Our Last Time: A Novel

by Poplin, Cristy Marie

  “Kennedy, I can tell you didn’t want to say that, so you didn’t mean it,” I said. My tone of voice had confusion laced with it, and I was still dealing with desperation for direction.

  He was just agreeing, like he had to. He wasn’t giving the Kennedy advice that I needed.

  “I don’t like the idea of sharing you is all, but I can’t be selfish. You’re my best friend, and you deserve to go on a date with a guy you might want to get to know. I can’t get in the way of that, Willow,” he said sternly. He tucked some hair behind my ear, and then backed away from me.

  “I’ll be stalking your date if you choose to tell him yes. I wouldn’t let anyone hurt you, so just so you’re aware, I’ll definitely be keeping an eye on him,” he cleared his throat. “Calvin Steelton looks like a tool, though,” he muttered.

  I nodded, smiling, “Yeah, he does.”

  “You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into, but I don’t, either. I know you want me to tell you what you should do, but I can’t give you a doable route. This is all you, Will,” he told me.

  I nodded. “I know that now. I just can’t keep things from you for a second, or keep you out of the loop. You’re all I’ve got, you know,” I said quietly.

  “You could have anyone,” he smiled his smile.

  “No one is as special as you,” I retorted. I meant it.

  No one came before Kennedy. Not even my father did, or my mom. Nobody did.

  He shook his head.

  “It’s getting late, Will. We have school tomorrow,” he sighed deeply. “We should probably leave our home, now.”

  “Not yet,” I interjected.

  “Why not?” he asked. He was about to turn away, and leave.

  “You said you wanted to tell me something, too, remember?” I pointed out. “You’re wearing your unhappy clothes,” I said under my breath.

  He closed his eyes for a moment, taking sectioned deep breaths. “I don’t remember what I was going to say,” he paused, and then opened his eyes slowly. “I’ll remember tomorrow. I’ll tell you tomorrow, okay?” he said aloud.

  He was hiding something, but there was no way I could convince him to stay if he wasn’t ready to say what he needed to say.

  I nodded, sighing, “Yeah, okay.”

  He stood his bike up, and then sat on the seat. “Hello,” he said.

  “Hello,” I waved, before he rode off through the woods, beating away the stretched limbs in his path.

  August 28th, 2006, 6:27a.m.

  Willow

  There was no homework on Friday. The day I said something to Wyatt about the homework, he immediately canceled the homework scheduled for that day. At the end of that day, Annette had gotten in the car with the biggest smile on her face, and she said, “I won’t have homework on Friday’s anymore, mommy!”

  It made me so happy that Annette wouldn’t have homework on Friday’s anymore.

  But more than anything, I was happy Wyatt was willing to do something that nice for my daughter.

  For his entire class, really - it was a generous thing for him to do. Though they deserved less homework, it had to be a giant step for Wyatt to take. I knew he was uptight, and a definite perfectionist.

  As soon as I found out that Wyatt was the class’ teacher, I figured it would be a lost cause to try and get him to make changes. Especially for me.

  This was his class that I was sticking my nose in, and I knew it would be practically impossible to convince him to schedule less homework.

  I never expected it to be so easy - not until I discovered the fact that Wyatt hadn’t hated me at all, and actually enjoyed my presence. He just had a funny way of showing it.

  I also knew that I hadn’t hated Wyatt. I never hated him.

  I hated that I wanted to see his smile, and I hated that once I saw it, I hadn’t wanted to stop seeing it.

  I had hated that I wanted to be the one who made him smile.

  It was overwhelming, because the want hit me as soon as I saw the man. I never wanted to make a man smile since Kennedy. The guys of the past, as I called them - I hadn’t thought about being the one who made them smile, and when they did, I’d feel absolutely nothing.

  There were things that Wyatt did that I loved, and the one thing that changed my outlook on him entirely was when he asked to know who Annette was.

  I loved that he wanted to know, because he was the only man that had ever asked to know.

