes that it will reach her. Only when I open my eyes again to take a closer look at the stone do I see it. The stack of envelopes wedged along the side into the dirt beside a small flowerpot filled with daisies. A letter for every visit Ky has made.

  Gently, I start to move the pot to retrieve them. When I do, another single letter slides out from under the leaves. It must have been leaning up against the pot, hidden away. And with it, a single red rose.

  Unlike all the others I’ve received from her, this one isn’t dried. It’s freshly cut, it’s petals a vibrant red and silky soft to the touch. Even the stem is still damp with moisture when I pick it up.

  “Ky,” I breathe.

  Suddenly frantic, my hands fumble with the envelope, ripping it open.

  Ben,

  Seems strange that you’re not here anymore. Stranger still that you chose Dallas to be your new home. Were you hoping we’d cross paths there one day? I’d like to think I was part of what drew you there, though I’ve heard since you’ve found other things to hold your interest.

  Does she hold your heart as well?

  You know the expression; wild horses couldn’t drag me away? Well, I do believe this once, I’m going to let them. Ask Danelle where to. She’ll know soon enough. I’m meeting her for lunch.

  Bet you’ll never guess where.

  Love, Ky

  THE CHICKEN SHACK. It’s where we all used to work. Where we first met. Where we always found each other again. And, if I hurry, it’s the place I’ll find her now.

  “I’m Ben,” I announce, sliding into the booth to sit across from her.

  “Good for you, you know your own name.” She smirks briefly before returning her attention to her application.

  “I take it you’re so impressed because you struggle remembering your own?” I counter when she doesn’t offer up an introduction.

  She chuckles quietly. It’s the only indication she gives that she’s heard me though. Instead, her focus stays on filling in the form. From the looks of it, she’s making an essay out of the past jobs section.

  Determined not to go down this easily, I lean forward and get a better look.

  “Kylie Hannigan.” She doesn’t look like a Kylie. She doesn’t look like any name that comes to mind.

  “And you can read!” This time, I do get her attention. All of it. A
nd it has a scathing edge to it. “Listen, Ben. I’m going to save you some time even if it cuts down on my entertainment. Why? Because I’m feeling generous today.” She leans across the table, smirking. “This? It’s never gonna happen.”

  “Excuse me?” I laugh.

  So does she. “You’re excused.” Then she flicks her wrist, waving my dismissal. “Go on.”

  Only I’m not giving in that easily. If anything, my interest in her just grew tenfold. “How can you be so sure you want me to leave? You only just met me. I could be your soulmate or some shit. You could be missing out on the greatest love of your life by sending me away so fast.”

  She sits back in her seat, watching me with narrowed eyes. The corners of her mouth quirk every second or so and I know, at the very least, she finds me amusing.

  “You can’t be my soulmate,” she says after a moment of contemplation.

  “And why not?”

  “You’re not the leaving sort.” She gets up, pen and application in hand. “And I am.”

  Then she walks away to prove her point.

  chapter

  nineteen

  KY

  “Feels like old times,” Danelle says, eyes still flashing from our last bout of giggles. “You, me. Sitting here in the back booth at the Chicken Shack.”

  “I don’t know,” I tease her. “I don’t recall your belly ever touching the table when we used to eat here before.” Two more months, and baby number three arrives. Some days I still can’t believe she went all Suzie Homemaker on me. Other days, it’s so completely obvious I should have always seen it coming. It suits her. Motherhood. Fills her with more light than I ever saw shine from her in all the years I knew her before.

  “Can you imagine?” Her eyes bug out dramatically. “That would have made Jason the father!”

  I laugh. “What would have been so wrong with that? Jason was adorable.”

  She shakes her head. “No amount of adorable could have ever made up for his weird obsession with collecting hair.”

  I almost choke on the last sip of my water. “I’m sorry, what now?”

  “I didn’t tell you about that?” She feigns surprise. “Huh.”

  “Are you going to tell me now?”

  She rolls her eyes in surrender and spills her shame. “Jason liked collecting hair. Like, random human hair he’d find when we were out.”

  My eyes narrow. “What did he do with it.”

  She grins uncomfortably. “He had this weird wooden box with purple velvet liner that he kept them in.”

  “No!”

  “Yes!” She laughs, reaching for her glass. “See! Not good baby making genes.”

  I make a face, shaking my head. “Definitely not. I’m not sure you should have even dated him. That’s creepy, Danelle!”

  She shrugs. “It’s not like I knew when we first started dating. They don’t open with, ‘hey, check out my secret box of human hair’.”

  “Ugh, but they should. Life would be so much easier if people just came right out with their freakiness.”

  She nods. “Tell me about it. I still kind of wish Brent had mentioned his little toenail biting habit before I said, ‘I do’.”

  “Toenail biting is potential deal breaker material,” I agree, even though we’re both joking. Brent may have a gross thing with his feet, but he’s one of the good guys. And Danelle, well, one look at her, even as she’s got her lip curled in disgust at the thought of him, and you know she couldn’t be happier or more sappy-in-love with the man.

  Our giggling subsides again. Our glasses are empty, but for the melting ice we keep sipping on, and the massive hunk of bread pudding we ordered for dessert is but a few crumbs in caramel sauce now. Lunch is coming to an end, and with it our visit.

  “Any idea where you’re headed next?” she asks, folding her napkin the way we used to do to set the tables when we worked here.

