by Selina Bodur
“Peter?!” she asked in astonishment.
“Right here!” his reply was instantaneous. He was half naked and carrying a tray with…
“What’s that?” Tara rubbed her eyes. “Sweets?! This is a healthy way to start the day!”
“We missed the wedding cake yesterday, so…” he left the tray on the bed beside her. “But I wasn’t sure exactly what you like, there is much I don’t know about you, so I’ve ordered everything on the menu,” he smiled kind of shyly. Tara’s eyes widened, overwhelmed.
“Blueberry cheesecake, my favorite is blueberry cheesecake!” said Tara laughing then pulled him closer for a deep and luscious kiss.
Claire proved to be right – Tara was in love.
Chapter four
Present days
Tara was staring at her reflection and almost couldn’t recognize herself. In fact, she hadn’t changed much in the last five years with exception of the fine lines around her eyes and forehead. But something was gone – the light. She didn’t like to feel sorry for herself, but here all the barriers, she’d build were falling slowly and the pain burst in like a tsunami, sweeping her being. But Tara welcomed it; at least she was feeling again, noticing the smells, sensing him. One more day and her life would become again a mixture of “musts”, she would smile, go to work, act. And she was doing it so well that only Claire knew the truth, knew the real Tara, Tara here and now. Someone knocked on the door and opened it without waiting for a reply.
“Hey!” Claire peered in cautiously. “I brought you a bribe! It’s your favorite – blueberry cheesecake! I pinched it at dinner after you didn’t come. Best friends again?” she entered and closed the door behind her.
Tara took a sharp breath. The oxygen had left the comfy room in a second. She was always taken by surprise when the simplest word, gesture or… cake, were able to cause her even a physical pain. Claire cringed by the sight of her girlfriend, put down the dessert and held her in her arms. Tara was shaking with uncontrollable convulsions. She was in pain, the worst kind. She closed her eyes and once again saw snapshots, like stills from a movie, in which she and Peter were the main characters. It was surreal, as if it had happened only in her imagination. Claire just held her silently until the attack passed.
“Look at me!” she insisted in a few minutes.
Tara opened her eyes and looked at her friend’s reflection in the mirror. Claire’s eyes were filled with tears, but firm, Tara’s own face was ashen, the eyes – dead.
“You have to stop doing it!” Claire was squeezing Tara’s shoulders. “Can’t you see it’s killing you? You’re not the same person!”
“You don’t expect me to be, do you?” asked Tara shakily.
“No! But you have to leave him, move on!” said Claire.
“No! Don’t make me do this! I can’t!” Tara was getting restless.
“Of course you can, dear, you just don’t want to. I miss the old Tara,” Claire looked down guiltily.
“I miss her too. She was much more fun,” answered Tara, but the joke didn’t catch her eyes.
“You are looking for him, that’s why we’re here. You have to stop, he’s gone!” Claire couldn’t hold back the tears anymore.
“I know, but I can still feel him all around me… and I’ll hold on to this!” she said grimly. “Claire, I know you don’t understand, you try, but…I need to remember… him, us…happy…” she trailed off.
“It’s time to start living again! You have a pretty good reason to,” said Claire.
“But I live!” Tara smiled sadly, “I breath, drink water, eat sometimes. I think that’s enough!”
“I didn’t mean that. Why are you destroying yourself? He wouldn’t want that for you.” Claire was getting into a quicksand and she knew it.
Tara narrowed her eyes.
“Yes, you’re right. But he’s no longer calling the shots, neither are you. I need one more day,” Tara pleaded.
Claire closed her eyes and sighed.
“Do you have any idea how I feel when I see you like this?”
“I do, actually. Please, forgive me! Will you stay with me tonight? I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep anyway,” asked Tara.
“Of course, honey! Come!”
Both women slid under the covers; Claire was cradling Tara, like a baby. She relaxed, knowing that these hands would never let her go, to betray her, like he did. Yes, he did and she still couldn’t find it in herself to forgive him.
