Always and Forever (10 page)

He leaned in close. His hot breath caressed my cold skin and warmed me clear through. “It's not too much, Mia,” he whispered in my ear. “I promise.” I started to shake my head, push the box back at him, but his hand closed over mine until I stopped fighting. “Besides, how can you know for sure until you open it? There could just be a macaroni bracelet in there.”

A loud giggle erupted out of me as my mind conjured up memories from an art project we'd done in first grade: brightly colored bracelets made entirely of elbow macaroni, Elmer's glue, and glitter. “It's not.”

“Are you sure about that?”

The dead seriousness with which he asked that and the wicked gleam in his eye had me yanking the box open, anxious to see what treasure might lie inside. “Kal,” I gasped. “This is too much. I-I can't accept this.”

He reached into the box and pulled it out. The necklace sparkled beneath the clear midnight moon; it twinkled up at me like a bright and shining beacon of hope. Its heart-shaped pendant caught the light and tossed off hundreds of sparkling rainbows. I wanted to reach out and snatch it from his fingers, to clasp it around my neck and hold onto it for the rest of time. To hold onto him for all of eternity.

But I didn't have all of eternity. I didn't even have all of a year.

“You can,” he said simply, “and you will because it's from me.” He undid the clasp and then slipped it around my neck, fixing it in place before I even knew what his intent was. His hands dropped to my shoulders and his mouth was at my ear. “Friends always accept gifts, and they do it graciously, Mia.”

I whipped around, my head nearly colliding with his, we were so close. “It's just too much, Kal,” I argued. “I didn't get you anything near as nice or expensive as this.”

“I don't care.”

“But I got you a stupid book and an even stupider scarf,” I scoffed. “Crappy gifts compared to this.” My hand came up to grasp the pendant, the cool crystal warming beneath my touch. “Let me at least return them. Get you something better.” I reached for the gift bag, but he easily slid it out of my reach. “Kal!”

“It just so happens,” he declared, a playful grin riding his lips. “That I was hoping for a crappy scarf and a stupid book. Top of my wish list, actually.”

“Kal,” I growled, making another grab for the bag.

“Shh, be still,” he admonished me, batting my grasping hands out of his way. “You had your turn, so now, you can be good and let me open mine.”

I growled once more to show him my displeasure with the whole situation and then went quiet. He shot me a victorious grin and reached into the bag.

“Go Blue,” he chuckled as he extracted the blue and maize striped U of M scarf from the bag and wound it around his neck. He mock-shivered and grinned. “I was wondering how I'd keep warm out here. Thanks, Mini-Mia.”

I rolled my eyes. “You're such a dork sometimes.”

His laughter died down when he pulled the book I'd gotten him out of the bag. He stared at it for a long time, his lips compressed in a thoughtful line, and I wondered if I'd screwed up royally in buying it for him. I knew next to nothing about poetry save for the fact that Kal loved it.

“Cripes, Kal,” I groaned. “I'm batting a thousand tonight aren't I? You know I don't know anything about that poetry shit. Here.” I reached out to relieve him of the offensive book. “I'll take it back and
get you something else. Something better. What kind of friend am I? I totally messed up your gift—”

His fingertips landed on my lips and effectively halted any further words on my part. “Do you know why I like poetry so much, Mia?” he asked softly.

I didn't want to shake my head or even open my mouth for fear he might move his fingers, so I just lifted my shoulders in a small shrug. His fingers left me anyway, and my skin grew cold with the abandonment.

Those same fingers skimmed over the cover, and his eyes went soft and faraway, as if lost in memories of a far and distant past. “It was because of this book, right here.” He shook his head when my mouth opened, again halting me from speaking. “When you were sick the last time,” he murmured softly, his gaze not leaving the book in his lap. “They'd scheduled the transplant and you were going through all those rounds of chemotherapy beforehand. Remember?”

I nodded. Of course, I remembered that time. Oh, so well.

