Eight Goodbyes

by Christine Brae

  “So-so.” She sat up straight and turned toward him.

  “I heard someone say we’re going to be passing another island soon. I think we missed Syros,” he said. “Want to step outside?”

  He read from the guidebook that they’d be passing three islands on the way to Santorini—Paros and Naxos were coming up.

  They gathered their things and climbed up a flight of stairs leading to the outdoor deck. It was filled with tourists. Many stood by the white metal railing while others enjoyed their meals on the deck chairs and tables. Simon found two chairs and pulled them as close as possible to the edge of the boat. Tessa removed a plastic bag from Simon’s backpack—food they had purchased at the bus station. She handed him a pork gyro. They’d ordered the same thing, except she had it plain while he had it loaded with tomatoes and tzatziki.

  “You sure you want to eat that much, considering?” she teased, just as he took a large bite of his food. It had been his idea to take the eight-hour ferry ride instead of using Tessa’s pre-purchased flight tickets.

  “You mean the ride? Yeah. It’s not too bad. I’m just glad we didn’t take the high-speed ferry. This one’s already pretty bumpy and it’s the size of a cruise ship!”

  She nodded her head and zipped up her sweatshirt. They held onto their food as the strong wind threatened to blow them away. “Good thing we changed from cabin to outside deck,” she chomped. “I think we have the best of both. We can hang out here for a while and then go back into the lounge later.”

  They continued to eat silently, observing the constant stream of passengers moving around the deck. The waters were rough, and he was glad he’d given in to her appeal to take some Dramamine as soon as they’d boarded. It was making him very sleepy but kept his food down without feeling sick.

  He stared out into the sea—shades of blue, markedly different in some areas, open water with islands and cliffs way off into the distance. He had no familiarity with the ocean, but he’d striven to learn about it growing up. He began to speculate on various reasons why the Mediterranean waters had an imposing deep blue color unlike the Atlantic Ocean, which looked green under the sun.

  Before getting carried away with more technical pondering, he turned to see Tessa playing with her phone.

  “Who’s texting?” he asked. He took the empty bag from her hand and headed to the nearest trash bin.

  When he returned, she looked up to respond. “I let Revete know I’m taking a different flight back to the States.”

  “Way to piss her off again,” he teased, leaning over and placing his hand on her knee. He was ready for another kip. And she knew it.

  “You’re worth it,” she answered, placing her phone back into her purse and taking his hand. “Let’s go back to the lounge. I’d like to do some writing for the next few hours.”

  When Simon awoke, she was sitting next to him, banging frantically on her keyboard. She sat up straight, legs stretched out on an ottoman, her computer in her lap. He slouched down on the couch, head on the backrest, legs straight out on the floor. He didn’t call her attention, content on watching her work, seeing what she was like when deeply immersed in her zone.

  She muttered to herself, swiped her touchscreen a few times, clicked the search button and then wrote notes on a shredded piece of bar napkin. This is her world, he thought. How privileged am I to share in her creative moments?

  That wasn’t the way he worked, let alone the way he conducted his studies. He made outlines, maps and diagrams, and handwrote his essays before typing them. And here she was, so free flowing, so organized in such a disorganized manner. Type, mutter, swipe, type, scribble. Intermittently, her lips would curve up in a half smile as if she was pleased with what she had written.

  He sat up.

  “Oh, hey.” She smiled before leaning over to kiss his forehead. “Still okay?”

  “Never better,” he answered, rubbing his eyes and looking over her shoulder at the screen. He had never asked to look at her work, and she had never really asked to see his. He didn’t want to overstep boundaries, cognizant of the way she segmented her life from the part they shared together. But now more than ever, he wanted to see if she was willing to lift open that gate.

  It may be the Dramamine talking, he thought, but things are shifting between us.

  She’d become much more open, more transparent. He’d never seen that side of her.

  She’d bought him medicine at the drugstore.

  She’d prepared his lunch.