“And by the way, you’ll always be my friend, no matter how badly I behave and what an idiot I am.”
***
Four months after the wedding
November
Tara was alone on the porch, snuggled in a camel wool blanket, warming her hands on a cup of hot chocolate. Right before her was the pier, illuminated only by some flickering lights. Only part of the murky lake waters could be seen, before blending with the darkness ahead. The night sky seemed sprinkled with gold dust, sparkling. It was peaceful; the only sound was the splashing of the water. The house behind her was silent and dark. But despite the gloom, the raising cold and the creeping silence, Tara didn’t feel lonely. He was there. The wooden porch struts creaked under Peter’s weight. His silhouette was barely visible in the dim light.
“I bring gifts! How about you put down your underage, baby drink!” he handed her a cup of bloody liquid. The hot steam was twisting and swirling.
“What’s that?” she asked suspiciously.
“This is my mulled wine; it’s a secret family recipe. I’ll show you!” he made himself comfortable on the cane-sofa next to her. Tara was laughing out loud.
“Pay attention!” he looked at her seriously. Tara looked at him, trying to contain the laughter, filling her lungs.
“First,” he continued, “you take the cup with both hands and inhale deeply until the flavors fill your entire body. Come on, tell me what you smell!”
Tara took a deep breath.
“Hmm, let me think… orange peel, cinnamon, cloves, vanilla. It smells like Christmas!” she laughed childishly and looked at him expectantly.
“Now, take a long sip!” he encouraged. Tara did, burning her throat, the hot liquid slowly moved down to her lungs. It spread like a warm tide through her veins, reaching even to her fingertips. The taste of Christmas settled into her mouth. Tara licked her lips with pleasure.
“You know, it feels almost like when you kiss me.”
He took the cup from her hands, pulled her into his lap, holding her in his arms like a baby. His kiss was deep, sensual, patient, the lips – soft and sticky, tasting of spices. She was finally home. He was home. Peter took her chin, lifting her head and peered straight in her eyes.
“I love you!” so simple and innocent, three words that meant the world. Tara stopped breathing. He leaned down and pressed his lips on hers without waiting for an answer, he didn’t need one. This time the kiss was passionate, consuming and thirsty.
“Promise me,” Tara murmured, “that it’ll never end, this feeling, you and I, us!” She was breathing heavily now, her body instinctively responding to his caresses.
“It will never end!” Peter took her in his arms, carrying her into the dark house. The steaming cups of mulled wine were forgotten on the porch.
***
Present days
“Tara,” it was Claire, “will you get up for breakfast?”
Tara rubbed her eyes sleepily. The morning was sunny, but the air crisp, the November chill was sneaking on tiptoes through the open window. Claire was already dressed and was combing her sand-blond hair.
“Come on, sleepyhead, coffee, croissants, toast…I can go on forever. When was your last real meal?” asked she seriously.
“Not sure, time here is a relative concept. But I’ll come down with you, just need a quick shower,” Tara pulled jerky from under the covers.
“Everything okay?” Claire frowned. Usually her friend hated to get up early; something was different that morning.
“Hmm, well then, I’ll wait downstairs, okay?” Something was off, but she couldn’t place her finger on it, so she just shrugged her shoulders and left. Tara was leaning against the door, listening for Claire’s leaving and when she heard the door closing, sighed in relief. The last bricks of her firewalls were crumbling before her eyes. Something was crushing her like dark thunder cloud. It was that pain again, the breaking of her heart.
Crack!
She fell to the ground, clutching her fists, waiting to pass. Five minutes later, still on the ground Tara was breathing more freely, with eyes wide open, ready to face the day. Claire never fully understood why they came here every year, hadn’t realized what Tara was trying to do. Her friend was right – she had to let him go, to move on, but in order to do it, she had to face all the pain, open her soul and embrace it, and then, if she survived, she would move forward, keeping only the most beautiful moments and ignoring her grief. She often wondered if you could die of a broken heart, the physical pain was so real, and that year every memory was richer, more colorful and more painful.
