Chapter Text
I remember the day you first came into my life.
I remember it all too well, clear as a summer afternoon.
~~~~~~~~~~
You were seven and I was nine.
My aunt, who was your skating coach, put us together to skate a few laps around the rink that was my backyard for a bit because my actual partner was late that day. We stroked around the ice together for maybe 10 minutes before my partner showed up, grumbling as she slipped her skates on and took her own sweet time lacing them up. It was 10 minutes but I think that’s was all I needed to first fall in love with you.
Young love, my mother said to me as she raised her eyebrows a couple of times in a little wiggle, exaggerating and insinuating my little crush on you whenever she saw me gazing at you longingly from across the boards throughout that summer. I saw the first time you landed an axel— perfect bend in your knees, extraordinary height in your jump, impeccable launch speed for the tiny child that you were. You were unfathomably perplexing and I always looked for you at the rink trying to see what new skating skill you had mastered so that I could bait my brothers into teaching it to me without our mother’s consent. That’s how I learned to flawlessly execute my spins and deepen my edges till my blades all but chastely kissed the ice.
I became better because of you. But then after that one summer, I never saw you again, my older cousins said that you’d been given a position at the National Ballet and that you’d moved all the way to Toronto and my partner grew sick of me forgetting the steps in our programs so she ditched me. I was left with just my skating talent and bottomless anger at the world.
So my mother and aunt pushed me into ice hockey. I did that for a while but then I had to stop because it’s an aggressive sport and my wrangled brain couldn’t take another concussion. I barely graduated high school and by some miracle ended up in college where I met you again for the first time in over a decade. Do you think it was fate that brought us together? Do you think it was a mere coincidence that we both ended up in the same chemistry lab elective class in our first year? The elective that had nothing to do with your psychology and my sports science course but somehow we both ended up together and you sucked at chemistry. You told me this when our overly cheerful professor paired us up and asked us to begin a simple acid/base titration, through uncomfortable glances and awkward introductions, your eyes flickered across the array of flasks and chemicals. I saw the way your brow furrowed as you read the experiment instructions thoroughly, all the while chewing at your lip nervously and trying hard not to scold me for all the commotion I was causing pushing the apparatus here and there. I’d just filled the burette with 0.1 M HCl as you dictated the instructions to me but then you touched the part of my arm that was bare and I overshot the pipette measurement for our base. That’s when I first got a proper look at your eyes; glistening in shock as a tiny gasp left your rosy mouth. I knew who you were, I’d recognize those springtime fern colored gems glittering in your eyes anywhere. I assured you with a gentle hand on your shoulder and then a playful bop on your nose when you looked thoroughly unconvinced. I like to think that it was then that our friendship started, spontaneous and yet hesitant…?
Our encounters grew from two hours a week cooped up in a chemistry lab to weekly coffee meetups to discuss your calculus assignment and my English writing essay. We’d stroll around the campus talking about everything from your kindergarten best friend to that one time I ended up in my high school girlfriend’s attic, naked as the day I was born so that her parents wouldn’t catch us. One day, I plucked up enough courage and told you that I knew you from all those years ago when you came into the skating rink, wearing the biggest baby blue mittens and hiding behind your mother. I asked you if you remembered blushing when I grabbed your hand and clumsily pulled you into a paltry dance hold as we stroked around the ice for our family’s amusement. You told me that you remembered the rambunctious boy who seemed to be going faster and faster on purpose trying to lead you and that irked you so you decided to lead him.
“Maybe it was fate that we met again, eh?” you’d chuckled and I had nodded my head, dazed.
We became best friends, you and I. We dated for a brief, awkward time and then vowed to never do so again. We dated other people on and off throughout college, never committing and always craving more from a relationship that I think we both inherently knew we’d only find in each other. No matter what happened, we’d always find our way back to each other.
“I’m going to marry you one day,” I said to you over the last crystallization experiment of the semester.
But your hands didn’t waver, still holding the boiling tube and shaking it in the flame to heat it up steadily. I think you’d gotten used to my charm by then and the rom-com lines I sometimes spewed just didn’t surprise you anymore.
“Because my new found experimental techniques are just so irresistible?” It took you a minute but you finally came up with a response as you waggled your eyebrows to break the tension between us.
