Every Tomorrow

by Nia Arthurs

  “It doesn’t matter.” I turn away and ignore the overwhelming objection my heart makes. “We can’t be together.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know… how much longer I’ll be here.”

  “In Belize?”

  I can tell she’s holding her breath. The answer rolls off my tongue, bitter and painful. “No.”

  Her eyes flicker with understanding. “I see.”

  “I should call Wilson.” My hand dives for my phone. “Check where he is.”

  She rests her hand on my wrist to prevent me from taking it out. “I don’t care.”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  “None of us know when we’ll go. That’s why each day is such a gift. That’s why we should love as hard as we can while we can.”

  “It’s not that simple. Not for me.”

  “But if it were simple?” Her eyes are big and imploring. “What would you do?”

  “I…” My eyes dip to her lips. “I’d never let you go.”

  She steps forward. Bravely or stupidly, I’m not sure which. “Then don’t.”

  I plant my feet on the ground, refusing to step forward but unable to step away. There’s something about Amaya that awakens my soul. Like, until this moment, I was living life in black and white and now everything’s in color.

  But the truth is I’m going to die. There’s no escaping that.

  Should I jump in or run away?

  Amaya makes the decision for me and speeds into her room. I realize what my indecision must have looked like and start to go after her when she bursts back into the living room with a pen and a piece of paper.

  She sinks into the sofa and scribbles furiously. Curious, I round the couch and sit beside her. There’s one line on the sheet.

  This woman is mine, and I am hers.

  Amaya signs her name beneath the phrase written in giant letters and then hands it over. Her eyebrows knot above the bridge of her nose as she says, “Even if you don’t remember me, remember this.”

  I take it from her, my hands slightly trembling. “You’re crazy.”

  “Thank you.” She smiles. “You can do what you want with that. Throw it out. Keep it. Forget it. I’ll write that note everyday. I’ll deliver it personally. We’ll start over as many times as you want, as many times as you need.”

  “Amaya…”

  She stretches and does an exaggerated yawn. “I’m tired. Goodnight, Kent.”

  I watch her walk away and then lift the paper, staring at the letters parading across the page. Despite everything, my heart widens until it’s so full it feels like it’ll explode.

  I jump out of the sofa and fly to Amaya’s room. She sits up and lets out a breath of relief. “I was so scared you wouldn’t come.”

  “Amaya.”

  She rolls over and, without looking at me, pats the bed. “Could you stay with me tonight?”

  I nod and slip out of my shoes, falling in beside her and holding her close. She smells like hibiscus and coconut milk. I inhale deeply and close my eyes, savoring the feel of her while I can still remember who she is.

  Eventually, we both drift off to sleep.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Amaya

  The next morning, I wake up with an arm banded around my waist. I stare at the limb, running my fingers over the pale skin and fine blonde hair that’s near translucent. Kent’s skin is soft with just a hint of a tan.

  I turn on my back, moving carefully in his embrace so I don’t disturb him. When I’ve made the rotation all the way, I slip my hands beneath my cheeks and study his face.

  His dirty blonde hair brushes his forehead and covers most of his ears. The sunlight picks up the gold in his locks so it looks like it’s glowing. His eyebrows are thick and arch over his large eyes that are closed in sleep.

  Tenderness wells in my chest as I skim over his strong nose and move to his lips next. Kent’s so handsome. Geez, what is such a beefcake doing in my bed?

  To be honest, I never thought I’d see the day I’d be admiring a white man. I’ve only ever been with black men so there’s a part of me that’s slightly fascinated by how pasty Kent’s skin is and how thin and pink his mouth is.

  If it weren’t for that bristly five o’clock shadow, his lips would look almost girly.

  But there’s nothing girly about the grip he has on me.

  Curiosity and attraction zip through my body, creating a dangerous mixture. My pulse kicks up as I edge closer to Kent and run my fingers through his hair. Over the shape of his eyebrows. Down his nose. The square of his jaw.

