It Started with a Kiss

Fuck. I don’t care anymore. I grab her and envelop her in love. My love that I can only hope is strong enough to heal her pain one day. Her body rattles with each sob and jaded breath. “Everything’s always about money.”

I can’t help but bite my tongue. There’s no way I can drag my situation with the lawsuit, the threat to my reputation and career, into this room with us when it’s all because of money and greed.

It would prove her point but how would she see me? A party to her pain? No, I won’t say a thing. I refuse to put that on her.

With her head on my shoulder, she says, “They’re still hoping for a miracle because that’s the only thing that can save him.”

Every wrack of her body leaves a mark on my soul. I’ve failed to protect her, but more so, I’ve failed to shield her in the first place. I should have demanded to go with her. I should have insisted we stay together. How long has she been alone with this devastating news?

I stroke the back of her head and down her hair to her shoulder blades, holding her to me as close as I can.

She’s suddenly untangling herself from me as if I’m holding her captive. Maybe I am in some way. I don’t feel the need to apologize, even if I was holding her for me. She says, “I realized . . .” She drops onto the couch, the weight of her own body appearing to be a burden. “He gave me those bags because he wasn’t around to give me more. He bought them simply because he thought I’d like them. And I fucking sold them.”

She crumples forward, her cries becoming heavier. I sit down and rub her back. “Marlow?” She doesn’t respond. “Marlow, look at me.”

A listless effort is made before she’s crying again while hunched over. I pick her up by the middle, but she comes willingly and sits on my lap, letting me hold her with her head on my shoulder. “The handbags aren’t your connection to him. Sure, they remind you of him, but your connection isn’t superficial. It’s the memories you made growing up.”

She hangs on every word and then sniffles. “He wasn’t the best father, but sometimes, he was a great dad.”

I kiss the top of her head. “That’s his legacy.”

She takes that in, appearing to draw strength from it. When she leans back enough for me to catch her teary-eyed gaze, I say, “You won’t ever have a lack of shoulders to cry on.” The next words get choked in my throat, causing her to blink back her tears and reach to caress my face. “I have two reserved just for you.”

Despite the sight of her tears beginning to dry, they spring right back into her eyes. Kissing my chin and then higher on the corner of my mouth, she whispers, “They’ll always be my safe place and favorite.”

We didn’t break up earlier in her bedroom, but this feels like the beginning of our goodbye.

I embrace her, leaning my head against the top of hers and staring at the pale green wall across the room. Eventually, I close my eyes and let the pain sink in. Soon, it will become real. It’s all I’ll have left to hold.

The door opens, and Marlow pops onto her feet. “Is he out of surgery?”

“He is,” the nurse says. “He’s out of surgery.” Her hands fly in front of her. “He’s not out of the woods. In fact, he’s deep in them, but you should get some time with him.”

“When?” Marlow asks.

“Not for a few hours. I recommend getting some lunch. Enjoy the sunshine. The doctor said you might be able to see him around four, four thirty. When he’s settled in a room, the doctor will provide you with the details regarding the surgery.” She backs out of the door, closing it behind her.

When I stand, Marlow looks at me. “I don’t know what to think, Jackson.”

“You don’t need to think through anything. Just let your heart tell you what to do.” I open the door, and add, “Let’s get you something to eat. Nurse’s orders.”

We walk back through the maze of hallways, following the signs like mice searching for the reward. It’s not until we walk outside that we find Lorie Marché yelling at a doctor.

“Dammit,” she says, ducking behind me. “I can’t deal with her right now.”

“Marlow!” Lorie’s ire is directed at us. We’ve met. I can’t say she’s on good terms with anyone in our friend group, especially not Marlow. Her stepmom embodies the negative stereotype.

Marlow stands behind my left arm like a deer in headlights, and I’m happy to be her barrier. Lorie comes over and says, “They won’t let me see Bob. Did you do this? Are you purposely keeping me from my husband?”