Magic Minutes

by Jennifer Millikin

  My stomach growls as if it’s in on the conversation. Swinging my legs around to the edge of the bed, I stand and pull a shirt over my head. “Basic needs first. Then I was thinking we could go to the lake. Maybe laugh about how you thought you were being a hero.” Noah tosses a pillow at me, and I dodge it. “Get dressed,” I call out, heading for the bathroom.

  Just as I close the door, I hear his phone vibrating on my dresser.

  A few minutes later I open the door, hoping to hear who he’s on the phone with, but I can only hear the baritone of his voice, not the words. Sighing, I stick my toothbrush in my mouth. I’m spitting out toothpaste when he comes to find me.

  He props one arm on the jamb above his head and watches me rinse. He’s dressed in last night’s clothes, his white shirt untucked, and the top two buttons are undone. On his face is resolute sadness, like his heart has been carved out and he’s hollow. I know that look. It’s the one that prompted me to tell him to go four years ago. For Noah, sacrifice equals anguish.

  “Congratulations.” I try to smile.

  “Ember—”

  “You’re leaving.” My gaze rests on his in the mirror.

  “Come with me?” Noah’s eyes are bright, the corners of his lips turned up with the hint of a hopeful smile. His tone is urgent, making the question sound more like a plea.

  “Noah…” I tip my head to the side and slowly shake it.

  “Please. Think about it. What do you feel?”

  I turn to face him, lifting myself up so I’m sitting on the counter. I know what he’s getting at. It’s still there. The pulse of electricity, the seismic activity of an off-the-scale earthquake, and the extraordinary power of attraction that bound us together when we were fresh-faced and new.

  “Magic,” I say with a lift of my shoulders. That one, simple word is the tip of the iceberg for us, and yet it’s powerful enough to encompass everything hidden beneath the surface.

  “Yes,” Noah breathes, stepping in to the bathroom so we’re only a foot apart. “Exactly. We could do this every day.” He places his hand over my heart. “We could have magic every day. Not like in high school when we had to be home, at work, or at practice. Not like now when we only have a little more time together.”

  My heart twists at the mention of our dwindling time.

  “We could have magic all the time, Ember. Let’s do it.” He’s talking fast, excited by his idea. He comes even closer, so that now he’s standing in the space created by my open legs.

  “Where would I stay, Noah? You’ll be on the road. A new city every other week, maybe more often than that.” As much as I want to let myself get wrapped up in this fairytale idea, I know better.

  My words have hit their mark. Like a deflating balloon, Noah’s excitement shrinks before my eyes.

  “I’ll keep a permanent place in Atlanta. The coach said there’s a building a lot of the players live in.” His voice is smaller now. Crestfallen. “I don't want this to be over.” He tucks my hair back behind my ear, his fingers trailing down my neck.

  “I know.” My voice trembles with the tears I’m holding back. “But I don’t want to give us half a shot. I move across the country to be with you, and then you travel all the time? We can’t fail again. I won’t be able to stand having us not work out a second time.” Does he understand how much I need to preserve him, even now? I love him far too much to stain us a second time. “It sounds romantic and audacious, and it would make a great story, but the reality is different. I was right the last time, Noah. We fell apart, and we were just kids. I don’t want to know what it’s like to fall apart as adults.”

  We both hear the phone buzzing in his pocket.

  “You better go.” I hate the words as I say them.

  “We can still go to the lake. The day doesn’t have to be over. I don’t have to go back until tomorrow.”

  How easy it would be to continue this game, pretend like each kiss, each touch, each look, isn’t one of the last. “No,” I say. My voice is low in volume, but strong.

  Noah pulls his hand back from my neck, and the air that replaces his touch singes me. He steps away from the counter, his hips pulling away from their spot between my knees.

  Our eyes locked, he offers me a hand getting down. Ignoring it, I hop down on my own. He walks to my room and emerges a moment later with his wallet and jacket.

  Neither of us speaks. Words are too much right now. Like the first time we parted ways, we might make well-intentioned promises that can never be kept. This time, we’re leaving it good. On our terms.