  I trace the outline of his lips.

  He moans quietly and brings me closer, nestling his cheek against the top of my head. One hand slides to my lower back, softly caressing.

  My breath catches and I suck in Kent’s scent like I’m gasping for air. My pulse that was accelerating before is now skittering way out of control. He’s touching me in his sleep, but it’s no less effective.

  Heat pools through me. I squirm around until I’m high enough to press a kiss to his jaw. His cheeks—left and right. His forehead. Kent makes a soft sound in my ear, a sign that he’s rousing from sleep but not quite awake yet.

  I reach over to kiss his mouth when he grabs me and does it first. Every sensation drowns in the insistent rhythm of his caress. My fingers curl into his shirt, a desperate attempt to anchor myself against the storm of feelings threatening to overwhelm me.

  The next thing I know, Kent throws me on my back and puts his weight on top of me.

  I’m nothing but jello at this point and the way his hands are running over my body, well, there’s no question about where this is going and I’m not in the state of mind to stop it either.

  Kent stops it first.

  He freezes. Since he’s still on top of me, I have a front row seat to the confusion parading over his face when his beautiful, green eyes collide with mine.

  I reach for him, absently groping the air. Kent rolls off me and the sudden shift makes me feel like I’m sinking into the mattress. I shoot up, my hair undone by his fingers and falling all over my face.

  I scoop it back and stare at him. “Kent?”

  “I’m sorry.” He swings his legs over the edge of the bed and cups his head in his hands. “I’m sorry but… who are you?”

  The passion Kent stirred in me a moment ago seeps out like a whoopee cushion losing air. “What?”

  “I’m sorry,” he says again.

  All I can see is his back but I can tell the weight of the world is on it. I shoot toward him and wrap my arm over his shoulder. “It’s me.”

  He flinches and all my naïve, optimistic hope for a relationship shatters. For some reason, I thought Kent would remember me. Even if he forgot everything else, I thought… love wouldn’t let him erase me.

  I was wrong.

  Kent’s shirt is still rolled up from where my impatient hands slipped beneath to caress his chest. His hair is mussed—out of control, really—from rolling around with me. But now the evidence of our kisses feels cheap. Dirty.

  The atmosphere darkens. He’s obviously uncomfortable with my touch. I feel like I’ve taken advantage of him, which makes my stomach roil.

  My heartbeat is thundering in my ears. What am I supposed to do now?

  “Kent?”

  He holds out a hand. “I’m not wearing a wedding ring and neither are you. Are we dating? Or…” He rubs the back of his neck. “Did I pay you—?”

  Frustration balloons in my chest. “You didn’t pay me anything.”

  Great. Kent thinks I’m a prostitute. What a way to start the day.

  “Okay.” He rubs his temple. “What’s your name?”

  I cross my legs. “Amaya.”

  He stiffens.

  Even though it’s foolish to hope, I do anyway. My hands claw the bed as I crawl beside him and stare at his profile. “Do you remember me?”

  “No.”

  The disappointment is so thick I could drown in
it. “Oh.”

  “But it feels familiar. Have we met before?”

  “Uh…” I scramble for my phone and open it up to the gallery. “We have.”

  Kent scrolls through the pictures and seems to relax. “Where is this?”

  “We went to San Pedro. It’s an island in Belize. We played in the water, ate and then flew back on Papa James’s airplane.”

  He winces. “I… it sounds familiar but—” He shakes his head. “I can’t remember it.”

  My heart plummets but I paste a brave smile on my face. “Well, at least you know now that I’m not a hooker.”

  He blushes slightly. “Sorry about that.”

  “It’s fine. Happens all the time.”

  “Does it?”

  “No. That was a first.” Feeling a little awkward, I climb off the bed. “Are you hungry?”

  He shakes his head.

  A thought strikes. Zora said one of the symptoms of his illness was losing his appetite. Since I’ve known Kent, every time I ask if he’s hungry he always tells me ‘no’.