  She was proud to introduce him to her circle of friends. If you can call them that.

  She’d given up her time with Jacob and Riley to be with him.

  She was willing to go to London to see him.

  What would his parents say about her? He needed to break it to them soon.

  I’m in love with someone, Mum and Pop.

  “One hour to go. You didn’t miss much,” she said. “Now that you’re awake, do you remember if that lady ever told us who made the yellow glass blown chandelier we saw at the coffee shop yesterday? Or where it was from? I started writing about it. Our day. It was an eye opening one.”

  They had hopped a bus from Syntagma the day before, hoping to end up at the Attica Mall, a recommendation by one of the locals at the club the other night. They’d gotten off at Omonoia instead and walked around an empty square, looking for someone who could give them directions. Finally, they’d found a neat looking coffee shop named Meet Me. Tessa, excited about the name of the store as well as the pastry display, insisted they take a break and hang out there for a while.

  “Oh gosh! This is fate!” she’d squealed. “A restaurant named after our story! Meet Me!”

  She’d proceeded to take pictures of everything—the sign, the walls, the menu, the sugar packets. Anything that had its name. They’d sat outside on wooden folding chairs with maroon covers after touring the shop, admiring the various art deco on the wall and the outlandishly styled chandelier. Omonoia Square, a historical area built in 1846, had been the site of many sporting events and art exhibits in previous years. More recently, the economic hardships in Greece had given the area a bad reputation as a symbol of despair and social collapse.

  “Venice. It was from Venice,” he’d recalled. “The chandelier.”

  “Hmm.” She’d jotted something down on the napkin. “Venice, huh?”

  Progress. She might want to visit Venice in the very near future.

  He’d let out a chuckle. “Glad you found getting lost in a shady part of town fateful.”

  “I’ll admit, I was a little scared,” she’d said. “But they said it was a transportation hub, and we did find our stop eventually.”

  “And the pastries were delicious!” he’d added.

  She had ordered a cappuccino and took three bites of her spinach pie. He’d ordered an orange pie topped with caramel ice cream and licked the plate clean.

  Tessa had taken notes on her phone, intent on writing about the images of their day. That afternoon, they clearly saw how homelessness, drug addiction and prostitution had penetrated the once-thriving area.

  Last night, when they’d been nestled safely in their hotel, she’d told him how bothered she was about those immigrants sleeping on the steps and scattered around the streets. “They can still be the future of Greece, if only they were given a chance. Adversity makes a country stronger,” she had said.

  He’d wondered if she was referring to her own childhood and the loneliness she had survived.

  The Santorini caldera was a submerged volcanic crater surrounded by high cliffs on three sides. Their hotel, the Andronis, sat squarely at the edge of a cliff, its rooms directly above the sea.

  “Absolutely breathtaking!” Tessa exclaimed as she stood on the terrace of their luxury suite. Directly in front of her was an infinity pool extending itself into the horizon. Everything around them was white, contrasted only by the varying hues of blue—aqua for sky, blue green for land
and indigo for sea. Heavy stone furniture and fixtures gave their room the much needed respite from the bright sun and the warm temperature. Cycladic architecture at its best—simple and airy, with minimal aesthetics. Whitewashed cube houses had been built on top of each other, some carved inside the hills with volcanic rock to keep them protected from the seasons.

  “Sure is.” Simon sat on the stone bench directly behind her. She heard the smirk in his voice and turned around to catch his gaze. It was fixed on her and not on the view. She noticed how handsome he looked, rested and relaxed unlike any other time she’d been with him.

  With every trip they’d taken together, she found herself experiencing a myriad of emotions. That evening, she refused to think about anything else but what was happening there and now. Her mind kept drifting back to the day he said he loved her. Or the day he’d signaled that he loved her. She’d seen him clearly as she flew over the clouds. Granted, he’d probably just been overwhelmed by her birthday surprise, but it didn’t matter. She had heard those words spoken to her many times but hearing it from him had filled her with joy. Simon had given them new meaning. For once, she wasn’t writing about it. She was living it.