  I follow Noah to the foyer, my eyes on his light brown hair, his strong neck, the way it flows seamlessly into broad shoulders, curving in to a chiseled torso. I’m committing his body to memory, filled with the knowledge this will probably be the last time I see it.

  He pulls open the front door, pausing at the threshold. When he turns to me, his eyes hold sadness. My own are tightening, the burn of tears threatening. This is where Noah should kiss me once, gently, a soft good-bye kiss.

  That’s not what he does.

  Wrapping one hand around my back, he tugs me into him. His other hand wraps around the back of my neck, and his lips find mine. I hold onto him for dear life as our kiss deepens, him trying to fight the circumstance, and me desperate for just one more minute with him.

  He finally drags his lips from mine, but he doesn't move further than an inch away. His ragged breath blends with mine, and together we create a palpable thickness.

  With eyes that scream for rebellion against our choice, he turns and leaves. Unmoving, I watch him go. When his car disappears past the line of trees, I whisper my thoughts out into the evergreens.

  I’m sorry.

  I already miss you.

  This may have been a mistake.

  Stay and we’ll do things right this time.

  Noah has been gone ten seconds and I’m already losing it. Sky isn’t here, so I text Dayton.

  Pieces of me are scattered everywhere.

  A moment later, he responds.

  I’m on my way.

  I don’t have to wait long. Dayton makes it in record time.

  “Baby girl,” he says, descending upon me the second I pull back the front door. Putting my hands up, I fend him off, but he gives me a reproachful look. “I know you need a hug.”

  “I’m okay.” I try to sound strong when all I feel is weak.

  Dayton ignores my protest and pulls me to his chest. We’re almost the same height, so he turns his face to me and smells my neck.

  “You smell like sex.” He takes one more, longer sniff, and I feel the air move across my skin. “And regret.”

  I tip my head to the side and grin sadly into his hair. “Yes to one, and no to the other.”

  “No sex?” He lifts his head from its inspection, wary eyes pinning me. My cheeks warm as I think about the many times Noah and I were together. Sheets off the bed, toe-curling, soul-satisfying, mind-bending… Dayton runs a bent finger over my cheek. “So yes to the sex then. And no to the regret.” He winks at me. “That’s my girl.”

  I try to smile at his praise, but I can’t. The sadness of the morning is taking over, and my control slips further and further from my grasp.

  “Tell me everything.” Dayton rolls his eyes, well aware of my refusal to share intimate details. “Well, your version of everything, anyway.”

  I don’t say anything. I simply can’t speak. The sorrow in my heart wells up and out, snaking through my system and overtaking me. The tears I was successful holding back with Noah come bounding forward now.

  Dayton stares at me in horror. He may be gay, but he has the same deer-in-the-headlights look of any guy who has a weeping female in front of him. I grab a tissue from the box on the coffee table and blow my nose. I’m blotting my cheeks when Dayton pseudo-apologizes.

  “I’ve never seen you cry before. I didn’t know you had tears in your body. I guess it makes sense, since I’ve seen you sweat like a pig more times th
an my momma has pulled a Sunday roast from the oven.”

  Despite my splintered chest, I smile.

  Dayton sinks onto the couch, grabbing my hands on his way down. He pulls me from where I sit on the coffee table and into his arms.

  Snuggled next to him, my head rests on his chest while his hand strokes my hair. “I thought I could do it. I was so high from the rush of seeing Noah. It’s like I kept going up, up, up.” My free hand reaches out, lifting higher and higher, mimicking a roller coaster on its ascent. “Each minute was better than the last while he was here, and then he left, and… crash.” My hand fists, dropping onto Dayton’s thigh. “Go ahead and say it.”

  “What?”

  “That thing you’re dying to say to me.”

  “I’m not dying to tell you I was right.”

  I smack his knee. “I see how you slipped that in there.”

  Beneath my head his chest shakes.

  “It was worth it though. All of this.” I palm my chest. “The last two nights were worth it.”

  “Then that's all that matters.”