“And, of course,” he continued on. “Only family was allowed back there with you when you got the chemo.” He shrugged carelessly, but the hurt was still that much in evidence that he hadn't been there with me. He blew out a heavy sigh. “Anyway, one afternoon while I was waiting to see you, I found this book in the hospital waiting room, and I started to read it.” He opened it up and started flipping through the pages. “As I read each poem, each stanza, each line, I felt all the emotions that cummings had when he'd written it. I could see everything, and as corny as it sounds, I kind of fell in love with it all.”

I reached out, touched his shoulder. When he looked up, his eyes shining bright, I smiled. “That doesn't sound corny at all,” I whispered.

“This,” he said, having found the page he was looking for, “is my favorite one. It reminds me of you, always has.” He held the open book out to me. “Always will.”

Surprised—so much so that I couldn't think of a thing to say in response—I accepted the book and began to read. He slid closer to me, wrapping his arms around me and whispering the words in my ear. Words that slid over me like warm water, rushed in to soothe
away all my aches, all my miseries. I found myself melting into him, and I yearned for that which could never be for us, not now. Not ever.

“Kal.” My voice broke on his name, the weight of wanting something real, something normal so heavy that I was collapsing under it all.

“It's you,” he murmured softly. “You've always carried my heart, Mia. Ever since you threw that bucket of sand at me when we were six. I've just been too afraid to say something until now.”

I turned to face him, to explain to him how we could never be. How I was dying and he was living and it just didn't make any sense to even bother with loving each other. I would've confessed to it all right then and there.

At least, I'd like to think that was true.

But the moment our eyes met, I was lost. Lost in the melted chocolate of his stare that coated me in nothing but goodness and light, serenity and hope, and I wanted to sink my claws into the feeling and hold it close to my heart for as long as I could possibly hang on.

He leaned in close, and his mouth hovered just over mine. This was the moment where I should have said something, anything. This was the moment that I should have pushed him away, saved him from making this terrible mistake because how could he ever make it back from losing me once we'd kissed, once we both knew the feel of each other's arms?

But I'm a selfish, selfish bitch, and I welcomed his kiss with open arms.

“It's you,” he repeated, brushing his lips lightly against mine. “I only want you, Mia. Always.” Another gentle peck. “And forever.” Then, his mouth settled firmly over mine in a kiss that stole my breath, stopped my heart, and melted every single bone in my body.

T
HIRTEEN

CHRISTMAS DAY WAS ALWAYS A TIME
for families. Not just mothers and fathers, and brothers and sisters, but the entire family. Grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins, too.

This would be my last one. The last time I'd open presents in the morning after “Santa” came. The last time I'd see Ben's face light up as he opened his gifts. The last time Mom and Dad would stumble sleepily into the living room and watch quietly, smiling as we tore through our loot. The last time we'd all descend upon Grandma and Grandpa Gordon's house to stuff ourselves with enough food to feed a small country before heading to church for Christmas service and then back to their house to open up yet more presents.

This would be the first in a string of many “lasts” that I really didn't want or need to participate in.

I heard Ben creeping downstairs while it was still dark outside. Usually, he stopped and woke me up, to be his partner in Christmas crime, but we still weren't speaking. So he bypassed my room without hesitation and snuck downstairs. I'd be lying if I said his snub hadn't hurt, but it was better this way. Easier.

If I kept telling myself that, it might actually become true. One could only hope.

I burrowed deeper into my blankets and pulled my pillow over my head to shove out the fierce pounding that had initially woken me up. Of course, it didn't help with the headache, but at least everything else was relegated to a low hum of background noise.

The first time Mom knocked on the door, I ignored it, just snuggled down deeper, and hoped that if I didn't show my face, they'd go on without me. Sort of like a practice run for when I really wasn't here.

No such luck.

When I didn't respond to the third knock, my door slid open. Then, my blankets were peeled back. I squeezed my eyes closed, intent upon my pretended sleep so that I could ignore everyone and everything. Mom slipped in beside me, dragged the covers back up over us, and then banded her arm around my waist to drag me up against her.

“You can't hide forever, Mia,” she chided gently.

“I know,” I whispered back and pressed my face into the crook of her neck like I used to do when I was little and scared of the monsters that lived in my closet. She'd always protected me then. So, why couldn't she do that now? “I just…I just want things to be normal for a little while longer.”