  Another was when he made immediate changes once I asked him to. My heart did a flip inside my chest when Annette had told me she wouldn’t have homework on Friday’s anymore.

  The last that came to mind - was whenever he’d smile.

  I hated that I started loving things about Wyatt, but then again, there was nothing I could do to stop it.

  Now it was Monday, and very early in the morning. I was waiting for Annette to call me in the bathroom, so I could wash her hair for her. I was sitting cross-legged on my small bed that I had pushed in the corner of my bedroom.

  I was already wearing my scrubs for the day. They were tan-colored, and animated lions and lionesses scattered the outfit from shoulder to ankle.

  I eventually heard Annette swish the shower curtain open a little so she could stick her head out, and she yelled, “Mommy, I need you now!”

  I had gotten up quickly, because her tone was a little bit more urgent than usual. “Is something wrong, baby, or do you just need me to wash your hair?” I asked, once I was standing in the steamy bathroom.

  She popped her head out again. “I tried washing it by myself, but I don’t know if I did it right, and I have shampoo in my eyes and it hurts,” she rambled.

  I opened the curtain a little. “Okay. Stand there, and lean your head back,” I instructed, and she did.

  We did this every day, and it was starting to frustrate Annette that she had a hard time shampooing her own hair - but she had a lot of hair. My parents had nicknamed her Rapunzel ever since her hair started growing, because her hair grew abnormally fast, and she was absolutely terrified of haircuts.

  She had pretty dirty blonde hair, though, and she knew that. Her hair stopped just below her bottom. She was also short for her age.

  Annette was a gorgeous person, and her hair was part of who she was. I also hadn’t minded washing my daughter’s hair. I’d never mind washing it.

  She’d tried washing her hair in the past, but she always complained about it not turning out as shiny, or as silky as it would be if I washed it for her. I hadn’t seen much of a difference, but I wasn’t complaining.

  Annette was a lot like Kennedy, and I was starting to love that more and more each day - though it did scare me a little.

  Her way was the only way, unless she had to make exceptions for me. She was incredibly smart, and she’d get frustrated if she’d have a hard time with something. She had ideas, though they were ideas of an eight year-old girl. She had big blue eyes that spoke a thousand words all on their own. Her smile was always real, and it was always there for me to see. A lot like Kennedy, Annette also lived in the moment and had a good time.

  She caught a lot of my genes, too, but she was lucky to turn out as pretty as she was.

  She was short like me; our faces were shaped the same, and her hair was the same color as mine, though it was a lot prettier.

  I finished washing Annette’s hair, and she got out of the shower to get dressed for school. I sat back down on my bed, put my socks and nurse shoes on, and then went into the kitchen so I could prepare our bowls of cereal.

  Caitlyn was still asleep at this time. She woke up late, usually, because she was a night owl and spent a lot of time writing at night. She could do that, because she was self-employed.

  Annette came out of her bedroom wearing a white floral dress that stopped just below her knees, and she was wearing white sandals that closed over her toes.

  She was such a girl.

  Annette had a few pairs of pants, but she’d only wear them when she had no oth
er choice. If it was cold enough outside, I’d have to make her. Her argument would usually be a simple pout, or she’d stomp her feet as she walked back to her room to change.

  She made me smile every day.

  “I want you to blow dry my hair, mommy, but then aunt Catie will wake up and get mad,” she told me, and we sat down next to each other at the buffet counter in the kitchen to eat our breakfast.

  She still had her hair wrapped in a towel, which was unusual.

  “I’ll blow dry it, sweetie. Aunt Catie can go back to sleep if she wakes up,” I told her.

  She smiled at that, and then said, “Okay.”

  Caitlyn would get a gut-punch if she woke up mad.

  We finished eating our cereal, and Annette got another cup of orange juice before we went into the bathroom to blow dry her hair.

  Annette had gotten a second cup of orange juice, and it reminded me of Wyatt.