“I think it’s time,” said she to the empty room, got up and slipped under the shower.
***
Claire was waving at her from the far side of the restaurant. Their table was secluded and overlooking the gardens. Tara’s stomach growled. Well, obviously she needed to eat something. She wasn’t feeling well, was faint and every step she took, felt like it was made in a giant bowl, filled with thick sugar syrup. Claire had ordered tons of food.
“What’s that?” Tara’s smile was a barely noticeable lifting of the corners of her lips. “Do we wait a company? This is food for a whole football team.”
“Come, sit down! It’ll get cold. There’s coffee,” Claire was pushing plate after plate in front of her. Tara was looking outsight without seeing, no visible thoughts or feelings on her face, mute. Claire shook her hand.
“Come on, dear, for me! See, the chef even brought us a complimentary… cinnamon biscuits.”
Crack! Tara closed her eyes tightly, cringing.
Crack!
Chapter five
February
Four and a half years earlier
Tara woke up not because of the sun, peering through the curtains, but the aroma. Cinnamon. The sweet smell lingered in the air, crawled to her nostrils, entwined in her hair. She opened her eyes and looked at the alarm clock at the nightstand – 7am. “What the hell!” She was probably dreaming. She turned, ready to snuggle down next to Peter’s warm body, but he was gone.
“Peter?!” No answer. But today was Sunday, where could he be? This was their day and usually they spent it in bed, enjoying every touch, laughing, making love till falling asleep, exhausted, with bodies entwined. The tiny studio was the only world they knew on Sundays and they didn’t need more. It was their escape island, the only day they’d promised to spend together. And the first rule in their private kingdom was: No early waking up! So, where was he in seven in the morning?
“Peter?!” this time her voice was strain.
“I’m right here,” he replied; the voice came from the kitchen area, “Give me a minute!”
Tara sat upright in bed and folded her arms. With her tousled hair, rosy cheeks and sharp gaze, she looked like an enraged goddess, ready to strike.
“Peter!”
He peered in from the kitchen and smiled. The emotions he felt towards angry Tara were even stronger than those he had at Tara, who gave herself to him completely, who would put her live in his hands. Peter smiled widely, figuring on the angry flames in her eyes.
“Come on now!” he was walking towards her with his hands up in a sign of peace. “I made you coffee.” He sat beside her on the bed and stroked her cheek, then his thumb rubbed her lips. She closed her eyes, the skin burning beneath his touch.
“Why are you always getting away with things?” she sighed.
“Because I know your secret,” he was so close, she stopped breathing.
“What secret?” she barely whispered, looking up at him.
“If I tell you, it won’t be a secret anymore,” he chuckled.
Tara frowned slightly and tilted her head. “Hmm!”
He laughed again.
“You just can’t be angry with me for more than two seconds.”
“Maybe,” she was studying him, touched the tip of his nose, the dimples, the lips…
“Is this flour in your hair?!” she asked in surprise.
Peter kissed her softly, only brushing her lips. His masculine scent was mixed with vanilla, brown sugar, lemon peel and cinnamon.
“Are you baking?” Tara drew back and looked at him in bewilderment.
“Have patience!” he said teasingly then kissed her again, this time kindling the desire deep inside her. She grumbled, her body seeking his.
“Not now, love!” and although he was breathing rapidly, got up. “It’s time for breakfast!”
Tara’s instincts were screaming. Something was wrong, different that morning and she narrowed her eyes. None of that was normal for their daily routine. They usually lounged by noon, then she prepared some light snack. Moreover, Peter was the one, who didn’t even let her drink her coffee in peace, touching her, demanding a response, unwilling to be separated from her warmth, loving her.
“A breakfast?!” Tara was already burning with curiosity. “Will you tell me what’s going on here?” she prepared to get up, but he stopped her with a gesture.
