The Last Post

by Renee Carlino

  Oh no. “What’s that?”

  “Cold French toast,” he said.

  “Oh, um.” His answer caught me off guard. “I’m sorry to hear that. Maybe your . . . girlfriend could make you that for breakfast?”

  “Girlfriend?” he asked, his eyes playful.

  “It’s been a while, so maybe . . .”

  He shook his head but didn’t answer. Instead, he stepped forward. I hesitated before also taking a step, closing the space between us.

  “What did you learn?” I asked.

  “From us, you mean?”

  I nodded but he just stood there, his eyes fixed on mine. “Why are you staring at me?” I said.

  “It’s hard to look away,” he replied.

  “So, you didn’t learn anything?”

  “I did. I learned that no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop thinking about you.”

  He was beautiful, standing there, seemingly calm and collected. “What did you learn, Laya?”

  “I learned that you say my name differently than I thought. You say it like Micah.”

  He laughed. “Well, I hope so.”

  “And I learned that I really do want to make you breakfast.”

  “What are we waiting for?” He took his thumb and gently tugged at my bottom lip. Without hesitating, he learned forward and kissed me softly. I was frozen. My hands found their way to his chest, which was hard and warm. He smelled like soap. It wasn’t overwhelming, just a masculine smell that made my legs tremble.

  “Micah?”

  “Laya?”

  “Can we go slow? Can we go back to zero?” I asked him.

  He took a step back, releasing me from his hold. As he held his hand out to shake mine, I hesitated. I really wanted him to kiss me again. Would I ever be able to take things slow with Micah? There was an ease about him that made me want to crawl back into his arms and just burrow my head into his chest. He stood there quietly with his hand extended. He kept glancing down at his hand as if to say Are you gonna shake it or what? Micah knew who he was and didn’t care what other people thought about him. He was okay with silence.

  When I shook his hand, we both started laughing. “I’m Laya.”

  “Micah. It’s nice to meet you. Would you like to go get a coffee with me?”

  “Sure. When?”

  “Now. It’s usually the precursor to cold French toast.”

  Even though I wanted so badly to take him to my apartment, cook for him, and then get distracted with him, I couldn’t. “I have to go into the hospital and do some paperwork.”

  “I’ll take cafeteria coffee,” he offered.

  My dad came into the hall. He didn’t bat an eye when he saw me with Micah. Instead he gave me a long hug. I think my dad always knew there was a spark between Micah and me.

  Before leaving the office, I went to the ladies’ room to take a breath and to get my thoughts in order. There are times in life when the pendulum swinging between happiness and sadness begins to slow. The powerful force of emotions goes dormant, we pause, look up, and realize we are finally content. I settled into the idea that I couldn’t control what other people did. Surrendering to the notion that I was just along for the ride was freeing. Maybe that was what Cameron had always been searching for. The ride that would free him. Maybe in his death, he finally found it. Maybe in his death, I had found it.

  31. Payload

  MICAH

  Time felt suspended in the cafeteria as we sat surrounded by tired doctors and nurses, patients and family members speaking in hushed tones, and the distant clanking of dishes from the kitchen. Laya cupped her coffee mug as she stared out of a large window that opened onto a courtyard garden. I didn’t say a word because this was her time and I would listen to whatever she needed to tell me. Finally, she looked up; her expression was different from before, when she had been drowning in an ocean of grief. Her eyes looked clearer, more trusting . . . more earnest.

  “I want to talk to you about everything,” she said. “I want you to know who I really am.”

  “Go ahead; I’m a good listener. I’m ready.”

  “Do you want a muffin or a doughnut or something?”

  I shook my head and laughed. “I thought you were going to tell me everything?”

  “Right.” She breathed in, then out. “I loved Cameron.”

  “I know.”

  “I never thought I would love someone like that. He took a lot of risks. He was spontaneous and wild, such a free spirit. There were times when I felt like he brought a new, exciting part of me out. It was thrilling.”

