Emma kicksoff her boots with a dramatic sigh and immediately flops onto the couch. “I wanna put on a Christmas movie.”
Shrugging off my jacket, I fold it neatly on the entryway table. “Already? It’s not even December yet.” I proclaim, eyebrows creasing in the middle.
Her gasp is exaggerated. You would think I just insulted her, and her entire bloodline.
“What do you mean ‘Already’? Alex, it’s the holidays. The Christmas spirit waits for no one. Also, I don’t want to pull the whole birthday card out on you, but youstillhave to do anything I say for the next four hours.”
I sit down next to her, suddenly needing to be as close as possible. “You’re out of control.” I place a soft kiss on her shoulder and turn the TV on. Thankfully, the movieHow the Grinch Stole Christmasjust so happens to be playing on one of the channels.
Emma smiles in victory, tucking her feet underneath her body. “I just love this time of year.” Her voice is softer now, the exhaustion of the day seeming to be creeping in on her. “I’vemissed it so much here. The first snowfall is so magical. Nothing compares. I hope it happens soon.”
I watch her talk and fall more in love with the way her eyes light up and she tucks her hair behind her ear, as she talks about something she loves. She makes me wish I could see things through her eyes, finding joy in the small things like the first snowfall in town or watching a Christmas movie after a long day.
“Did you have a good night?” I ask, wrapping an arm around her as I pull her as close to me as I can.
She nods, her smile turning softer. “Yeah. I really did.” Then, quieter, “Thank you for being there with me.”
Tucking a loose strand of her hair that she missed behind her ear, I reply, “I’ll always be here, Em.”
Her breath catches slightly at my words, and I press my lips to hers, gently lingering in the moment. She melts into me, her fingers curling into my shirt. The ache to have her closer is all consuming.
I lift her up off the couch and throw her over my shoulder.
She shrieks, laughing. “Alex! Put me down!”
I smack her ass playfully as I head toward the bedroom. “Nope. I forgot to give you your present.”
She laughs, wiggling in my hold. “You’re insatiable.”
Emma hasn’t worn happiness like this in God knows how long and I am lucky enough to be the one to witness it radiating from her at this moment.
I’m the luckiest bastard alive.
And I’ll make sure she knows it. Every single day. For the rest of our lives.
The next fewweeks pass in a blur of routine, one that feels so natural it’s as if we’ve been doing it for years. My days are split between the bar and Emma, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. It’s seamless—waking up next to her, making sure she eats something before I head to work, coming back at night to find her curled up in one of my sweatshirts, her sketchbook open in her lap, face lighting up the second she sees me walk through the door.
But even in the comfort of it all, I notice that she’s getting weaker.
Emma won’t talk about it, but I have noticed the way she catches her breath after walking up the simple porch steps, or the way she grips the counter for balance when she thinks I’m not looking. The slight tremble of her hands when she picks up a paintbrush. The dark circles under her eyes that no amount of makeup can hide anymore. The pounds that she’s losing every day, no matter how much I try to get her to eat.
I try to bring up my concerns gently at first. “Em, maybe we should check in with Dr. Rivera. Maybe he?—”
“I’m fine, Alex.” She cuts me off.
She’s not, though. We both know it. But she refuses to let it define her, and I can’t decide if I admire her for it or if it makes me want to scream.
“We haven’t heard anything yet,” she says one night, sitting cross-legged on the couch, a blanket wrapped around her as she holds a mug of steaming hot chocolate with both hands. “It could take months.”
I swallow hard as my jaw tightens at her words, knowing that at the rate she’s deteriorating we don’t have that long.
“We don’t have months, Em.”
She flinches at the bluntness of my words, but quickly shifts her expression into something more neutral. “Then we enjoy whatever time we do have.”
I hate how casually she says it. Like the thought of our daysbeing limited doesn’t rip me apart every single day. Like it’s not a goddamn countdown and I’m completely powerless.
The bar is busier than usual. It always is before the holidays. People drink to celebrate, to forget, to drown out whatever ghosts haunt them this time of year. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. Emma and I agreed on no presents, but I have something else planned that will hopefully remind her how much she means to me. Something special, just for the two of us.