I bopped you on your pert little nose with my gloved hand as I said, “Well I don’t know about your technique but no one should look as good as you do in safety goggles, T.”
And you giggled as you turned back to the apparatus tray to fish out an evaporating dish.
Our friendship baffled everyone: my parents, your mother and sister, my nieces and nephews.
Truth be told, it astonished me too. You astonished me with your remarkable intelligence and endless compassion, a wrench in the gears of my perfectly ticking Swiss watch of a life, but I think by then I was already half-in-love with you anyway.
~~~~~~~~~~
Here’s a random memory: you would glide through corridors and press your face into my shoulder as you’d bat your eyelashes at me and convince me to take you to this dance the arts and music faculty was organizing. I loved to hear you whine my name, that sounded so sweet from your lips as you pleaded and pleaded.
“What should I wear?” I said, giving in to your precious expression.
You never told me what to wear because you’d launched yourself into my arms and hugged the air out of me, babbling about what dress you’d wear (the violet one with the tulle skirt) and how you’d style your hair (loose curls cascading down your shoulders) and what jewelry you’d wear.
“Oh, that pearl bracelet you gave me for my birthday! It’s perfect,” you squealed in delight, a precious smile gracing your face that I wanted to bottle up and keep in my heart.
You’re perfect, I’d squealed inside my head.
~~~~~~~~~~
Here is a list of things I liked, loved about you:
I liked, loved that you would slap my hand away from my teeth with surprising strength when I’d be chewing on the skin between my thumb and forefinger.
“Stop that, Scott. It’s disgusting,” you’d chide, swatting my hand away and scrunching your face into a look of disgust, as though you’d just swallowed curdled milk.
Then you would rummage through your bag, muttering to yourself endearingly and produce a mint, sometimes you’d even pop it into my mouth by gripping my chin and holding my mouth open, slipping your fingers past my lips and placing the little tablet on my tongue. I’d flash you a grin and say something funny to coax a deep, belly laugh from you and you’d shake your head at me before granting my wish.
I liked, loved that you’d grab my hands and pull them out of my hair, stopping me from fidgeting in nervousness altogether and grounding me to you by pulling me into a long hug. I loved that we would match our breathing patterns so that within seconds, my thundering heartbeat would line up with yours and we’d exist as one.
I liked, loved that you were particularly responsive to my touch. You should know that sometimes I did it on purpose to gauge a new reaction out of you but every time I would kiss your temple, nudge your nose with mine or whisper delicately into your ear, your face would burst into flames. And then I would burst into laughter.
But it wasn’t just that, you always melted under my hands, letting me lead you in a dance or easily letting me lift you up onto a desk or ledge so that our eyes were leveled and I could stare into your greens while talking to you. Raising your arms slightly when you’d see me barreling over with blind rage flashing dangerously in my eyes so that I could wind my arms snuggly around your waist and bury my nose in the crook of your neck so that I could inhale your calm and qualm my anger.
I liked, loved the way you would let me drop kisses on every part of your face except your lips. But you caved to those too eventually.
On your nose once when you were hammered on a staggeringly small amount of cheap alcohol from a frat party I had dragged you to. I’m still so sorry about that.
On the rosy apple of your cheek after you’d agreed to write my Pride and Prejudice in-depth-character-analysis assignment for my English literature elective. I will forever be grateful for that.
On the corner of your mouth that one time we were just lying upon the fresh grass of the campus yard on a blistering summer day, your bare toes curling into the damp soil. You had brought us lemonades with curly straws and fancy umbrellas and I’d simply kissed you by the shy curb of your smile. If your flush from the heat deepened to a faint scarlet hue, I didn’t say anything.
On your burning forehead when you were “deathly ill”— your words, not mine— I’d talked you into popping a couple of painkillers, dribbled some anti-fever syrup down your throat and wrestled you into bed, quite literally holding you hostage in a burrito of blankets and smothering you in a cocoon of warmth. You told me later after you were better, that you didn’t like Nurse Scott very much and that the next time I got sick, you would smother me to death. You never held up on that promise, though.
I liked, loved the way you let me call you nicknames and endearments more than your actual name. You said you would always think that someone was upset with you when they called you by your full name. So I tried out nicknames, some good and some bad. Some of which stuck and those still roll off my tongue from time to time.
