“Hmmm,” she hums, the sound filled with incredulity. “Can we order in? I’m tired of cooking.”
“I cook dinner,” I remind her.
“Okay, fine.” She rolls her eyes playfully. “The clean up that comes after cooking then.”
I snort. “Chinese or pizza?”
Lana beams. “Chinese!”
My shift at the campus IT center finally ends and the office closes. Exhausted after answering phones and staring at the computer screen for six hours, I get into my car and blast the heat. With the wind shield wipers, I rid my car of the thin layer of snow before I drive to the supermarket and make a stop at Natalia’s.
Lana called me after work on her way home, and I knew she sounded off. I can’t blame her today. She’s exhausted and grieving, and it hurts to know.
Natalia texts me to drive by to pick up Lana’s favorite cookies that she’s baked, hoping it will help Lana feel better. I stop at the stores first, pick up things I know that’ll put a smile on my girl's face, even if it’s a tiny, weak twitch of her lips, and then stop at Natalia’s.
I’ve been thinking about Lana all day. I wanted to call out to stay at home with her, and I told her she could do the same—that missing one day won’t hurt us. But she insisted on working today, saying she needed the distraction as much as we needed the money. So I trusted her to make the right decision for herself.
Lana and I are getting our associates at the communitycollege in Spring Haven—one town over—until we save enough to transfer for our bachelors—her’s in business and mine in computer science.
We’ve been making out just fine this year. Scholarships help enough, plus the money we make from work and whatever pocket change we stuff into our house jar. And whatever tips Lana makes from her shifts at the diner gets put in the jar at the end of the night. Whatever side money I earn from shoveling snow for elderly neighbors gets put in it too.
We’re making it just fine, and one day we’ll have that lake house, and it’ll be perfect.
I park down the block from our building and sigh, readying myself for the sadness I’m going to feel when I walk into our apartment from just looking at her. I already feel it, I’ve felt it all day.
She took the morning shift at the diner so when I called her on my break she was home, and I could hear the way her voice shook with every word. I wanted to go home to her so I could hold her and be sad with her.
But tomorrow is Sunday and the IT center is closed. And she’s off. I get to be sad with her all night and all day tomorrow.
I climb up the stairs of our apartment building to the third floor and let myself into our apartment, holding a small bouquet of flowers, a tub of vanilla frosting, the cookies Natalia baked, and a new stuffed elephant.
Locking the door behind me, I toe off my snow boots and set everything down to remove my snow dusted jacket. It’s dark in the apartment, save for the kitchen light, and the flickering lights from the candles she lights at night.
Holding everything I bought for her, I go into our bedroom and find her curled on her side under the blanket, resting in the dark. “Lana?”
“Hmm.”
I go around the bed, to her side, and squat down, finding her eyes as though they were lights in a tunnel. They are—for me. I reach to switch on the lamp on the nightstand and the room is now dim with yellow light.
“Hey, baby,” I breathe and hold up the simple bouquet of yellow flowers. “I got you some things to make you feel better.”
Lana nods, her chin quivering. Her eyes red and puffy, cheeks rosy and stained, and her lips in a sad pout. She sniffs and I wipe her cheek.
“I got you frosting,” I say, holding up the tub. “And Nat made you cookies.”
“Thank you,” Lana rasps. “For all of it.”
I smile and hold up the elephant. “And this.”
Lana huffs a laugh, her eye brightening just a tiny bit.
“There it is,” I breathe. “What should we name him?”
Lana’s tiny smile is enough for me today. She reaches out for me, her hand coming around to cup my nape and her nails scratch into my hair. “Dwight.”
I laugh and set the elephant down next to her. “Dwight it is then.”
“Come to bed,” she whispers.