  “I bet.”

  “But, Micah, it wasn’t always good,” she said before looking away, out of the window again.

  “It never is . . . always good. No one is perfect,” I told her.

  “I mean, Cam wasn’t always good to me.” She looked pained when she spoke.

  “You don’t have to have guilt for feeling that way.”

  “I used to. He was only human. After he died, I put him on this pedestal, like he did no wrong. I know he loved me the best way he knew how, but he loved the stunts, too. It was the lifestyle that always drew him back. He died doing what he loved. There aren’t many people I can say that about.”

  “What would you say to him if you met him today?”

  She chuckled almost as if she was laughing at herself. “I wouldn’t change anything. He was exactly what I was looking for . . . then.”

  “What are you looking for now?”

  “Nothing. I’m just living now. I’m trying to be the best doctor, daughter, and dog owner I can be. I’m staying in New York, Micah.”

  There was something buried in that statement. I didn’t need to unearth it by asking more questions. “You seem different to me.”

  “I’m not different. In the last few months I’ve thought a lot about the time we spent together. That night in the club, for one.”

  I shifted in my seat, feeling suddenly embarrassed. “Don’t, Laya. We don’t need to talk about it.”

  “I didn’t do that out of spite for losing my husband, or because I was in pain, though I was in a lot of pain. I did it because I saw this gentleness in you. Right from the very start I knew you wouldn’t hurt me. My dad would always talk about you being the pillar at the firm. He said he could count on you. He’s very guarded about those kinds of things. I think when Steve and Shelly came on the scene, my dad was in a bad place. He let a lot slip through the cracks with them.”

  “Yeah, don’t I know it. Why do you think he did?”

  “Because the firm meant nothing to him once I said I had no desire to be a part of it. You ignited a new passion in him. He told me he felt like you were a son he never had.”

  Jim was always good to me, but I never would have imagined he thought of me as a son. “I’ve always admired your dad.”

  “And Micah . . . I knew that was you at the concert. Or I’ve figured it out, at least. I didn’t want to acknowledge the feelings I had for you. We didn’t even know each other then.”

  “Do we know each other now?”

  “I want to know you more. I want you in my life. It doesn’t matter in what capacity. We can figure that out later. I just know there is something about you that makes me feel calm and understood.”

  “You and I never got to spend moments like this together.”

  She squinted. “Moments like sitting in a smelly hospital cafeteria?”

  “Normal life moments, is what I mean. Just the two us drinking coffee, having easy conversation. There isn’t anything to confuse us now. I think we understand each other’s boundaries.”

  “What’s next, then?”

  “Breakfast at your apartment?” I waggled my eyebrows. “I’ll cook it, I don’t even care.”

  “I guess it would be nice to just sit on the couch and not talk to each other?”

  “You’re very romantic.” Who said anything about sitting on the couch and just talking?

  “I mean, I just want to be and g
et to know you. Under more normal circumstances.”

  “I just want to be and get to know you, too.” I knew I had to tread lightly with Laya. Even though I wanted to ask her exactly what she meant, I wouldn’t pressure her about it. I decided it would be poor timing to tell her I wanted to be with her literally, physically, mentally, figuratively . . . and every other way possible. I’d tell her in time.

  “I’ll let you know my schedule for next week,” she said. I heard her name over the intercom.

  “You have to go,” I told her.

  “Yeah, I have to get back to work.”

  I stood up and stuck my arms out for a hug. I felt her lips touch my cheek. I didn’t want to sit back and wait for her to change her mind so I bent my head and kissed her. It was a chaste, fast kiss, but it felt natural.

  “Well, okay then. I’ll text you.”

  “You better.”

  * * *

  I CALLED MEL when I got back to the office, and she groaned before asking what was wrong now. I smiled and said, “Nothing at all is wrong.” I described my conversation with Laya. “What do you think I should do? I mean, how do I really impress her?”