Tess. T. Tutu. Virtch. T-Bone. T-Dog.
I called you sweetie when I needed something.
I called you darling when we pretended to get engaged in the middle of Chili’s so that they’d bring us a complimentary brownie that I knew you needed after a stupid final reportedly “walloped” you. Also, when it was my actual birthday.
I called you pretty girl once and you’d choked so hard on the chocolate milk you were sipping, wheezing for a full ten minutes till your breathing stabilized and your eyes stopped watering. Served you right for stealing my chocolate milk, pretty girl.
“Hey, bestie.” I’d greet you, plopping down beside you in the library and pulling out my study material back in our second year. You’d looked at me meekly with shyness glittering in your dark eyes and repeated the term with question lilting your voice.
“You know you are. But don’t tell people, they’ll try to wreck our friendship by telling you all the lovely things I indulge in when you’re not around. I’d probably let you down then.” I snickered.
“Never, no you couldn’t,” was your immediate response.
But we were just best friends who spoke like lovers, two people too scared to love each other.
~~~~~~~~~
The night you laid your heart bare for me has been seared into my memory and I will never forget it. We were lying on the too tiny, single poster bed in your dorm room, the lights switched off and the two of us huddled under your soft, pastel blanket, whispering to each other in our own little language. I never had to finish my sentences with you, you’d always know what I was thinking even before I’d think it. In the dim lighting of your bedside lamp, I saw how your eyes lit up with ambition and your voice taint with emotion as you repeated the story of your ballet career. The full story with all the gory details and trust me when I say I felt queasy when you described how you had to pull through aching feet and liquid muscles and broken toes, battle inner demons and eating disorders, hear instructors and choreographers comment and shame your body almost daily. You told me about your compartment syndrome and how wrecked you were when you underwent surgery twice and yet you still had to retire because the pain in your shins crawled up your body and ensconced you in writhing fire till you felt as though your heart would give out.
“I used to get sick sometimes while training, too. I felt unworthy and didn't feel totally healthy, I felt like such a fraud. I remember wishing that the scalpel would not so accidentally cut me too deep, sever my nerves so the pain would just stop and then I wouldn’t have to use my legs ever again. And then I remember being so horrified at myself for thinking that, being so ungrateful when so many people would kill for the opportunities I’d been blessed with, I just—“
You clutched my T-shirt tightly in your fists as you whispered into my neck that sometimes you were glad that left that life behind because of how draining it was and how much you lost yourself in that toxic environment. You said that you were relieved you’d retired because otherwise you would’ve never met me and you wouldn’t feel the sense of limitlessness you do when you’re around me. I fell in love with you completely that night with your hands caressing my chest and tracing random patterns with your fingers that sent shivers up my spine. I lay there with you draped on top of me, intimately entwined in each others essence and I fell in love with the way you invaded my senses and slipped under my skin. You, my dear, made me whole. You completed me and gave me a sense of peace and fulfillment I hadn’t felt since I was a child.
You tenderly pressed your lips to mine, fingers abandoning their ministrations and trailing into the hair at the nape of my neck. You twisted them into the curls and tugged gently at the strands before massaging your way to cradle my scalp so gently. The gesture in itself was so delicate and it made me feel so loved. So, so loved.
I broke the kiss and he nosed along your cheek, breathing in the strawberry scent of your skin. I wound my hands in your soft hair and tilted your head up so that my lips pressed gently at your pulse point. I kissed a line all the way up back to your sweet mouth and pulled your body closer against me. I don’t know when we succumbed to slumber but I know that I slept differently in your arms, at ease and able to breathe as though the crushing weight of on coming finals was definitely not looming above my head.
I woke up the next morning on my own, no alarm blaring in my ear nor a sleep-deprived roommate threatening to blast my door off its hinges. I was well rested and rejuvenated with you snuggled perfectly into the grooves of my body, as cliche as the puzzle piece metaphor. I watched the winter sun shyly peak through the dense clouds, spilling warmth and color into the blank, blue sky from over your shoulder. My eyes were still half-closed from the bliss of having you nestled in my arms and feeling your heartbeat vibrate strongly in tune my mine through your ribs and our tightly clasped hands resting against your chest. I spooned you closer and buried my nose in your brown locks, losing myself to a weightless dream of you twirling and prancing across my mind to the melody of our harmonizing heartbeats.
