I roll my eyes. “Gracie. Not this again. You get your own because you eat all of mine.”
She huffs. “When? That doesn’t sound like me.”
“I’d prove it, but the evidence is gone,” I say flatly.
She eats a couple of her fries and frowns. “These don’t taste as good as when I steal them from you.”
“Jesus Christ, here. Take my fries, you maniac.” I aggressively shove them over to the side table next to my chair, and she happily starts devouring them.
I take a long sip of the iced tea we made yesterday. It’s the lemony powdered kind that you have to stir in, and we’re drinking it out of cups covered in watermelon print. Everyone knows that you must drink the tea out of a thick plastic cup filled with ice. It’s practically codified in the Ohio state constitution.
“Look inside this cup, Gracie. You can still see a red-stained rim from all the Kool-Aid we drank in our youth.”
She giggles, craning her neck for a better look. “Ah, yes. Fruit punch is to plastic cups as spaghetti sauce is to Tupperware. It’s just never going to come out.”
I bark out a laugh. “You’re the funniest person I know.”
She blushes in response, her face turning the same shade of pink as her painted toenails.
God, I’m going to miss her.
Both of us support each other’s dreams wholeheartedly. Unlike last time, we’ve been creating concrete plans to make it work. Long distance during the upcoming season with visits sprinkled in, and me in Ohio full-time after retirement next year. Every day and every night.
“When do you have to leave for work?” Her clinic is open one Sunday per month, and Gracie pushed her patients to later this afternoon to allow for extra time together.
She groans and climbs out of her deck chair and onto mine, straddling my lap and burrowing her face in my neck. I love the feel of her body against mine.
“Far too soon.” Her lips move against my skin as she speaks.
I chuckle and trail my fingers down her back, rubbing gently back and forth across her spine. “It isn’t goodbye. We’ll talk every day, and we already have the next six months’ worth of visits planned. Think about it this way: when I officially retire next year, I’ll be here permanently.”
“Are you still coming to the clinic to say goodbye?”
“I wouldn’t miss it. I won’t have a ton of time, but I should be there after I finish packing.”
She pulls back and squeezes her eyes shut. “I love you.”
I lean forward and stroke her chin. “Hey.” I give each eyelid a light kiss. “I love you, too.”
With that, we head into the house and get ready for the day. Gracie pulls on her scrubs, and I start packing my belongings. Whatever I can’t fit in my suitcase will be shipped to Brooklyn.
I open the dresser drawers in my bedroom, pulling out clothes I brought with me that I’ll need at home. I grab my hairbrush and wallet from on top of the dresser before wandering over to my nightstand and pulling it open. I grin when I see my old walkie-talkie sitting on top of a tin of expired mango sour Altoids.
Here, Gracie. I asked my mom for walkie-talkies for my birthday.
I call the red one!
Of course you’d say that. You always want anything red, like your hair.
I toss it in my bag. It’s coming with me.
“I’ll be back in about ten minutes, give or take,” I tell the rideshare driver through the car window. Opening the door toher clinic, I’m greeted by Hannah’s smiling face. Now that the staff knows me, the conversation flows easily.
“Dan! Hi, how’s it going?” Hannah waves from behind the front desk.
Sauntering over to say hello, I rest my hands on the desk and drum my fingers. “It’s going alright. How are you?”
“Terrible! Thanks for asking,” Hannah replies.