  Dayton holds me until my neck begins to hurt.

  “I’m going to grab a shower,” I say, standing. I’m teaching in two hours, and I need to get ready. I could still get a sub, the way I planned to do when I thought I’d be spending the day with Noah, but it will be good for me to work.

  Dayton pinches his nose and makes a face. “Please do.” He waves an open palm in front of him. “You smell like things that would make you blush if I said them.”

  Halfway across the living room I pause and look over my shoulder. “Two nights ago I had sex right where you’re sitting.”

  Dayton is quiet for a beat. “Who’s bare ass was on the cushion? Yours or soccer stud’s?”

  “Soccer stud.”

  “I’ll just get cozy then,” Dayton jokes, wiggling his hips and burrowing deeper into the couch.

  I grab a throw pillow from the chair and make good use of its name. The pillow hits Dayton squarely in the head.

  He laughs and rises from the couch, following me down the hall. “Want me to wash your sheets?”

  I stop, one hand on the bathroom door handle, and consider his offer.

  “Yes,” I say, before hurrying into the bathroom and closing the door behind me.

  Sagging against the wall, I slide slowly and the floor catches me. As much as I want to keep Noah’s scent on my sheets, I want to get rid of it in equal measure. Clean break this time, right? That’s what I tell myself through the silent sobs. I chant it without a sound, as the curtain of tears falls from my eyes.

  I knew what I was getting myself into. Yet, I went through with it. There is no love without sorrow. Rising from the floor, I reach into the shower and turn on the water. I undress, and the tears that are in free fall hit my bare skin.

  It’s not much of a leap to say these are both happy and sad tears.

  Happy because I had Noah again.

  Sad because it was likely the final time.

  “Dayton,” I yell through the shower curtain.

  A few seconds later, I hear the door open. “Yeah?”

  Pulling back the shower curtain, I stick my head out and take in Dayton’s uneasy expression. My sheets are balled in his hands, one of them spilling onto the floor. “Starting today, don’t ask me to get dinner out more than twice a month. No more daily latte’s, and I need to see if I can find a better rate on car insurance.”

  “Are you saying that—”

  “It’s time, Dayton.”

  A satisfied grin parks itself on his lips. His face has the look of a proud mother. He backs out of the open door, and I put my head back under the spray. The water runs over me, taking with it Noah’s scent, his touch, the invisible trails of his intoxicating kisses.

  In my mind I see a stack of textbooks, smell the woody scent of fresh pencils, hear the tap tap tap of computer keys.

  I’ve been waiting so long I don’t even know what I’m waiting for anymore. My mother is happy and settled, no longer in need of financial help. Sky has her anxiety under control. My yoga teacher certification was finished a long time ago. I have enough credits from community college courses that it should only take me two years, maybe even eighteen months, to graduate with my bachelor’s degree.

  Noah is out there, accomplishing his goals and going after more.

  I’m long overdue.

  24

  Ember

  To-Do List

  Graduate college

  Buy a yoga studio

  Meet someone new

  Start a YouTube yoga channel

  25

  Ember

  Two years later

  My body sags onto the uncomfortable, plastic seat. I wish it were a bed. A big, soft bed, with even bigger pillows, and cool sheets.

  “Do you want anything to eat?” Matt glances at the watch I gave him for his birthday last month. “We have almost an hour before boarding starts.” Bending down, he rummages through his carry-on.

  “I’m fine,” I say, yawning. My body clock is so messed up, all I really want to do right now is pass out. I swear, I switched over to Greenwich Mean Time our first night in London. It’s nine o’clock in New York, where we now sit as we wait for our next plane.

  “I’ll grab something for you anyway.” Matt stands, looking down at me. He smiles a little, but I see through the façade. Deep down, he’s questioning our relationship.

  Just like I am.

  How could I not? We’ve been dating eight months, and everything was going great. When Matt said he wanted to take me to London to celebrate my graduation, I said yes immediately. And then… Well, Dayton warned me this would happen. Traveling with someone is like a glimpse into the bare bones of your relationship. He wished me luck, but the look on his face made it clear he doubted it would go well.