  I clear my throat and stride to the door. “Even if you’re not, I’ll make breakfast.”

  Kent doesn’t argue and, ten minutes later, he quietly shovels scrambled eggs into his mouth. After he chews and swallows, he stares at me.

  “What?”

  “If we’re not in a relationship, why am I here?”

  “Technically, we are in a relationship. Sort of. We haven’t labeled it yet.” I cough. Kent looks as confused as I am. I shake my head and forge on. “Last night, you rescued me from a crazy kid with a knife.”

  Kent’s green eyes bulge. “I did?”

  “Yes.” I point to the window. “See that board there? This kid named Julius threw a rock at it and tried to get money out of me… isn’t any of this familiar?”

  “No.”

  I nod. “I see.”

  We eat quietly for another few minutes before Kent asks, “What do you do for a living?”

  I smirk. “You didn’t believe me earlier?”

  His cheeks turn pink. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Relax. I’m just kidding. I’m a singer.”

  “A singer?”

  I laugh. “You acted like that before too.”

  “You just… don’t look like a singer.”

  “What does a singer look like?”

  He says nothing.

  “Wait here.” I run from the living room, grab my laptop and log online. When I set the laptop in front of Kent, he slides his plate to the side and leans forward eagerly. I grin at his excitement.

  “What’s this?” he asks.

  “Proof.” I press play and my music video bursts to life on the screen.

  Kent watches without blinking. I study the video along with him, remembering that day and how happy I felt twirling for the camera and posing with Supa T—one of Belize’s most famous soca artists.

  That day, Supa and I pretended to be lovers. Which was a dream come true. I’ve had a crush on him since I was fifteen.

  For the shoot, Supa held me, danced with me and even kissed me in front of a free-falling waterfall. My fifteen-year-old self died from fan-girling that day.

  In the middle of the video, Kent presses pause. I jump forward and stare at his face, confused and a little hurt. “You didn’t like it?”

  “It’s not that.” He holds a hand to his chest. “The guy… every time he holds you my heart starts to burn.”

  “Why would it… oh.”

  “What?”

  I smirk. “You’re jealous.”

  “I am not jealous.”

  “Okay then. Watch this.” I press PLAY, staring at Kent. The kiss scene plays. His face twitches. It cuts away to me singing beneath a tree—a creative decision made by my director.

  When it cuts back to Supa T’s mouth on mine again, Kent slaps the laptop lid shut.

  I laugh.

  He frowns. “That proves nothing.”

  “Whatever makes you feel better.” I pat his back and then move all the plates from the table. “You should call Wilson. He’ll take you back to the hotel so you can read your journals. You’ve written all the important things you need to remember in them so things will be less confusing.”

  “Wilson’s here?”

  “Yup.”

  He soaks in that information for a second. “Are you busy today?”

  I pause and stare at him. “Huh?”

  “Maybe,” Kent sticks his hands into his pockets, “I could stick around. For a few more hours.”

  A smile climbs my face. “I’d like that.”

  I introduce Kent to my recording studio, which is just the guestroom outfitted with a carpet, a keyboard, and a mike stand. He sits in one of the chairs and listens quietly while I fiddle with a melody.

  I’ve been hearing a tune in my head for a few weeks now, which is why I took my vacation time in an effort to capture it, but with everything that happened lately I haven’t had time to put lyrics to paper.

  Instead of letting the past few days roll over me, I use it as inspiration and start writing lyrics about memories. By the time I’m done, four hours have passed and Kent is dozing in the chair.

  I stretch and walk over to him. As if he can feel me staring, he cracks one eye open and smiles. “That was good.”

  “Was it?”

  “I’m not into reggae, but I liked it.”

  “Thank you.”

  He takes my hand in his, green eyes piercing. “When you make the music video for this one, don’t hug and kiss any other guy.”

  I throw my head back and laugh.

  Kent squeezes my fingers though a smirk plays with his lips. “I’m serious.”