  She extended her hand and called to him. “No, come look!”

  She held his hand and stood at his side, overtaken by silence and awe. The drone of the motorboats below them and the sound of merriment coming from the neighboring balconies was hypnotizing. And the wind. It constantly reminded her of its presence. In a way, that was how she saw their relationship before their confrontation the other night. Coming together and then parting ways. No more wind to pull them apart. No more doubt. They were going to try for normal.

  “Penny for your thoughts,” she said, squeezing his hand.

  “I beg your pardon?” He squeezed back.

  She laughed. “What are you thinking?”

  “Well, not about work for the first time ever. You first,” he said.

  “I guess that’s a good thing, huh?” Still he stared out into the horizon. Addressing her, without turning toward her. He looked serious, eyes deep set and brows furrowed. Tessa grew nervous. Her normal paranoia set in. Will this be the time? She wondered. Will this be the time he says goodbye for good?

  “I was just thinking about the wind. Everywhere we’ve gone, the wind has been there with us,” she said.

  “That’s because you love high places. Of course, wind would be a factor.”

  Ferris wheels. Cable cars. The baths above the beach.

  “Good point,” she answered with a smile. “Okay, now your turn.”

  “What would you say if I asked to read about Lionel and Carissa once you’re done with the draft?”

  She tilted her head toward him before scrunching up her nose. “You don’t have to do that! I know you don’t read romance.”

  “But I’d really like to,” he answered. “I’d really love to read it, if you’re okay with it.”

  No one had ever read her manuscripts before submission. She guarded them with her life. It was more an insecurity, really. She didn’t think she was of the same caliber as the other authors, and often attributed her rise in the book world to hard work. And luck. Allowing him to see her vulnerability would mean just that.

  “Of course.” Two words on the matter. For now.

  “I enjoyed The Last Dance,” he said. “Your words are very lyrical but also sad.”

  “Get out!” she squealed. “You read it? When?”

  “After San Francisco.” As he said this, he began to walk toward the room, still holding her hand. He guided her toward a stone bench lined with gray throw pillows, directly facing the window. Simon took a seat before pulling her down on his lap.

  Tessa thought the room resembled a cave. Or an igloo. An arched doorway with a flowing white organza curtain gave the bedroom its privacy.

  He held her in his arms and she stretched her legs out on the bench. “I have this insatiable need to know everything about you. Maybe it’s the scientist in me. I want to be able to figure you out,” he said, brushing his lips against her ear.

  “But you do!” she argued. “At least compared to anyone else,” she followed up. “I haven’t hidden anything from you, Simon.”

  “On social media, though,” he began. “You’re pretty open with the world.”

  “That’s not me. It’s a persona I must maintain. You know that.”

  Her tone softened as she caressed his face. “You have to know the person I am with you is the real me.”

  Before she could utter another word, he drew his lips to hers and opened her mouth with his tongue. She allowed him to play with her, taste her, claim her lips before consciously pulling back. “Let’s do something special together. Here.”

  “I thought that’s what we were doing,” he joked.

  “No, no. I mean here in Fira. What have you always wanted to do but never got to do it because you’re trying to save your reputation as a logical scientist/nerd?”

  He laughed. “Run with the bulls, but that’s in a different country.”

  “What else?”

  “Do the Ironman. Try archery. Trek the Inca trail. Check out astral projection. Win a chess championship. See the northern lights.”

  “Jesus. Uber nerd things. What else?”

  “You next,” he answered.

  “Ride an alligator. Swim with tiger whales. Hot air balloon. Climb Kilimanjaro.” Slowly, she pushed him sideways and gently placed her weight on him until his back was flat on the pillows and she was directly on top of him.

  “Here we go with the heights again.”

  “There’s one more,” she whispered into his mouth. “But that can wait.”