~~~~~~~~~~
Here’s another random memory: It was a rather warm winter morning and I’d taken the liberty of putting together a hearty breakfast for you, my girlfriend. You’d snatched away my plaid button up nightshirt, part of the set you’d gifted me for Christmas and had left me to slave in front of the stove in my horrendously checkered pajama bottoms. When you saw my wiping off just the tiniest smidge of batter on my trousers, you’d shot out your hand to grab my wrist and draped a kitchen towel over my shoulder to use instead before reaching for the coffee maker.
It’s always been one of my favorite looks on you; a half-asleep expression adorning your face, bed head and obviously, you in my clothes. I loved it so, so much.
“Do I have your undivided attention?” I said as I handed you a tall, steaming mug of coffee, complete with a splash of almond milk.
“And all my love,” you had said, perched on my kitchen counter with your gorgeous green eyes slicing into me and the corners of your mouth tilting up into a mischievous grin.
My heart stuttered in my chest for a moment and then I too smirked at you as I set down your plate of blueberry pancakes, drenched in maple syrup (just how you liked them), next to and stood between your legs caging you in. I saw your confidence fumble as you glanced down at your coffee and then back at me, back at my lips. I brought my hands up to cradle your face as gentle as I could and then I peppered your face with kisses. Some on your eyelids and the bridge of your nose, and the bow of your lips before I enveloped you into my domestic embrace. I forgot what I wanted to say to you.
We took a walk later that day and you did the cute thing where you swung our gloved hands back and forth and back and forth like the pendulum of a clock. We cruised around in my truck and watched the stars lying down in the back of the rusty pick-up, our noses red and numb from the cold. You pulled my face close to yours as you whispered the words to me, your breath mingling with mine in visible puffs.
“I love you,” you said. And then you said it, again and again, all through the night when I carried you over my back up to your dorm room when I laid you down on your single poster bed as gently as I could when I gave you all of me.
I was tracing my love on your back, hands underneath my sweatshirt that you’d slipped on at some point during the night when you got the call. You’d lurched up abruptly out of my arms and paled in the harsh light of your bedside lamp when the person on the other end of the call delivered the unfortunate news.
Your sister had died. Car crash, they said. Dead on arrival, the pressure from the airbags had crushed her ribs and pierced her lungs, her heart had given out immediately.
You’d burst into such mournful sobs, tears spilling down your pretty face. It pained me to see you so utterly devastated up and there was nothing I could do to comfort you. You sobbed as you booked a train back home and flung some clothes into a bag pack, letting me drive you to the station. We waited in silence, the dreadful cold of the winter waving its farewell seeping in through our layers but that wasn’t what made us shiver. We shook at the same frequency because of the impending separation that was about to come with the train. The shrieking whistle broke the silence and you clasped my hand tightly as we slowly trudged towards the train steps, letting me peck you softly on the cheek before you boarded.
I waited for a text or a phone call from you. I hounded your roommate every day for the better part of a week till you opened the door one day, with folded cardboard boxes in your arms.
“Oh, hi.” Your voice was so hoarse. Purple bags pulled at the skin beneath your eyes and your complexion was sallow.
You told me that you were going to move back home to take care of your mother, who’d barely eaten or moved an inch in the past week. You brothers lived in other cities and had their own families and though they were extremely supportive and present in this extremely difficult time, where the three of you had lost a sister, your mother had lost a child.
“I have to look after her, Scott. I need to take her away from all this, everything reminds her of Jo and it breaks my heart to see my mother so utterly devastated like this.” You whispered and honestly I loved you all the more, your selflessness and graciousness projecting a new aura of maturity around you as you broke my heart.
I didn’t see you again for a whole year. You’d cut ties with everyone, changed your number, transferred your course as well. You’d completely disappeared and that broke me, Tess. I wanted to be there for you and to support you through the terrible loss that you’d suffered. I think it was then that I realized how deeply in love I was.
I think that day we met again it was the universe giving me a second chance. I saw you at the registrar’s office when I’d gone to collect a few documents. There you were, just standing there with your shoulders back and your spine straight, nodding along with the administrator.