  “She likes space” came a voice from the hall. Jim. He stepped in and leaned against the doorway, his hands casually in his pockets.

  I quickly pushed the end button, paying no mind to Mel’s protest of “Who said that?” I blinked at Jim, not sure what to say. I didn’t know if he knew the extent of my relationship with Laya.

  “Space, as in—” Jim pointed up.

  “Um, yeah, I know,” I replied.

  “She likes doughnuts, too.”

  “Doughnuts?”

  “Yeah, the twisty kind with cinnamon on top.”

  “Jim—”

  “Micah, you don’t need to say anything.”

  I coughed to buy time. “I want to make sure this won’t interfere with my work here and the partnership.”

  “Not unless you hurt her. Then I’ll fire you, wait a few days, and then I’ll kill you.”

  “I can’t imagine why anyone would want to hurt her.” If I could have seen myself, I would have guessed I resembled something like a terrified meerkat.

  “She’s complicated, Micah. She’s not a piece of cake.”

  “I definitely know that,” I said.

  “I don’t think Laya is looking for quiet time locked away in a woodland cabin.”

  Whoa, Jim was pulling no punches now. “Let me explain that—”

  “You mean the existential crisis you had a while back?”

  “I had no idea you noticed,” I said while my heart and nerves were running a 5K.

  “The beard was hard to miss.”

  “Yeah, that. The beard was a bucket list thing. I’m over it now.” Suddenly I was out of words.

  “Am I intimidating you, Micah?”

  “No—” I lied.

  “Well, this might: What are your intentions with Laya?”

  Intentions were not something I had necessarily thought about. My phone was buzzing on the desk. Melissa was relentless.

  “How about a PowerPoint, Micah? To lay out why you think you’d be good enough for my daughter?”

  “A . . . PowerPoint?”

  He didn’t crack for what felt like five solid minutes and then he smiled and said, “Relax, I’m just fucking with you. But I will kill you if you hurt her.” He turned and laughed as he walked back down the hall. I said nothing.

  “Hello?” I practically yelled into the phone.

  “Jeez, what the hell?”

  “Melissa, you heard Jim talking to me about Laya.”

  “It’s cute; she likes space. What are you gonna do, fly her to the moon?”

  “I have to think of something,” I said.

  “Why don’t you take her to the Smithsonian Space Museum in Virginia?”

  “Melissa, how do you know these things?”

  “I don’t know . . . I watch a lot of TV.”

  “That should have been a red flag for Kenny.”

  “Don’t ever utter his name again or I will come and shove five pounds of granola up your ass.”

  “Charming. So, tell me about this museum.”

  “Well, it’s in Virginia, and Virginia is for lovers. Maybe you guys can bone on a spaceship or something.”

  “I’ll look into it.”

  Just then my phone dinged with a text from Laya.

  Laya: I’m free Friday through Sunday if you want to get a real coffee.

  Me: That sounds great. I’ll keep you posted.

  “Micah! Did you hang up on me again?” Melissa yelled.

  “No, I’m right here. I was texting Laya back.”

  “I have to go anyway, Taylor wants me to wax his back.”

  “You guys are so weird. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Bye, Pickle.”

  32. Reentry

  LAYA

  My door buzzer went off at exactly nine a.m. on Friday. I had worked pretty much all night, so I was exhausted. I wondered why Micah had never texted earlier in the week to make a plan. I thought maybe I would be bold and text him. I went to the door speaker.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi.”

  I knew right away it was Micah. My eyes shot open while I scanned my body. I was wearing yet another space camp T-shirt with a giant hole in the armpit and a pair of tattered sweats. At least my apartment was clean, except for a small pile of Pretzel poop near my bathroom door.

  “Dammit, Pretzel.” He looked up at me with sad, guilty eyes.

  “Hi,” I said back into the speaker.

  “Hi,” he said again.