  After blow drying Annette’s hair, I hadn’t heard any faint cuss words coming from Caitlyn’s bedroom, so I assumed she was still sound asleep.

  “Time to head out,” I told Annette, and she nodded.

  She grabbed her backpack as I hoisted my workbag over my shoulder.

  9:03a.m.

  The morning wasn’t very enticing. It was the usual, with just some minor changes. Annette went to school with a hint of a brighter smile, because she liked that I blow dried her hair, and she liked that she hadn’t had homework to turn in.

  I had a boring drive to work. I hadn’t liked much music that was playing on the radio, so I turned it off, and endured the silence.

  Now I was on the second floor again for my every-week-day shift - but a tinged buzz rippled through me, like I was excited to be here for once.

  I exchanged a co-worker nod with Denise, and then turned my head towards room 209’s door.

  I actually smiled at those numbers for the first time.

  “Any folders for me to take on?” I asked Denise, my tone casual. I was still looking at the numbers that were traced on the door in front of me.

  “You’re clear for now,” she answered. I believed she was smiling, amused, but I hadn’t turned my head to acknowledge the possibility.

  After getting Wyatt’s food ready on a tray, I slowly walked towards his room.

  I knocked once, and he actually said the words, “Come in,” for the first time.

  I hadn’t known why I loved that he said those words.

  Come in.

  They were simple words that most patients usually said when the nurse would knock on their door.

  It was just that voice, I guessed, and who that voice belonged to.

  I entered slowly, but then my eyes took him in all at once. I pushed the door closed with my ass, my eyes never leaving those eyes.

  I was starting to love Wyatt’s eyes, too.

  Brown and silver.

  Lots of brown. Just enough silver.

  “Morning, Willow,” he greeted.

  He really wasn’t mean anymore, and I loved that.

  He was smiling, too, and his smile made me grin. Like, I was just too happy about seeing his smile this early in the day.

  “Morning,” I said softly. I placed his tray over his thighs, but he was looking at my face instead of his eggs. He was expectant.

  Regretfully, I darted my eyes toward his, and we just stared for a second. Eye contact and all.

  Without another word, I sat down on the bed and started feeding him.

  He was happy about this.

  This whole situation with Wyatt was like a large foreign family living in my brain, taking up most of my thoughts in an indefinable way.

  “How was your weekend?” he asked between bites.

  I paused, fork midair. “Good. I went to the park with Annette,” I said. “Thanks, by the way. I can’t remember if I thanked you or not,” I smiled.

  He blinked, like he was trying to read further into the fact that I had actually thanked him for something, or maybe that I smiled like a nice person as I said it.

  In all actuality, I really was a nice person. I just hadn’t tolerated pushovers. I used to think Wyatt was a pushover. I hadn’t today. Maybe he was still a pushover, and I was just starting to tolerate it.

  “For no more homework on Friday’s,” I clarified.

  He nodded, slowly. “She’ll only have homework on Tuesday’s and Thursday’s,” he said, like it was no big deal to him.

  He finished chewing his egg, and he studied me.

  He had taken a sip of his orange juice.

  She’ll only have homework on Tuesday’s and Thursdays.

  There was something about that sentence that was a complete turn-on to me, and that Wyatt was who said it. He had taken another sip of his orange juice, and then put the carton down on the tray. He was still studying me.

  I hadn’t known what came over me.

  I grabbed the back of his neck, and I kissed him.

  I kissed him hard, and my hip bumped the edge of his tray hard, then the tray fell on the ground on the opposite side of Wyatt’s bed.

  His eggs were on the floor.

  He hadn’t cared. I hadn’t cared.

  He seemed to like the taste of my mouth more than he liked the taste of his eggs.

  His one hand was in my hair, now.

  He was kissing me back. Oh, dear God - was he kissing me back.

  My hands were on his shoulders, and my breasts were suffocating, pressed up against his chest. My stethoscope was imprinting us, but I couldn’t find the coherency to take it off.

