My chest hurt, my lips hurt, my eyes and my ears and my head hurt. I couldn’t stop the pain. Couldn’t stop the flood of feeling. And even more significant: I didn’t want to.
“When you kissed me this morning, you did it with feeling, just like I asked,” he said. His eyes stayed on mine, willing me to listen. “Another sweet moment.”
I bit my lip to keep it from trembling. I opened my mouth but he put a finger up to it, quieting me. “Listen to me. If I had the surgery, there’s a good chance I’d lose my memory forever, just like I did last time. This procedure would be more invasive, so I’d lose those moments. I’d be alive, but I wouldn’t know who you were. I wouldn’t remember how angry you were when I brought you to world’s largest thermometer. I would never remember how it felt to dance with you in my arms. I would forget the moment I watched your eyes close at the Grand Canyon, how the sunlight lit up your features, making the Grand Canyon itself pale in comparison. I’d forget our bantering, and the sound you make when you laugh, even if it’s scary as hell.”
I laughed, a watery laugh, but a laugh nonetheless.
“See?” he said, smiling at me. “It sounds terrible. But look what it does to your face. You glow. I don’t want to forget that. I’d forget the Four Corners, and the trip to Denver to meet Mira. I’d forget the way the blood rushed to my ears as I pulled that man off of you. The rage that filled me when I saw him knock you down. I don’t want to forget that moment, because that’s the moment I realized that you were important to me.”
The first tear slipped from my eyes and I tried, futilely, to stop the rest.
“When you bandaged my knuckles and then we had sex in front of the mirror.” I looked away at that, embarrassed. His fingers touched my chin and turned me to look at him. “I’ve told you that you look incredible when you come and you do. You’re almost unearthly beautiful.” He used his thumb to brush away the tear that slid down my cheek. “When we went on that tour through the canyon. I watched your face as I told you the history and then again when I told you to seal that view in your memory, so every time you looked at that photo, you’d remember how it felt, how it looked.”
I knew I wouldn’t forget that moment, not for the rest of my life.
“I’m not Eloisa. I don’t want the gift of losing my memory. I want to remember it all, remember you. I would rather die with those memories in my mind, with your name on my lips, than have the surgery and wake up, forgetting the best times of my life, forgetting you. Ignorance isn’t bliss.”
More tears leaked from my eyes. I didn’t know what to say.
“It’s okay Parker. Be happy. You’ve given me happiness.”
But I didn’t want to give him happiness. I wanted to give him life, longer than the one he was on the path to live. I couldn’t stop crying. The tears poured from my eyes and I nearly choked on a sob.
“Can I show you my tattoo now?” he asked softly.
I nodded through the tears.
He stood up, pulling off his shirt. My eyes slid up to the bandage just above the words on his ribcage. He slowly removed the bandage. It was my name, in bold block letters above the words, “This world has only one sweet moment set aside for us.”
“You made a liar out of my tattoo, Parker.”
I raised my eyes from my name on his chest to his face. “What do you mean?”
“I didn’t get one sweet moment. I got handfuls of them.”
I bit my lip again. I was still crying, but not as hard. “Do you want to see my tattoo?” I asked, choking on a sob.
“Of course I do.”
“Help me unzip this,” I said, turning around and holding up my hair.
He came up behind me and first placed a hand on the back of my neck. He squeezed gently on my neck before gliding his hand down to the top of the zipper.
When it was completely unzipped, I let my hair fall and turned around. I pulled the top of the dress down, clearing my breasts first. And then, after a deep breath for courage, I pulled it all the way down, pushing it over my hips to pool at my feet.
Everett was staring at the spot just under my left breast, on my ribs. He held a hand out for me and I grabbed it, thankful that he pulled me closer. His hand found the corner of the bandage. He looked at me, placed his other hand on the curve where my neck met my shoulder, and tugged the bandage.