I can’t describe all the emotions I felt in that single moment— there was hurt and anger, sadness and most infuriatingly happiness. I was so elated just to see you again. Plucking up all the courage I had, I tapped you on the shoulder, ready for your eyes to lock with mine and for the nightmare that the past year of my life had been to finally be over. You turned around and in those eyes, I saw sadness and hurt and shock and relief. I saw you ride the same emotional roller coaster I had just ridden and I saw your breath catch as you took in my haggard form.
“Scott,” your voice came out in a whisper.
“Hey, Tess.” I could hear my voice cracking so I paused to flash you a meager smile before I broke down in tears in front of you. You told me you had come back to collect the papers and forms you needed for a credit transfer. You were quiet and your sentences were short and to the point. Gone was your bubbly, exuberant personality replaced by a shell of a woman I once knew.
I told you then that I loved you. Took your hands gently in mine, rubbing soothing circles at your wrists as I looked into your eyes and I told you I loved you.
“I will always love you, kiddo. My life has been so dark and gloomy without you, I — I would have panic attacks sometimes because I worried about you. I prayed every, single night for God to keep you safe and to bring you back into my life someday. I love you so much, Tess.”
Your somber expression, however, didn’t change. You took a few moments to process the things I had just said and for the first time, I couldn’t make out what your silence meant. I could resolve complex mathematical expressions and divisions that did not have easy solutions but I could never figure you out in that moment.
“Scott, I need time. I—I know I’ve been gone for a year and I’m sorry for worrying you. I need time and I need space, space away from you. I have to take care of my mother and I have to learn how to live in a world without my sister again. It’s been a very difficult few months and to be honest, I think I’m still in denial. I can’t tell you how many times I've woken up in my old room and thought that in a few minutes Jordan will breeze through the door and drag me out of bed. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve cried myself to sleep, wishing that you would be there in my bed with me holding me in your arms. I was the happiest I’ve ever been in my life when we were together, Scott, so thank you for all that time but I need to grieve right now and I need to do that away from Canada.”
Your expression didn’t change and your voice didn’t waver as you told me that you would be moving to Paris with your mother, hence the credit transfer. That’s when we made our pact, at 23 and 25 that if by the time you turned 30, you had learned to heal and hadn’t fallen for someone else and by then if I hadn’t fallen for someone else either, then we would get married.
I told you one last time that I was afraid I’d never be able to love someone the way I love you and you stared at me for a full minute— I counted each painstaking second— your expression empty and morose transformed into one of hope where your eyes lightened and the corners of your mouth lifted slightly in the ghost of a smile. And that’s how we left it. I went back home to Ilderton we didn’t keep in touch at first and then the occasional postcard from you with Eiffel or the Seine painted across the back started to come.
I graduated and you graduated and we both established successful careers for ourselves. Over the years, our correspondences grew more frequent so I bought myself a letter-writing kit to pen proper letters -you were very proud of me for my investment. I asked you once if you thought you had started to heal and you said that maybe you’d be better tomorrow or the day after or maybe a year later but you didn’t think that you would fully be able to heal from a loss like that.
When I turned 30, you sent me a package. It was your old, battered copy of Pride and Prejudice, the spine cracked and the pages smelling distinctly of you. In my next email, I wrote you a very heartfelt thank you and I brought up our marriage pact as a joke. I told you that in all those years, I hadn’t met anyone else and asked you if you were still serious about our agreement. You said you were. A year later, you emailed me asking me to meet up at the coffee house beneath the home office of my agency. I read and re-read that email multiple times, fixated at the very Canadian phone number you had signed off with. After hyperventilating for a good ten minutes, I fed your new contact into my phone and shot off a hesitant text with shaky fingers.
Tess? My heart beat painfully, thumping a dangerous tempo in my chest.
Hey stranger, so coffee at 5?
Yes
You wanted to see if there was still a spark between us. You and your mother had moved back to Canada and established a small startup in Toronto. In Toronto, where I had settled.
I saw you sitting at the cafe I picked up my morning cuppa Joe, perched on a window table with your hands clasped in front of you. When you saw me, you struggled to decide what you wanted to do. In the end, you decided to hug me. It was exhilarating to be in your embrace again; your arms were encircled around me, making me forget where I was except for that smiling face in front of me. I hugged you tightly, my tears dripping from my cheeks on to your white-collar shirt. I breathed in lung-fulls of your precious scent from the nape of your neck where I’d buried my nose. I slowly drifted my hands up and down your strongly-muscled back assuring myself that you indeed were there.
