Presently Perfect (Perfect #3)

by Alison G. Bailey

  Dad finished fixing my tie, brushed the hair off of my forehead, and looked at me with reassuring eyes. “She’s going to look peaceful, like she’s sleeping.”

  I stayed glued to Dad’s side that entire day. Whenever I felt scared all I had to do was look up and he was there protecting me.

  Mom’s gaze connected with mine. No words were needed. She saw the question in my eyes and I read the answer on her face. Someone’s hand touched my shoulder, moving me through the doorway and into the room. With each step I felt my body get weaker. Mom rounded the foot of the stretcher, walking toward me.

  Dad would want me to stay strong for her.

  Mom flung her arms around my neck and collapsed against me. I caught her and held on to her tight. I pressed my hip against the side of the stretcher in order to brace myself. I looked over at my father’s face. Biting on my bottom lip, my body jerked as I tried to contain my sobs.

  “Noah, there’s nothing to be scared of. You’re a strong boy and I’ll be right by your side, buddy.”

  There was a light knock on my bedroom door. “Noah, it’s me.”

  I don’t know how long Mom and I spent at the hospital. Everything about this day was covered in a fog. The only thing that was clear was that I had to stay strong for her. Once we got home, I waited for as long as I could before coming back to my room. The second the bedroom door clicked shut I broke down. Never in my life had I experienced the deep gut-wrenching sobs that took over my body.

  “Come in.” The words scratched my throat, causing my voice to sound raw.

  I lay in bed on my back with the heels of my palms covering my eyes. I heard the door open and close. Lowering my hands, I sat up and looked at her through red swollen eyes. For the first time since I read Mrs. Kelly’s text I could breathe. My oxygen had just walked into the room.

  We held each other’s gaze. In that moment, nothing she could have said would have comforted me more than the way she looked at me. It was in the moments between the words that said the most. That’s when your heart does the talking.

  “He had a massive heart attack at work. He was gone before the paramedics had a chance to get there.” I gasped, trying to hold myself together. “I just saw him this morning and he looked fine. We were going to Fenway next month, Tweet.”

  Suddenly, my body convulsed and the sobs tumbled out. The bed dipped behind me, then her arms and legs wrapped tightly around my body as I leaned back against her chest. She buried her head in the crook of my neck, her tears dripping down my skin.

  I felt the brush of her lips when she whispered, “Your dad was a great man and he was so proud of you.”

  Our sobs came in waves. We clung to each other as we rode the peaks. When they subsided I took the opportunity to check on my mom. The doctor had given her a mild sedative and Mrs. Kelly stayed by her side while she rested. Most of our extended family lived out of town and were on their way here. Each time I returned to my room, Tweet and I would resume our position—my back resting on her chest, her arms and legs holding me close. With my eyes shut, I mindlessly ran my hand up and down her forearm that was draped over my shoulder and hung down across my chest.

  After a while there was a knock on the door.

  A female voice said, “Noah, it’s Brooke. Can I come in?”

  Before I could answer, I heard the door creak open and the sound of Brooke’s shoes click on the floor as she stepped inside. My right hand continued to stroke Tweet’s arm while my left arm pulled her leg closer to my side. I was surrounding myself with her because that’s where I felt safe.

  “What’s going on?” There was a sharp edge to Brooke’s tone.

  Never looking toward her, I rubbed my forehead and replied, “Brooke, I really don’t want to be around anyone right now. I’m sorry. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  The next sounds I heard were a huff of breath, footsteps, and the door closing.

  “Maybe I should go and let her stay,” Tweet said.

  Turning over onto my stomach, I wrapped my arms around Tweet’s waist and nuzzled her chest. Slowly, her fingers combed through my hair, the tips of her nails skimming lightly over my scalp.

  I mumbled, “Don’t leave me. I need you. I don’t want to be around anyone but you, Tweet.” I clung to her, my body trembling as another wave of sobs crashed over me.