  “Good morning,” I replied.

  “Whattya up to?”

  “Oh nothing, just sipping some coffee, walking around in my pajamas with bed head.”

  “I’m sure you look beautiful.”

  “Um, um, so what are you doing here?” I asked.

  “I need you to get ready.”

  “For what?” I said into the speaker.

  “Come on. Let me in, silly. I’m taking you somewhere.”

  I apprehensively hit the buzzer. He was up the stairs in seconds. When I opened the door, he leaned in, pecked me on the cheek, and said, “You look nothing short of gorgeous. Bed head and all. Okay, let’s go, the plan is set.”

  “Are you crazy?”

  “Yes.” He held up a grocery bag. “I’ll make breakfast while you pack.”

  “Pack?”

  “What if I told you that you can wear your space camp T-shirts for the whole weekend?” he said.

  “Not good enough. I need more details.”

  “What if I tell you I will devote several hours each day to kissing every inch of your body?”

  “You might be onto something. Is this your idea of taking it slow?”

  He maneuvered past me into the kitchen. “I would call waiting eight months to have French toast in your apartment taking it very slow. I exercised extreme restraint. Now get your butt in there and pack.”

  I followed him around in the kitchen and continued stalling. “Are you a good cook?”

  He smiled while he whisked the eggs, milk, vanilla, and cinnamon. “I can make like six things. My sister is actually a good cook. Three years ago she dated a chef and thought she should go to culinary school. She broke up with him and quit school after three months when the guy tried to convince her to eat a baby chicken still all slimy in the egg. I had forgotten about that.”

  “Gross.”

  “I guess they do it in other countries.”

  I couldn’t take my eyes off him as he cooked at my stove. He set a plate of French toast and raspberries on the counter, cut a piece with a fork, stabbed it, and reached across to feed it to me. I think I almost passed out from how good it tasted.

  “Laya? Where’d you go?”

  “Food heaven.”

  We ate in relative silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. I thought about life. Looking at Micah—smiling, happy, and content, just
sitting in my apartment eating French toast—made me think about the life we choose. About Cameron, my mother and father, about the patients I had treated. Was I so self-absorbed that I couldn’t give credence to the love that was all around me? When you look outside and compare a person’s life to a flickering light on a post, about to burn out so that you can’t see anymore, it’s selfish. When you live alone and ignore all the beautiful humanity swirling outside your door, it’s selfish. When you lie in your bed and cry because you, the one with a full life to live, have lost someone, it’s selfish. It wasn’t because I didn’t have a right to mourn; it was because I was taking what Cameron no longer had, and I was throwing it all away. I vowed not to do that anymore.

  “Laya, what are you thinking about?”

  I shook my head, breaking the trance. “The future.”

  “Me, too,” he said. “Now go pack. I’m serious, lady.”

  * * *

  RUNNING AROUND FRANTICALLY, wondering what the hell to bring besides, of course, all my NASA T-shirts, I kept asking Micah and he kept giving funny replies.

  “Micah, what do I need? What should I bring?”

  “Your humor, please.”

  “Seriously,” I said.

  “Your undeniable beauty.”

  “Come on!”

  “Your wit, your intelligence, your kindness, your determination, your amazing hands—”

  “You. Are. Impossible.”

  “One more thing,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Bring that pack of Skittles from your nightstand.”

  “That I can do,” I told him.

  At the door he picked up Pretzel and said, “We have to run by Mel’s. She has my things and she agreed to watch Pretzel.”

  My eyes shot open with worry.

  “It’s okay . . . she’s a vegetarian, sort of.”

  I shook my head and followed him to the street to hail a cab. When we got to Melissa’s, she greeted us at the door. “You guys are freaks,” she said. “But I think it’s kinda cool.”

  She handed Micah his bag of things and we were off. “Thank you so much,” I told her.

  “Have fun. I guess you guys deserve it.”