“I was going to ask if you missed me but I think we’ve already answered that.” You snickered into my ear, giggling softly.
You wanted to see if there was still a spark between us. There was.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
We started meeting up for coffee every morning and then we were having dinner at mine every other day. We fell into an easy flow, a seamless routine that consisted of morning beverages and pickups, shared lunch breaks, nightly suppers, and Jeopardy, with our weekends assigned to reading marathons or Brooklyn Nine-Nine re-runs. I lost hours lying against your chest, twirling your curly brown hair in between my fingers and listening to the steady beat of your heart, the rhythm perfectly in sync with my own.
The first time I kissed you again in a long while was on a nondescript Saturday night at your apartment— We had just devoured the simple baked, salmon and asparagus dinner I’d cooked up, done the dishes and wiped the counters and you had poured out our maybe third glasses of wine while setting up Netflix. We were knee deep in the fourth season of Suits when you looked up at me from where you were comfortably snuggled into my chest. You gazed at me with your vibrant green eyes, a small wine drunk smile adorned your beautiful face and I couldn’t hold my feelings behind any longer. I gently pressed my lips to your smile in the barest whisper of a kiss, for just a few moments and pulled back to see your eyes screwed shut and your smile inches wider. I pressed my mouth to yours again, this time nibbling your bottom lip cheekily and folding you closer into the crook of my body, letting your strawberry-vanilla scent overpower my senses. I can hold my liquor very well, I don’t get tipsy very easily but I always had a very low tolerance when it came to you and since I was already a little woozy from the wine, I was drunk off you in seconds.. Very quickly the TV show dissolved into background noise and we lay there on your pristine white couch making out for what could’ve been hours or minutes, I can’t remember. But what I do remember is that passion-filled kisses mellowed into gentle, sweet pecks and lulled us into a sound slumber. I slept peacefully with my arms tightly wrapped around you and my nose buried in your luscious hair.
Soon we were back to where we’d left off before everything went sideways and six months into our relationship, I proposed.
“Marry me, Tess. Your soul is bound to mine and mine is bound to yours and I love you so much. I love that you’re a self-made, independent and strong-willed woman who always, always, puts the needs of her loved ones before hers. You have always supported me and had my back for the better part of my life, even when you weren’t physically there, I always heard your voice in the back of my head cheering me on or helping me through a difficult time in my life. I hate that I wasn’t able to help you through that most devastating time in your life and so that’s also why I want to start this new chapter of my life with you. I want to be with you through all your achievements and successes and all your hard times. I love you so much, I can feel my heart overflowing when you so much as smile at me so, kiddo, please do me the honor of being my wife. Please make me the happiest man in the world.” I proposed with my grandmother’s ring and you were so happy you started crying.
“Happy tears, my love.” You said, smiling brightly through the sobs. “But that’s not fair, you have to wait till my birthday.”
“Tess, that’s in five months!” I’d exclaimed, slightly bummed. But I understood where you were coming from.
“Yes, and think of the lovely weather and the sunshine and the pictures.” You said, very seriously. You cradled my face and looked deep into my eyes. “My answer won’t change, Scott. If you ask me tomorrow or in five months, even if you’d asked me at 23, even then my answer would’ve been the same. Yes, always yes.” A fresh bout of tears overcame your already glistening eyes and you told me you loved me. So much.
“Oh, kiddo. Sweetheart, I’ll wait for you for forever just please stop crying. I can’t bear the sight of you sad, it hurts me right in here.” I punctuated my feelings by taking your hand and kissing the ring that newly adorned your finger and then pressing it to my chest, right on top of my racing heart.
“Hold on to this and in five months I’ll just ask you again for formalities. But for now, move in with me, Tess” I winked at you and stole a kiss from your rosy mouth as it was poised to repeat the same three-lettered word that made me the happiest man in the world that night.
When you kissed me back it was sweet, gentle, and it tasted of your tears. I could’ve kissed you for hours, Tess- I wanted to stay in that moment for forever. If anyone ever asks me what moment in my life I could go back to visit, it would’ve been that night. My hands had just started to creep up your shirt when you pulled away and squealed that you had to tell your mother. And then you told me you had to run to your apartment and box up everything so that we could start this new phase of our lives together. “I don’t wanna waste a second, Scott. I’ll drive home now, pack all my stuff and call the movers tomorrow afternoon.” I could see your brain running a mile a minute, planning the entire move in your head already.