  She tightened her hold and whispered, “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

  The clock on my nightstand read 2:18 am. I was stuck between the worst day of my life and the day I dreaded the most—planning my father’s funeral.

  I drifted in and out of sleep the entire night. Each time I opened my eyes Tweet was there letting me be whatever I needed to be at that moment—hurt, angry, confused.

  Our position shifted, landing us in the middle of the bed. I was on my back, my right arm behind my head. Tweet lay on her side, facing me. With fingers laced together, our thumbs mindlessly circled each other’s like a slow thumb-wrestling match. Moonlight from the window washed over our faces.

  My gaze was glued to the ceiling. I didn’t need to look at Tweet to know whether or not she was awake. I knew she would be.

  “You wanna hear something ridiculous?” I said, my voice low.

  “Always.” She squeezed my hand.

  “I was eight years old when Grandma passed away.”

  “I remember that. You kept tugging on your tie the entire day.”

  “Yeah.” I paused, intensely aware of how prominent Tweet has been in my life.

  I didn’t have to connect the dots to who a particular family member was or explain any history about an event in my life to her. She was an extension of me.

  “So I realized at an early age that people in your life die. But I’ve never thought about my parents not being here.” I glanced toward her. “Isn’t that weird?”

  She snuggled closer to me, resting her head on my shoulder. “I don’t think it’s weird. I’ve never thought about my parents…” Her voice quivered.

  My gaze turned back to the ceiling. “I saw the ambulance. I was helping a discharged patient to their car. There were no screeching tires or sirens blaring. I had no idea it was him inside.”

  Tweet let go of my hand and hugged my arm, molding herself closer to my side.

  “People love to talk about the miracle of birth. No one ever mentions the miracle of death. They’re both extraordinary events, considered acts of God. The difference is that one leaves you completely devastated.”

  “Your dad bought me an orange push-up at every single one of your games. When you first started playing T-ball, I’d get so antsy waiting for the game to be over.”

  “You used to twirl around until you got so dizzy and fell flat on your ass in the dirt.”

  We shared a chuckle.

  “Then once I was older I’d walk up and down the bleachers and around the field, over and over, waiting for that game to end. He always knew just the right time to show up with that ice cream.”

  “You know why he did it, right?” I glanced at her. A smile crossed her lips a she thought of the sweet memory.

  “Cause he was an awesome man who knew I liked orange push-ups.”

  “There was that, but that wasn’t the only reason. It was also for the good of the game.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “What are you talking about?”

  “When I played T-ball, Dad caught me sneaking off the field. I saw you twirling around and I wanted to go play with you. He figured you’d sit down and be still for an ice cream.”

  “I was had. I mistook his bribery for gentlemanly Southern charm.”

  “Pretty much.” I smirked.

  “He continued it even up until your last season.”

  “Well, your bleacher walking was extremely distracting, especially as you got older and curvier.”

  “Noah.” She pretended to be offended. “He was an incredible dad.” She hugged my arm.

  “Yeah, he was.” I paused for a few second. “When I was wheeling that new m
om across the lobby yesterday, I looked down at those little guys in her arms… for a brief second it flashed through my mind how awesome it was going to be to go to Fenway with our son and my dad.”

  Raising her head, Tweet propped herself up on one elbow and said, “What?”

  I turned my head toward her. “Hmm?”

  “You said our son.”

  I sat up, raking my hands down my face. “Shit. I’m sorry. I’m not thinking straight and…”

  “Noah, stop.” Her fingers curled around my forearm, tugging my hand away from my face. Our gaze connected. “It’s okay.”

  We stared at each other. Tweet raised her hand. Her fingertips timidly moved across my jawline to my chin, grazing the outline of my bottom lip.

  “Noah.” She sighed, looking at me like she’d take all my pain away if possible.

  “Tweet.”

  I placed my hand on her wrist and guided it down to my chest, pressing it to my heart. Having Tweet close gave me peace and hope that I would make it through this pain. She was my strength. I needed a break from the pain.