  “The song has to take off before it warrants a music video. We don’t know how people will react to it.”

  “You said you’ve had two big hits, right?”

  I nod.

  Kent smiles. “This will be your third.”

  Before I can reply, there’s a knock at the front door. Kent glances over my shoulder. I turn as well, clutching my bottom lip between my teeth.

  “Were you expecting someone?” Kent asks.

  “Maybe Wilson’s back to pick you up. Or maybe it’s my brother.” Tyron seemed less than pleased to leave me with Kent overnight. I wouldn’t put it past him to sneak out of school just to check on me.

  I slip my fingers out of Kent’s. He frowns. “Do you want me to come with you?”

  I shrug.

  He unfolds himself from the chair and takes my hand again. Decisively. As if he didn’t appreciate me letting it go in the first place.

  I duck my head to hide my goofy grin and open the front door. A short woman with dark brown skin and thin hair bursts inside. She takes one look at me holding Kent’s hand and arches an eyebrow.

  I shake Kent’s grip and step in front of him, clumsily shielding him from view. “Mom?”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Kent

  The woman standing in the living room has rich brown skin, glassy brown eyes and a mouth stained with a bright red lipstick. Her knee-length dress has a high collar that chokes her neck. If not for her thinning black hair and a few wrinkles, she wouldn’t look old enough to be anyone’s mom.

  But it doesn’t matter what she looks like.

  What she is… is Amaya’s mother.

  My throat bobs as I swallow my nerves and try to figure out how I got to this point.

  I woke up this morning, dreaming of a beautiful woman in my arms. When I opened my eyes, the dream was real but the woman was a stranger.

  My brain has no answers. I don’t know where I am or what I’m doing in Amaya’s house or even what I did to end up here. But I know this—Amaya Mai is not a stranger. Not to my heart.

  When I touch her, it feels so familiar. My pulse thrums through my veins. My heart expands. Every expression she makes fills me with life. It’s happened before. I know that… I just can’t remember the details.

  Amaya’s
sketchy response about our relationship status isn’t very inspiring either, but I’m trying my best to go with the flow and not worry too much.

  A plan that was blown out of the water with the entrance of her mother.

  “What are you doing here?” Amaya gasps.

  I stiffen and feel even more untethered when Amaya yanks her hands from mine. She steps in front of me like a guilty child trying to hide her drawing on the wall.

  Her mother fastens me with a suspicious gaze. “Who’s this?”

  “This?” Amaya blindly reaches for me. Her hands paw at my chest as if urging me to disappear into thin air. “Nobody.”

  An eyebrow arches. “Amaya Mai, I didn’t raise you to sleep around.”

  “What?” Amaya sputters.

  I shake my head. “Ma’am, you’ve misunderstood.”

  “Have I?”

  “Why don’t we all sit down?” Amaya rushes toward her mother and forces her into the couch. “Would you like something to drink? I’ll get you something to drink. Kent, would you come with me?”

  “What? So you can sneak him through the back door?”

  “I’m not going to do that, ma.”

  I start to rise from the couch when Amaya’s mother clamps her fingers over my wrists. “Stay, young man.”

  “Mom…”

  She waves Amaya away. “Go. Get me some lime juice.”

  “But I don’t have lime juice.”

  “You’ve got limes?” Mrs. Mai waits until Amaya nods before dismissing her. “Then you know what you need to do.”

  Amaya shoots me an apologetic look before turning and disappearing into the kitchen. I squirm as silence falls in the living room. I’m more nervous than I should be, but it’s hard to stay calm beneath this woman’s pummeling stare.

  “What’s your full name?”

  “Kent Barton.”

  “Where do you live?”

  I wince. “I’m… not sure.”

  “I see.” The wrinkles around her mouth deepen as she purses her lips. I feel like I’ve lost some points there. Mrs. Mai tilts her head. “How about your job?”

  “I don’t think I have one.”

  “You don’t think?”