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Cooper goes away.
You don’t try to convince him to stay. If Murph couldn’t, you know you have no chance.
All your wishes had rested with her. You had never told her, but she knew.
You glanced at her in the family home, the night before he left. Small shoulders bowed with a burden no one that young should bear. There were poetic comparisons to be made then, sure.
Atlas. Other gods and myths and tales.
But she is a real little girl. And the tragedy of losing her father captures more pain than any of those stories ever could.
Small eyes. The same color as her father’s. They were watery but resolute, with a clarity that terrified you. She looked at you, and she knew.
She just nodded. A silent promise to do what she could for both of you. You were both going to miss him, but he would only listen to her.
You don’t want to put this on her. She’s a child. You are an adult, and you will dredge up whatever begging you need to so that Cooper will stay. These conversations are meant for wrinkles and wisdom, not a pair of hands that could fit into one glove together.
She runs out of the kitchen before you can say anything.
You wonder if she thinks that speaking for the both of you will lend more weight to her words. As if she is not enough to keep him here.
As an adult, you understand that she is the reason he feels the need to go.
That realization silences you from that moment on. You won’t fight. Won’t cry, won’t scream.
Won’t ask him to stay.
You know he wouldn’t listen. And the worst part is, you can’t even begrudge him. He’s leaving for his children, for the world.
How could you scorn him for that?
And yet…you don’t call Murph off. That is all the selfishness you allow yourself.
That night, you drive home to an empty bed, and pray.
In the morning, you stand outside his porch and watch him ready his truck.
His favorite jacket, your lipstick still smeared on the collar. A bottle of water. A packed lunch.
Ham and cheese sandwich. A shrivelled-up apple.
He stops packing and looks at you. Really looks at you.
Slow blue eyes trail over you, from the roots of your hair to where your boots meet the ground. Like he’s cataloguing you. His gaze catches on every detail.
His old ratty shirt on your frame. The small scar on your hand from helping him fix a wire fence.
You suddenly wish you’d dressed nicer, if this is the image of you he memorizes. A glance at Cooper’s face tells you he wouldn’t have it any other way.
He smiles slightly when you step closer.
His hand comes up to trace the line of your jaw with his knuckles.
“Speak now, or forever hold your peace,” he says. There’s a wry smirk pulling at his lips.
Your heart crumbles in your chest. He’s still giving you the chance to say something, even though there’s nothing you could say that wouldn’t hurt him in some way. He might’ve anticipated that you’d break it off with him, with the way he’s holding himself like an animal ready to flee.
That is an option. You did consider it, when you first found out what he was planning. But you’ve decided to hang onto him for as long as you can.
You try to make your words a good hurt, at least.
“I’ll miss you.”
That does it.
He crushes you to his chest, tears not yet falling. Whatever else you wanted to say dies on your lips, you’re so taken aback.
It had taken him a long time to hold you this way. Like he was fully yours.
He wears his wedding band still, and you don’t mind. You’ve made sure to tell him that, too.
Your fingers tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck and you stroke a gentle, soothing pattern until his shoulders start and stop shaking.
The shoulder of your (his) shirt is wet.
You press a kiss to his jaw, his skin tough like leather from the sun.
“The kids’ll understand one day,” you whisper. Internally, you promise yourself to take care of them until then. And after, too.
“Me and Grandpa will take it from here.”
That is the best comfort you can offer him. The kids will be as okay as they can be, without their dad. You’ll make sure of it.
That is his main concern, and rightfully so. But he asks you something with gravity in his voice like it’s been weighing on him.
“Will you be okay?”
It takes all your strength to keep your knees from buckling. You cling onto him tighter, to stay upright.
You know what he’s truly asking. It doesn’t really make a difference if you’ll be okay. He’s leaving no matter what. You peel back the layers of his question and find he is seeking one thing: absolution.
A chance to relieve himself of some guilt.
You know it will never go away in regards to the children, but perhaps you can spare him some of it in relation to yourself.
You gladly do so.
“Yeah,” you put on your brightest smile, “I’ll be fine.”
Bile rises in your throat, but you swallow it down.
For him, you are not honest—but you will be kind.
“You can go,” you say. “It’s okay.”
The infinitesimal slump of relaxation in his posture makes your deception the best thing you’ve ever done.
You stay like that for a while. The dust swirls around you, the sunrise turns into daylight.
You let him go first, just to prove how alright you are. It’s like carving your heart out with a pocketknife.
He turns from you, about to head into the house. To seek out Murph, you bet. His final moments on Earth are best spent as a family goodbye. You saw the tire tracks leading to his wife’s grave when you drove here in the dawn.
Finality sinks into your bones, leaden and irrevocable.
This is the last time you will ever see him.
And Cooper’s never been one to believe in soulmates or even souls, but you know it then.
He’ll take your soul with him.
In some miracle, he pauses in the doorway. Relief and anguish battle in you.
If you’re going, go! you almost say. But there is only one thing left to tell him.
You keep it locked behind your teeth. It would do no good to keep him tethered here, to chain him to the planet he’s leaving with your feelings.
Instead, you move towards him stiffly. You slip a beaded bracelet off your wrist. The stones are black tourmaline—a deep gray gem that flickers the bright blue of a flame if you look at it just right.
You’d bought it at a farmers’ market, after you’d spent an hour just looking at his eyes.
The bracelet never came close to the real thing.
Tenderly, you reach for his hand. He gives it with a willingness that burns and soothes you in equal measure. You turn his palm so that it faces the sky, and put the bracelet on him.
If gratitude ever had a face, it’s his.
Your last gift to him is a kiss on the center of his palm. You feel his callouses against your lips and murmur, without sound, the last thing you want to say.
You know he hears you anyway.
“I love you,” he says. You turn your cheek until it’s cradled in his palm.
“I love you,” you echo.
He presses his forehead to yours and you get one last look at those eyes.
The most beautiful things you’ve ever seen.
Cooper is gracious. He waits until you close your eyes to pull away.
“Forgive me.” The wind carries his final words to you.
When his truck has disappeared into the horizon, you hold Murph and Tom in your arms as they sob.
I’ll try, you think, your tears mixing with theirs. I’ll try.