  Let me get lost in you, Tweet.

  I leaned in, the tip of our noses touched. The hot thick air surrounded us. I tilted my head and moved closer. Our lips almost touched when I felt the pressure on my chest.

  “Noah, we can’t do this,” she said, pulling away.

  I was so caught up in the moment, the pain, and in her that the words sounded like a foreign language. “What?”

  “You’re hurting and I’d do anything to take the pain away from you, but not like this.”

  Sitting back, I blinked away the haze of the moment.

  “I’ll be right back.” Tweet must have seen the panic in my eyes, because she quickly followed up with, “Promise. I’m just going to the bathroom.”

  She climbed off the bed and walked out of my room. I flopped back down, breathing out a deep sigh. As much as I wanted Tweet, she was right to stop us. I knew in my heart we’d be together some day, we had to be. But it wouldn’t be today and it couldn’t be like this.

  Mom and I went to the funeral home the next morning to make the final arrangements for my dad. So many details had to be ironed out—choosing the casket and the type of lining for the inside, the suit Dad would wear, what prayers would be said during the service, the eulogy, the music. The list was endless. I sat beside Mom trying to stay strong for her and take all the information in. It was heartbreaking to see her this way. She looked dazed and you could feel the loneliness radiate off of her. Thankfully, Tweet came with us. Without her I wouldn’t have been able to handle all the decisions that Mom was incapable of making on her own.

  I had this constant need to have physical contact with Tweet. Whenever she was near me I held her hand, let my arm brush against hers, or just plain hugged her. Each time my strength wavered, I reached for her. When I felt her touch and looked into her eyes it gave me the courage to move forward.

  By the time we were done at the funeral home Mom and I were completely drained. We headed back to our house. Tomorrow after the funeral, people would be coming back here and all the Kellys were helping to get the house and yard ready. Mrs. Kelly was assigning and overseeing all the activity that was taking place—friends and neighbors constantly stopping by with food and wanting to give their condolences. Mr. Kelly was outside working in our yard—cutting grass, clipping hedges, planting more flowers. He needed to keep busy, so he wouldn’t fall apart. Emily was taking care of dusting and vacuuming while Tweet was assigned laundry duty.

  After making sure Mom was in the capable hands of her two sisters Marie and Carol, I headed down the hallway toward my room. I needed a few minutes to decompress from the morning. My footsteps slowed as I got closer to my dad’s home office. I hesitated briefly before stepping inside. I half thought I’d find him sitting behind his desk like I had so many times in the past. I walked over, rolled the chair away from the desk, and sat down.

  Everything remained exactly the way he’d left it before he went to work. His calendar was opened to yesterday’s date, check flights for Noah and me, scribbled across the note section. I starred at his handwriting like it was encoded with a top secret message. His autographed Ted Williams baseball along with the 1978 Vintage Topps Sporting News Baseball Card was displayed proudly under its acrylic dome, sitting front and center on the desk, right next to the baseball card made of me when I started T-ball. His candy jar was halfway filled with Skittles. He always had candy. When Tweet and I were kids, he used it as a bribe in order to get us to play outside while he was working. The World’s Greatest Dad mug that I had given him when I was seven had been converted into a holder for pens and pencils. I remember how excited he acted when he opened the cheesy gift. It was as if he’d won the lottery.

  I ran my palms along the armrest of the worn brown leather chair. Dad’s office chair was the most uncomfortable thing in the world, but he liked it that way. He told me one time that it kept him alert, and made him work more efficiently, so he would finish before his ass got numb. Laying my head back, I closed my eyes trying to feel his presence. I needed to experience what the world felt like with him in it one more time.

  Every minute detail of yesterday morning played in my head—the playful way he looked at Mom, the way his hand felt when he patted me on the shoulder, any sign that he was sick, and the sound of his last words to me.

  “Have a good day at work, buddy. I love you.”

  Tears were building behind my lids.