  “I have a friend who leads weeklong trail rides through all sorts of terrain in New South Wales, Australia. He offered me a job a while back. I’m thinking now might be a good time to take it.”

  “God, your life makes mine look so boring.”

  I reach across the table and poke her belly. “Are you kidding me?! Look at you. You grow human beings in your body. Nothing I do is ever going be more exciting than that.”

  She tilts her head, half her mouth tucked up in a smirk. “Yeah, I guess making people from scratch is a pretty cool way to spend your time.”

  “I think so.” I tug my bag up into my lap and start digging around inside. “Before I forget, here.” I hand her the envelope and single red rose.

  Danelle’s energy drops almost instantly and her sparkling eyes turn somber. “Ky.”

  “Please,” I ask, waving the hand still holding my offering. “For me. I know you think it’s crazy, but please, indulge me and my fantasies.”

  She sighs, leaning forward. For a moment, I think she’s reaching out to take the envelope, but then her hand moves past mine and toward my chest. Her finger hooks under the chain I keep around my neck and tucked into my shirt, and I know within seconds, what I keep hidden over my heart, will be dangling out in the open.

  Her hand moves down along the chain until it catches on the ring. A simple but stunning 1920’s Art Deco engagement ring with a hexagon setting and a transitional cut diamond.

  “It’s been seven years, Ky. You can’t keep living in the past,” she whispers, eyes moving up to meet mine again.

  “I’m not living in the past. I’m living in the moment.” I take the chain from her grasp and gently slip it back into the collar of my shirt. “One moment at a time.”

  “I know you think that,” Danelle starts, “but it’s not honoring Ben when you wear that ring like it’s a noose around your neck, Ky. He bought it because he wanted to build a life with you, not so you could die with him.”

  “I can’t just take it off, Danelle,” I say quietly. “I’ll lose it when I’m ready.”

  She opens her mouth to say more, but we both know where it’s going. We’ve been down this road often enough. So, I stop her.

  “I love you, babe. I love you with all my heart. You’re the most wonderful friend any girl could ever wish to have, but I need you to understand this. To do this with me. Or, at the very least, let me do this for myself. Let me live in my moments.” I bite my lip, forcing back the emotions that threaten to blow me over any time I give them half a chance to. “This moment, here, you and me, with you and your giant belly and a new person on their way to greet you. This is an amazing moment. A moment I can cherish with every breath I’m living it. Let me have it. And let me have the next, and the one after that. Let me cherish every second. Don’t ask me to live in the past. Or look to the future.” I place my palm over my chest, and I can feel the ring through the material of my shirt, my heart pounding right beneath it. “Because the past is where I lost him. And the future is where I’ll never find him. But here, in the moment, that’s where I can still have hope. That’s where I can live between what was and what will never come to pass, without ever having to face either.”

  She has tears in her eyes. She always does when it comes to this. But she takes the envelope and she doesn’t fight me on it again.

  “Two standing ovations,” I call out as I pass by the kitchen on the way to the dressing rooms, large bouquet of red roses in my arms. “I’ve topped out. Time to move on!”

  I can hear Geoff laughing in the kitchen just as I turn the corner to the costumes. “I think you could score three if you tried!”

  “Not even Jess Savvy gets three,” I call back, stripping out of my tux to switch into a pair of comfy sweats. “And he’s the king of Drag Kings!”

  “You’re just looking for an excuse to cut out and go running back to that boy,” he teases, standing in the doorway now.

  Ben. I smile. “You know my heart.”

  Geoff grabs my hoodie from the hook on the wall and tosses it at me. “That I do.” He blows me a kiss. “T
he show won’t be the same without you.” Then he winks and walks back out toward the dining room to make the rounds.

  I’m settling in at my mirror, peeling back the mustache and goatee when my phone starts to buzz, causing me to rip the rest of the tape from my face in one fast motion. “Ouch!”

  It’s Danelle.

  “Are you in labor? Because that means it’s too late to change your mind,” I joke as I answer, checking the time. It’s nearly eleven here in the UK, so it’s only late afternoon in Georgia.

  “I’m not in labor.” She sounds serious. Too serious. “Where are you?”

  “London. Why?” Got my gig here at the Octave Below nearly three months ago. Been performing as a drag king in the show ever since, but I haven’t talked to Danelle since I took off for Dallas before that. “Oh, God. Danelle, did something happen? Are you okay?” Panic tightens my chest with anticipation, and I stand up to start pacing to ease the pressure building inside me. Danelle never calls. Mostly because I never have a phone. The only reason I got this one was because she’s pregnant and I didn’t want to miss when she went into labor. Only she’s not in labor.

  “It’s not me. I’m fine. The baby’s fine.” But something is definitely not fine.

  “Then what is it? Danelle, you’re freaking me out.”

  “It’s Ben.” Her voice cracks and I can hear her start to cry. “Ky, I’m so sorry.”

  “What? What are you talking about? What about Ben?” I laugh but it’s forced. Her emotions have been all out of whack since she got pregnant, but this feels different. She’s scaring me. And I don’t do scared. “Don’t tell me, he thinks he’s in love.”

  “He was,” she chokes on the words. “He was buying an engagement ring.”

  “Danelle, really, I can handle this. You really don’t need to be so upset.” I swallow down the lump, which gradually seems to increase with every passing second. “So, he was getting married. It was bound to happen sooner or later.”

  “That’s not it,” she whispers. “Ky...he’s dead.”