I blew out a breath, from nerves, from the little lingering pain I still felt. He kept his eyes on me and threw the bandage behind us before leading me to sit on the bed. It was as if he knew, knew that the tattoo meant something more than just pretty ink on my skin. And then his eyes moved down and he sucked in a breath.
PurgatoirE
“Purgatoire,” he breathed. His eyes moved up to mine. “The E is capitalized.”
“The P and the E are both capitalized.”
“Parker,” he started, looking at the tattoo again.
“And Everett,” I finished.
“Purgatoire. Purgatory.”
I licked my lips. “It was the moment I started to feel again. You did that. It was my sweet moment.”
He looked at me with feeling. And now I wasn’t confused at what the feeling was, because I felt it too. It was the most solid feeling I’d ever felt, and the first time I’d ever felt it this deeply.
He stood up and leaned over me, kissing me, with feeling. When he gently laid me back on the bed, it was with feeling. When he kissed down my chest, he kissed me with feeling. Later, when he was inside of me, he stared into my eyes and his ice blue irises were warm, with feeling.
When Everett curled around me afterwards, his arm tight around my waist, he asked the question he asked the day before. But my answer had changed.
“Parker,” he sleepily murmured against my neck. “Are you in love with me yet?”
I waited a minute, until his breaths were even and deep, signaling he’d fallen asleep.
“If I lied to you, I’d be breaking the rules. And if I told you the truth, I’d be breaking the rules.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
We woke up early the following morning and hit the road to New Orleans immediately. Everett’s hand found mine across the console and held it. If the seven-hour drive taught me anything, it was that I never wanted to let go of his hand. My hand in his felt as natural as having another limb, and the loss of it would make my hand feel empty, for the rest of my life.
We strolled Bourbon Street together, holding hands. We ducked into little shops and walked across several blocks to have the famous beignets. We sat in City Park and people-watched. Everett made up stories about some of the strangers we observed. I laughed some more. It was coming more natural to me, though Everett still looked at me as if it was the strangest sound in the world.
While in a corner grocery store, Everett sent me a text, including an image of limes.
Asshole: Want some?
I laughed, knowing his name was still Asshole in my phone. Before I could reply, another text came through.
Asshole: I heard a noise. It sounded like a dying cat. Was that you?
I didn’t feel anger or annoyance. A weight that had lived on my chest was lifted.
Me: And to think I’d considered changing your name in my phone. It still says, “Asshole.”
Asshole: I never claimed to be anything else.
You know that moment you have, when you want to freeze time, right before everything falls apart? The awful thing is that you never know when that moment is. You look back on it and wish you’d committed more of it to memory. But you don’t know that your world is about to tip on its axis.
For us, it was the moment we were back on Bourbon Street that evening, navigating our way through a sea of inebriated bar hoppers.
The air was warm and sounds from all the bars in the area were loud, messy noises, causing Everett to pull me into the middle of the street, away from the people swaying on the sidewalk. I pulled my tank top away from my chest to allow some air movement. Everett squeezed my hand three time
s and I let go of my tank top, looking at him.
“Why three?” I asked.
He looked at me and shook his head. Then, his eyebrows drew together and he put a hand by his ear, signaling he hadn’t heard me.
I stepped closer to him. “Why three?” I asked again. I pulled away to look at him, but something was off about his expression. He was looking over my shoulder but I could tell he wasn’t looking at anything. His eyes were blank.
“Everett?” I squeezed his hand. He didn’t react. I looked around and pulled him over to the curb. “Sit down,” I ordered, all but pushing him. His face was blank. And then his head turned to the left, came back, and turned to the left again. It was as if there was a rubber band, stretching his head to the left and snapping his head back straight.
“Everett,” I said again. “What’s happening?”
He wasn’t looking at anything. His left arm lifted up and twitched, up and down. I didn’t know what to do. And then he fell sideways to the sidewalk.