  We were making out. I was making out with Wyatt.

  His one hand was roaming, down to my waist, now.

  I was pretty sure he growled - or maybe that was just the way Wyatt moaned?

  I wanted him to keep doing it.

  “Willow,” he mumbled; his voice was hoarse against my lips. He was still kissing me as he spoke, “It’s just homework.”

  Shut up, Wyatt, I thought.

  It was so much more than just homework, to me. It felt like everything.

  He seemed to forget his argument, because he wrapped his one arm around me, and held me to him so damn tightly I ran out of breath.

  His mouth dominated mine, like he was making up for all the rude things he had ever said or done.

  He felt really nice, now.

  He made sounds when I touched him, so I kept touching him.

  I ran my hands through his dark hair, just so I could mess it up for the first time. He probably wouldn’t like that I was messing it up, because he was a perfectionist and liked looking perfect, but I couldn’t help it.

  He groaned into my mouth like he was heated, yet also a bit frustrated.

  “Stop messing my hair up, Willow,” he murmured. His voice was deep, and mysterious, and one-hundred percent Wyatt.

  Wyatt’s voice was really nice, too.

  I placed my hands on his shoulders again, smiling like an idiot as he kissed both corners of my mouth.

  Or was it my smile that he was kissing?

  I made an mmm sound, as if I tasted something delicious, like my favorite dessert.

  Wyatt noticed, and was kissing my neck, now.

  When would this stop?

  I hadn’t wanted it to. I hoped I wouldn’t get any more folders for patients, and we could do this until lunchtime.

  I could easily skip lunch, though. Maybe it would last until the end of my shift.

  “Kissing you is really nice,” he said, kissing up my neck.

  His mouth was close to my ear, now.

  His breath was everywhere, and it hadn’t even smelt bad.

  Wyatt tasted like minty orange juice.

  “Mhmm. Yeah. Nice.” I was breathless, and practically gasping the words out of my mouth.

  “Mmm.” He was making the same sound I had made, except it lingered for a while longer, and it was a way better sound coming from him.

  He was kissing my collarbone, now, and I felt like I was on fire.

  “A
re those lions?” he asked softly.

  His breath was still everywhere, and his mouth was still on my collarbone. That made it hard to answer his question.

  “Huh?” I muttered.

  “Your scrubs,” he said. His smile against my skin was intoxicating.

  You’re going to get me drunk with that smile, Wyatt, I thought.

  “Mhmm. Yeah. Lions,” I answered faintly.

  Lionesses, too, I thought, but I couldn’t convince myself to speak again.

  I felt drunk already.

  “I want to rip this off, and leave the stethoscope on,” he said, deep and low in his throat.

  He was tugging on my top with his one hand, now.

  “How animalistic of you,” I whispered.

  I was pretty sure he growled like an actual animal that time, and it was hot, hot, hot.

  My breathing pattern was erratic. His was kind of worse.

  Oh, wait…

  Oh no.

  Oh no.

  I placed a hand over his heart. It was the nurse in me. I couldn’t help it.

  Was he about to go into another cardiac arrest?

  He was still kissing me, up and down my chest and neck. I wanted to tell him to keep going, but I also wanted to make sure his heart was okay.

  I was trying to count the beats vibrating through his chest, but I couldn’t keep up.

  He kissed my mouth a few times, his eyes closed. I wasn’t responding the same as he was, and he noticed that.

  He opened his eyes, his lips just barely touching mine. Slowly, he placed his one hand over mine, the one I had lying over his chest. His heart.

  I hadn’t wanted to be the one who hurt his heart.

  “What you’re feeling, Willow…that’s not a bad thing,” he whispered against my lips.

  I hadn’t known if I believed those words.

  “For your heart to act this way?” I whispered in return.

  I was curious about his heart.

  He kissed me softly. “It acts a little differently when I’m kissing you like this, but that’s not a bad thing.”

  “So you’re not hurting?” I continued.

  He kissed me again.