How could she not hear the plea in my voice? It was so obvious it was embarrassing. Or at least, it would have been under different circumstances. Right then, I didn't care how I sounded. I just wanted her to chase these monsters far away so that they'd never return. But she couldn't do that. No one could.

She pressed a kiss to the top of my head and hugged me closer. “But this isn't normal, Mia. Normal is not hiding away up in your room all the time. Normal is not yelling at Ben for no reason whatsoever. Normal is not giving away all of your belongings—yes, I noticed the lack of clothing in your closet. And normal is definitely not lying to your friends.”

Surprise, hurt, and above all, anger speared through me. I shoved away from her. “I haven't lied to anyone,” I snapped out defensively.

“Really?” The disbelief was plain in both her voice and her face. “So, what did you tell Kal, then, if not the truth?”

“I told him—” My lips slammed shut abruptly, which saved me from making a grievous error. That's all I needed. For Mom to know my real plans. She'd stop me for sure. “What I talk to Kal about is none of your business.”

Before she could say anything or reach out to me, I shoved the blankets back, inhaled a sharp, surprised breath at the chill in the
room, and only after a moment's hesitation, bounded out of the bed. “I didn't lie to him or anybody else for that matter,” I grumbled. I silently willed her not to question me further because then I really would have to lie to her.

I'd never lied to my parents before. Ever. Well, there was always a first time for everything. Strange how that first had to come about because of the string of ‘lasts’ that had been forced upon me.

“Ignoring this is not going to make it go away, Mia,” she said quietly. “It'll only make it that much harder to accept later.”

“I'll be fine,” I bit out, my back to her as I rummaged through the remaining clothes in my closet. Ricki really hadn't left me with much to choose from.

“What about Ben. And Kal?”

I stiffened at her softly uttered question, heard the condemnation behind the mild words. “That's a non-issue.” I whirled back around to pin her with a frigid glare. “It's better this way. If they don't know.”

“Better for whom?” she countered, leaving the bed and moving slowly toward me, her arms extended, an open invitation to bury myself in her warmth, her strength. “You? Or, them? Because I don't see how any of this can be solved by lying to the people who love you the most, Mia. They're going to find out sooner or later, and then what will you say? How will you explain your reasons for deceiving them?”

“I'm not lying to them,” I gritted out through tightly clenched teeth.

“Mia—”

“Mom!” Ben shouted as he clamored up the stairs. “Are you coming or what? Mia can't still be sleeping, can she?” He skidded to a stop in my doorway. After one look at the two of us, Mom desperately coaxing and me sullenly standoff-ish, he turned on his heel to walk right back out the door and mumbled apologies as he exited. Ben was no dummy. He knew better than to get caught in the crossfire.

“Wait up, Benji,” I called to his retreating form. Before Mom could nag me further about all this doom and gloom death stuff, I jogged after him. He was halfway down the stairs by the time I caught up. Behind me, Mom heaved out a mournful sigh but silently followed.

I may have won that battle, but there would surely be another one on the near horizon. This was one subject that she wouldn't let go of too easily.

Dad already had all the presents sorted and placed next to our respective places in the living room. I scampered over to the arm chair that was my preferred lounging spot. Ben went to the recliner, and Mom and Dad took the couch. My gaze swept the room as they all opened gifts and talked excitedly about what they'd received.

I watched them in all their Christmas glory. I couldn't help but fast-forward a year and wonder. Would they be this excited next year when their festivities would be a person short, when this chair was sadly vacant? Would they still smile and laugh, or would they even celebrate at all? I knew I should've told myself that they had to still have their holiday, that they needed to continue on even after I was no longer with them, but I didn't want that. Not really. I was being selfish. I could admit that, but the thought of them enjoying themselves without me tore through my gut, the pain growing razor sharp teeth and gnawing at my insides until I was nothing but a hollowed out shell.

“Thanks, Mia,” Ben cried excitedly. “This is great!”

I looked up to see him holding the newest war game in his hand. I forced a brilliant smile up to my lips and nodded, but if the look on his face was any indication, it came across more as a pained grimace.