“Everett!” His entire body was convulsing, his eyes rolled to the back of his head so I only saw the whites of his eyes. I turned my head around, frantic. “Call an ambulance!” I screamed. His mouth was opened, but no sound was coming out.
“He’s having a seizure,” a woman said, crouching next to me. “Is he epileptic?”
I shook my head, watching him helplessly. Then he started grunting.
“Put his head in your lap, girl. There’s too much glass around.” I slid next to him, trying to put his head on my lap. The woman helped me, but Everett’s spasms were getting worse, with his hands thrashing.
“Should I hold his hands?” I asked, my voice thick.
“No. Just wait. He’ll come out of it.” I watched her pull her phone out and call an ambulance.
Slowly, his seizing stopped. He blinked and looked at me. “Everett,” I said.
I watched him open and close his mouth slowly, as if he was tasting something. But I saw recognition in his eyes, so I knew that was a good sign.
“He’s coming out of it,” I heard the woman say on the phone. I looked up at her gratefully but then her eyes widened. I turned back to Everett’s head in my lap. He was convulsing again. His eyes were rolled back again and his body was thrashing so hard that I couldn’t keep him in my lap.
“He’s having another one,” the woman said. This time, her voice sounded more concerned than before.
Everett was making choking sounds at this point. “Everett,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “Please, Everett.” I didn’t know what I was asking for. But a miracle would do.
By the time the ambulance arrived, Everett wasn’t breathing.
I hated hospitals. I hated the waiting rooms. I hated that the water fountains were so far from the waiting rooms. I hated the smell and the sounds.
I hated that you had to wait to see a loved one. And I hated that I had someone in this hospital, a loved one. Mostly I hated that Everett wasn’t here to see me hate everything. The girl who once embraced no emotions was now wrapped up in hate.
“You can see him now,” a nurse in pink scrubs said. I tried not to sneer at her as I walked briskly past her. She’d been my nemesis when Everett had first come to the hospital and she’d barred me from his room. I’d been away from him for four hours at this point. I’d called his family and they were already on their way. But for now, it was just Everett and me.
I entered Everett’s hospital room quietly, worried he was sleeping. My eyes saw a nurse in the corner, making notes, but I paid her little attention.
As soon as I came around the curtain, he was sitting there, in the bed, staring at me as if he’d been waiting to see me. He looked tired, completely spent, but he still had a smile for me. “Come here,” he said, lifting the one free arm that didn’t have tubes running through it.
I climbed in beside him, wrapping my arm around his waist, greedy for this, for him.
His hand touched my hair and he rubbed over it. “My precious.”
I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. “Everett,” I said. Only, my words were a whisper. “Why?”
He held my hand in his, running his thumb over my knuckles. Even in a hospital bed, strapped to numerous machines, he was still soothing me. I’d always be broken. But being with Everett, I’d been okay being broken. He’d pushed me so hard, he’d smoothed out the sharper edges.
“Parker.” It was said to grab my attention. His voice was weak, his speech was a little slurred, but he was still commanding. “I told you, I told you before this trip. I’m-”
“No.” I nearly yelled it. The nurse looked at me with a sharp eye. “No,” I said softer. “You’re giving up. That’s not a dignified way to die, dammit.”
“I’m not giving up.”
“Yes, you are.” My voice was crumbling. The strength I summoned was noticeably absent. I swallowed tears, but they lodged in my throat. “You are, Everett. You can fight. You made me fight. You can, too.”
Everett shook his head sadly. “Parker, listen. I fought for years. I’ve spent more of my life sick than not. I’m tired. I’m ready.”
“I’m not.” I choked this time. I brought my free hand up to my mouth. “God dammit, Everett. You made me feel. You made me want to live. You can’t leave me.”