  He held her head in place while she played with his lips, kept her eyes closed and pressed against him.

  “Mmm, Tess, hold on,” he said. She sat back, surprised. But before she could say anything, he swooped her up and carried her to the bed. Gently he laid her head on the pillow.

  “Do you know.” He placed a finger on her forehead and gently trailed along her nose, down to her lips, along her neck. “I’ve tried to memorize every part of you while you sleep?”

  Tessa took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Savoring, feeling, wanting his hands on her.

  “Every time we’re together, I discover something new about you. Look.” He leaned down to kiss her shoulder. “These freckles.” He lifted her arm and kissed the side of her breast. “This mole.” His lips brushed against her skin until he landed right below her bellybutton. “Here, your little tiny scar.”

  Tessa flinched in response, stiffening to leave a space between his lips and her skin. She’d never told anyone about the medical scare. How they’d found a germ cell tumor on one ovary and how Jake was adamant it be removed. Because it was contained to one side, she was left with one good ovary.

  I always thought I’d have lots of babies, she’d sobbed.

  You will. Jake had assured her. Between us, we’ll have so many kids, we won’t know what to do with them.

  Her hands flew to her stomach. She covered the area defensively.

  “Simon, please. No,” she begged. It was a part of her life she willed herself to forget. In her younger years, she’d always told her mother all she wanted to be was a housewife. That mark was a souvenir of more broken dreams.

  “I know what it was for, Tessa. But I still wished you’d told me about it.”

  She shot up like a bullet, back straight, hands to the side.

  “Why do we always have to visit my past?”

  “Oh, baby.” He pulled her gently to him and enclosed her in his arms. Her sobs were muffled tightly against his chest. “That’s not what I’m trying to do. I want you to be able to open up to me. Your past is what makes you who you are. It’s not something you run away from.”

  Someone had told her once the scars one carries are the most beautiful part of one’s heart. If he felt that way about them, then why should
she worry?

  “What about you, Simon? Did you have a perfect past?”

  He stroked her hair, let a few moments pass. She didn’t push for an answer. Her breathing began to relax, she closed her eyes and hid in his arms. What was it about him that made her feel so safe? He tipped her chin upward with his hands and met her eyes. Slowly, she laid back down on the bed and pulled him toward her.

  “Tess, we don’t have to do anything now,” he said. “We can just stay like this.” He held her close to him.

  “I want to feel you,” she whispered. “I want you to take me over like you always do.”

  “Here’s my one truth.” He brushed his lips against her neck. “I’m addicted to you, Tessa Talman. I meant it when you were waving at me from the clouds. I mean it more today, when you’re down here with me. I love you.”

  Tessa nodded her head and took his hand. “Look. Look at how much I want you,” she said, pushing his fingers inside her and then releasing him as he brought them to his lips. She tasted herself on him pushed him down, urged him to devour her, to help himself to her. Which he did. He bit, he licked, he consumed every single part of her. When she couldn’t wait any longer, she flipped herself over and sat up on her knees, opening herself up so he could take her. He growled and pushed hard, she whimpered and gasped and moaned with pleasure.

  “Hold on, baby.” He grabbed her sides and slammed continually into her. “Oh god, Tess,” he said gruffly. “You’re my heaven. This. This is heaven.”

  He loved her. She believed him. His words of love equally as strong as his movements. She wanted to soar in his love, take flight because of it. It wasn’t the physical pleasure that overtook her. It was the fullness of her heart, the excitement she felt at the sound of his voice, at the meaning of his words.

  “Fly with me,” she moaned. “Let’s never fall back to the ground.”

  Simon would be lying if he didn’t admit that it bothered him. Slightly. No, actually, quite a bit. He must have told her a hundred times the night before he loved her. He had fucked her, made love to her, played with her and enjoyed her. And she had given so much of herself, allowed him to take her over and over again. Smiled lovingly as he said those words, held him gently, kissed him with all her might.