  God, how many tears can one person cry?

  Opening my watery eyes, I swiveled the chair to the right and gazed over at the bookcase. In the corner of the second shelf was his stack of baseball caps, all Red Sox plus one College of Charleston. On the day I got my acceptance letter and signed to play for C of C baseball, Dad wore that cap proudly. I choked back a sob. He was such an awesome dad.

  Closing my eyes again, I allowed my mind to go blank. My quiet escape was cut short with the ringing of my phone. Looking down at the screen, I cringed. It was Brooke. She’d been calling or texting practically every hour on the hour since she left yesterday. I ended up turning off my phone last night. I knew I was being a complete asshole to her. She was trying hard to be understanding and wanted to be with me. But if Brooke were here I couldn’t have Tweet, and I needed Tweet.

  Taking in a deep breath, my finger slid across the screen, and I reluctantly raised the phone to my ear. “Hey.”

  “Hey.” There was a hint of annoyance in her tone.

  “I’m sorry I haven’t gotten back with you. It’s been crazy here,” I apologized.

  “I wanted to come over but I didn’t know if you were back from the funeral home. You know I would have gone with you. Then I thought about just coming on over and waiting…”

  “No! Don’t come over. I wouldn’t be able to spend time with you anyway.” My words came out sharp like a command.

  I could hear Brooke suck in a deep breath and then slowly let it out. “The point is for me to be there for you. You don’t have to play host to me, Noah.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to sound…”

  “Is she there?” Brooke snapped.

  “I can’t do this right now.”

  Ever since that night we were making out in her car and Tweet’s name slipped out, Brooke has been overly suspicious of any time I spend away from her. She’s been pushing more for me to explain my relationship with Tweet, not buying the just best friends line any longer.

  “Well, when can you do it? She probably is there. In fact, I bet you were with her the entire night.”

  “Christ, Brooke, my dad just died and my mom is a basket case.”

  “Are you cheating on me with her?”

  “I’ve told you a thousand times she’s my best friend.”

  “Best friends don’t usually wrap themselves around each other in bed.”

  “I know what it must have looked like, but she’s not going anywhere. She’s a huge part of my life, so
you’ll have to get used to it if we’re together.”

  “I don’t think it’s possible to get used to another girl crawling all over my boyfriend.”

  I huffed in frustration. To say I wasn’t in the mood for this conversation would be a huge understatement. “That’s up to you. I need to go. I’ll see you tomorrow at the funeral.” I removed the phone from my ear and pressed End.

  I couldn’t blame Brooke for being pissed. But just the thought of trying to get through this without Tweet caused my stomach to twist in knots. Brooke would just have to understand. There was no other option.

  I walked out of the office and almost ran smack into Tweet. She had an armful of folded towels and an apologetic look across her face.

  “I guess you heard that.” Tweet’s gaze followed the path of my hand as I mindlessly placed it on her shoulder. “You think it’s weird?”

  “What?”

  “That I can’t seem to go more than two seconds without touching you.”

  “It’s a good weird.” She gave me a slight smile.

  “I’ll quit if you want.” She shook her head and I breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s just… I feel like if I let go of you for too long, I’ll lose you.”

  “I’m here as long as you need me. You don’t have to let go until you’re ready. But I don’t want to cause trouble for you with Brooke. She wasn’t happy last night when she saw us in your room.”

  “She’ll be fine… eventually.” The corners of my mouth curled up slightly as I leaned my shoulder against the doorframe. “Brooke is pissed. Can you believe that? My dad just died and she’s pissed because I need you.”

  “She wants to help, Noah.”

  “She has to understand that what I need right now is you. Nobody can take your place in my life, Tweet.”

  Hugging the laundry to her chest, she glanced down, a pale blush popping up across her cheeks. “I better go put this up before my boss catches me slacking off.”

  She turned, taking a couple of steps away.

  “Tweet.”

  Looking over her shoulder, she responded, “Yeah?”