  As soon as I get home, I’m going to pinch him for letting me go in the first place. He obviously knew it was a bad idea for Matt and I to travel together. Sighing, I shift in the uncomfortable seat, bringing my knees into my chest so my feet dangle on the seat edge.

  I feel bad. It was too soon for us. If we can just get back to California, slip into our normal life, everything will be okay. He’ll pick me up for dinner after my Wednesday class, and I’ll stay over on Friday night. We’ll visit his grandmother at the nursing home, and it’ll all be normal again.

  Except, it won’t, because now I know things. Things like—

  Holy fuck.

  My stomach is gone, slipped right out through my feet. The throngs of people walking past me, suitcases rolling along behind them, turn to vapor. Through the mist I see him. He’s six feet away, leaning on crutches, gaze fixed on me. His right leg sticks out in front of him, immobilized in a brace.

  My head is thick and hazy, and now he’s coming over. Slowly. My breath slams up my throat at the same time I attempt to swallow the pooled saliva in my mouth, and I cough.

  He stops inches from me, and I feel his heat. It might be twenty-seven degrees outside, but my body is an inferno. Only he can do this to me. Only Noah can take my world and shake it, emptying from it my secrets and fears, my insecurities and pleasures. It piles up around me like little mounds of coins.

  “I’m a gimp, you know. You could’ve at least come to me.”

  Noah leans into his crutches, his voice faintly playful. He doesn’t smile, but his eyes look full, like he has words and emotions in triplicate, and they might all come tumbling out in an instant.

  “I…couldn’t.” It’s not enough, but I know he’ll understand. My shoulders lift a fraction and drop.

  “I get it. I saw you first. I had more time to recover.”

  My whole body wants to reach out, touch him, run my fingers over his lips. Two years since we last saw each other. Two years since I’ve felt him, smelled him, tasted him.

  Noah, my heart screams.

  “Are you okay?” I point to his leg.

  “Yeah.” He looks down. “Torn ACL
. During a game.”

  When his gaze returns to mine, I see it. His vulnerability, the trademark confidence missing. It wrecks me.

  “You didn’t see it?” His voice is soft, tinged with hope.

  I know what he’s really asking. Do you watch me? And with the answer to that question comes a confirmation neither of us need. You still care.

  “No,” I lie, looking out into the crowd of nameless faces. I saw his injury, but it’s best not to go down that road. Any question of residual feelings and it leaves us wide open to possibilities we should no longer have.

  “Um, hi.” Matt’s voice bursts through my thoughts. “Here, Ember.” A bag of something lands on the seat beside me. Matt holds out a hand to Noah, and Noah shakes it. It takes Matt less than a second of looking straight at Noah to place him. “Shit! You’re Noah Sutton!”

  Noah smiles tightly, pulling his hand away.

  “Man, we were watching the game where you got hit.” Matt’s talking quickly, his excitement bowling over any desire to appear cool in front of his favorite soccer player. “That was low. That guy deserved more than a red card.”

  Noah’s hair brushes his forehead with his nod. Murmuring his thanks to Matt, his eyes remain laser-focused on me. I shift, uncomfortable, and look away. Yes, I lied to you.

  Matt comes to his senses and says my name. I meet his confused gaze. “Do you guys know each other?” He glances from me to Noah.

  My legs finally feel strong enough to stand on, so I rise. Two pairs of eyes study me, waiting for my answer. “We went to high school together. Noah, this is Matt.” I gesture between them.

  I’m trying not to let guilt flavor my words too much, but it’s there anyway. Matt and I watched the game where Noah was injured. Sort of, anyway. I don’t watch sports. Instead, I was curled up in the sheets of our hotel bed, reading a book. Every so often Matt leapt from the couch and yelled complaints at the game on the TV, and I looked up. He yelled when Noah was injured, even told me Noah was carted off the field, and I didn’t say a word. Not because I didn’t care. I spent the next day furtively looking up every article I could find about Noah’s injury, and still I didn’t tell Matt anything.