“Slow down, T. We’ll go over to your place in the morning and I’ll help you pack your things. Spend the night here, love, it’s already quite late.”
But you were already shaking your head in defiance and pulling on your winter wear. “No, no, no Scott. I want to move in with you as soon as possible. We’ve already lost so much time, I refuse to waste anymore. And you have to stay here and start clearing out your closet for my stuff. Actually, you might have to move all your stuff into the guest room because I’m pretty sure my shoes alone will take-up half your closet space.” You huffed as you descended the stairs and made your way towards my door. You were just about ready to leave when you paused for a moment and slipped off a glove, bringing your hand to cradle my cheek. “I’ll pick you up from work tomorrow after I call the moving agency.” The words fell so easily from your lips. I wanted to speak but all I could do was pull you flush to my chest croak, "Don't go, not again.” I whispered into your ear as I pressed you closer to myself.
“I love you,” Your mouth bloomed into a soft smile and you nodded once before folding me in your arms again. You’d picked up your coat, scarf, and bag off the floor of the house I’d bought for us and then you’d kissed me one last time on the porch, skipped down the salted driveway and speeding off in your car.
In hindsight, I should’ve known better.
I shouldn’t have let you go, not again.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You are gone.
They told me that your car tires slipped and skidded on some black ice while you were driving back home that night. They told me that you tried to swerve yourself to safety but you didn’t see the tree up ahead. They told me that you died on impact because of the horrendous way your car was wrapped around that miserably bare old, withered maple. I collapsed to the floor, my hand that clutched my phone falling away from my ear while the other came up to my mouth to hold back the scream that crawled its way up my chest, threatening to burst from my lungs. Anguish overtook me as I rocked back and forth on the cold, hardwood floor with my head between my knees, hyperventilating and then somehow convincing myself that it was all a bad dream by pinching the flesh around my elbow repeatedly until it bruised, willing myself to wake up.
You are gone.
I went to your funeral. Your mother made it an open casket wake and to be honest, I hated her for it. Your poor mother who had to bury another child, another daughter. I remember looking at her and looking into her empty, lifeless eyes— somewhat a reflection of my own. I hated the fact that when I walked up to your chestnut brown coffin, your eyes were closed and your hands were neatly placed upon your chest, one on top of the other, as though you were sound asleep. But you weren’t sleeping, were you?
I hated the fact that I would never get to see your smile again, the one that dazzled me into oblivion every time you shot it at me. Your lips would part and then your teeth would show as your mouth curved upwards in a beautiful grin that stole my breath every single time. I hated the fact that I would never get to look into your sparkly green eyes ever again. The ones that always flashed to a new shade of green to reflect your mood; pine, forest green when you were mad. Jade green and wide as saucers when you’d accidentally knock over a flask or break a test tube back in our first year. And always fresh-cut, emerald green when you’d look at me and dissolve into a fit of melodic giggles. I hate that all I have left of you are the pictures on my phone and the memories in my heart.
I’ve lost myself, Tess and all I know is you. I’m sitting here in my therapist’s room, the one my mother and your mother have begged me to see. I can’t think straight; I can barely get out of bed in the morning, it takes me an immeasurable amount of strength to simply lift the sheets off and drag myself into the shower. I stand before my half-empty closet every day and take an eternity to clothe myself. You’ve been in almost all my shirts and the sweet smell of you encompasses me every morning forcing me to my knees as the sheer agony of your loss hits me all over again and my composure crumples into dust.
This is my last session with him for the next couple of months and he’s asked me to write down everything. That’s what he said. He said to write down everything I’m feeling and everything you’re not because he thinks I’m ready to make peace. He thinks I’m ready to let you go. He’s wrong.
I’m ready to make peace with the fact that you’re gone, but I can never let you go. I know you would’ve wanted me to learn to feel again and make progress just like you did, and I promise you, Tessa, I will. I still love you as fiercely as I ever have and I will continue to do so till my dying day. You were, and you always will be my everything.
Yours forever,
Scott