“No, no! Patience, love! I’m coming in a minute!”
“If you have something to tell me, just spill the beans!” she pouted.
He laughed out loud, entering the bedroom with a tray in his hands.
“Always so straightforward and impatient! Relax!”
“Relax?!” her voice rose a ton. “It’s Sunday, 7am, the day we spend as you squeeze the life out of me while we make love. And today you’ve decided to bake cookies and make breakfast! You’re in big trouble, mister! You know I hate to be buttered up; and if you did something I need to know…” she suddenly got carried away, realizing the meaning and importance of her words. He put the tray down and gripped her hands.
“You think I cheated!” there was disbelief in his eyes. “Look at me!”
She did. His face radiated such tenderness and love.
“I would never hurt you! Never! Do you understand? You…you are…” he was at a loss of words. Peter took a deep, calming breath and continued. “I woke up today and just watched you sleep peacefully, taking in the beauty that emanates from you and I realized that… I want to wake up next to you every morning, to hold you in my arms, to be an endless Sunday, to feel your love with every bone till the rest of my life.” His eyes were burning feverishly and the words were trickling down uncontrollably. Tara stood frozen, staring at him without blinking.
“So…,” he continued, “I decided to improvise.” He took the plate of cookies and placed it in front of her. She looked down confused. On a small pile of over baked cinnamon cookies, stood an odd shaped one. Tara blinked. “No way!”
“Is that a ring?” she stopped breathing. He took gingerly the crispy piece of dough and handed it to her.
“You have to admit at least I tried!” he shrugged. “Tara, love, marry me!”
She remained silent for a long time, lost in the blue of his eyes, searching for the truth not in them, but in herself, trying to control the emotions and the tears, burning in her eyes.
“I will always,” she said, “follow you to the land of ‘No Mondays’, Peter…Pan!” She laughed. “You’re the air without I wouldn’t be alive. You make me smile. You know me. You drive me crazy! And you make me brimming over with joy,” she stopped, “You love me. It’s that simple. And I don’t need more, a diamond ring or a fancy wedding. I need you!” the tears were already overflowing. He gently wiped one of them with his thumb; his hands were shaking slightly.
“Is that a ‘Yes
’?”
Tara kissed him hungrily, greedy, her whole being was yearning to be a part of him, to feel the joy that filled her.
“Yes! Yes! Yes! I will always say ‘Yes’!”
He pressed her to his chest; his hands were searching, caressing her, burning. He was kissing every inch, promising security, trust, love. He was like the Earth to her. And she loved him for it, and she would… always.
Crack!
***
The Day
It was the most beautiful day, warm; the air was filled with the scent of wild flowers, which was strange if you had in mind that Tara was standing in front of the mirror in their small downtown apartment. They were happy here and didn’t see any reason to move to the suburbs. Tara looked at the ring on her hand. Yes, they were married, for twenty seven days, to be exact. Less than a year after she met Peter her life was finally complete. Not quite. She put a hand on her belly and smiled. Their wedding was beautiful and modest, barefoot on the beach under the moonlight, which Claire was rubbing in at every opportunity. But Tara wasn’t interested in a fancy reception; she cared only for her husband. He was franticly preparing his suitcase, as always at the last minute, leaving on a business trip for a week.
“So, ready!” he zipped his luggage. “Come here!” Peter kissed her and held her tight.
“I miss you already!” she muttered.
“Hey, I’ll be back before you know it! I promise you!”
“I’m sorry I can’t come with you to the airport!” Tara’s voice trembled slightly. Damn hormones!
“Tara, love, everything will be fine, you’ll see. I’ll call you when I get there.” He grabbed her chin and lifted her face up, serene blue eyes peering into her soul.
“I love you! It’s only for a week.”
“I know….just…listen, I know it’s bad timing, but I wanted to tell you something,” she was looking for the right words.