He patted my hand with his hand. “I’m not leaving you, Parker. I need you to listen to me. Don’t be a brat.” I opened my mouth and he looked at me pointedly. “Listen to me. I wanted my one sweet moment. That’s what this trip was about for me. But when I looked at you, watched the way your eyes closed at the Grand Canyon. The light lit up your face and your hair and all I could think about was how incredibly perfect, how incredibly sweet you looked. And then you opened your mouth and ruined it, but even still, it was all I could do to keep from kissing you breathless.”
“I wish you had,” I said, tears running down my face. “God, Everett. I wasted so much time,”
“Shhh,” he urged. “Don’t interrupt me. Remember that moment when you first laughed? I told you not to fall in love with me, and you laughed. I made fun of you then, but the way I felt when you laughed – I ached. You were so beautiful. It was the first sweet moment of my life. Knowing that I’d said something to pull you from the abyss of indifference.”
I shook my head, opened my mouth to speak again but before I could, he spoke.
“Parker,” his voice caught on my name, and my belly dipped. “You have no clue, do you? The effect you’ve had on me.” He gripped my hand tighter, but his hand was still shaky. “I went on a road trip across the country, hoping to find one sweet moment somewhere along the way. Instead, I found them all in you. When we were in that canyon in Colorado and you fell. You were embarrassed when I carried you, when I fussed over your swollen ankle. I never cared, not for people, not the way I cared for you then. I think that’s when I first started.” He tugged my hand, making sure I was paying attention. “That’s when I first slipped off the rocky edge, when I first fully embraced falling in love with you. It hurt, you know. Loving you. It hurts now. But I’d rather suffer through this pain in my final moments than suffer through being alone, from living a life unfilled. I don’t want the eternal sunshine of a spotless mind. I want your laugh, your touch, and the way you kiss me. I want them to fill my mind. It’s a lot of sweetness to live on.”
I couldn’t help it. A sob wrenched from my throat. “You are such an asshole, Everett,” I said, hiccupping on a sob. “I didn’t want to feel. I just wanted you to change your mind!”
“Well now you feel. And that gives me happiness. I want to see you hurting. I’d rather see you in pain than numb to everything, like you were when we met. I’m so glad I helped you feel again, Parker. That is the sweetest moment of them all.”
Love, the emotion that should elicit healing, was in fact the most painful emotion of them all. It crept in when you didn’t want it. Made itself at home, terrorizing your hormones with confusion. It made you more susceptible to pain, it weakened your
resolve while simultaneously making you frantic with need. And it hurt. Not just mentally, but physically. My heart was aching, it was breaking, and I was so very angry with Everett, with love.
I wanted to punch him, to make him physically feel the pain I was emotionally feeling. Instead, my head fell to his chest on the bed and I sobbed. The tears were long suppressed, coming freely from my eyes. It was years of grief being released at once and it was the most overwhelming moment of my life. It was the first time I cried for anyone. It was the first time I loved anyone.
“Do you love me?” he asked. This time, I could answer without sarcasm.
“I hate you, Everett.”
“Good.”
I pushed my forehead against his chest, squeezing my eyes shut. “I hate you so much.”
“Good,” he said again.
I lifted my eyes and stared at him, anger, hurt, fear, and one more thing in my eyes. “I love you and I hate you and I am so fucking mad at you, Everett.”
His hands were on face, cupping my cheeks and pulling me to him. He kissed me then. It was an I-love-you, an I-hate-you, and most of all, a goodbye kiss. Tears slipped from my eyes so freely, it was a never ending waterfall, slipping over our lips. Everett pulled back and then crushed my lips to his once more. Again and again. As soon as he felt ready to stop kissing me, he wasn’t. His lips fell onto mine like gravity. But I couldn’t be his gravity. I couldn’t keep him.
It was excruciating. I finally pulled back and sobbed, my hands gripping his hospital gown. My eyes closed and I cried, my tears soaking his gown.
“I hate you,” I said again.
“I know.” His hand brushed my hair soothingly. “I’m glad you do.”
[2014] Ten Below Zero Page 22
