He grabbed ahold of my hips to keep me in place. He buried himself inside me and held me down as he released himself, a growl escaping the back of his throat.
I barely registered the sound, but the vibrations of his voice pulled at my core like they always did. It was the low, sexy timbrethat caught my attention the first time. But it sure as hell isn’t what kept it.
I lay lifelessly against the sheets as he pulled out. The bed shifted as Max got up. I heard him rummaging around the room, the door opening and Titus running down the hallway. Before I knew it, Max picked me up, cradling me in his arms, and climbed across the bed. He lay me against the pillows and stretched out beside me, pulling the blanket across our bodies.
I squeezed my eyes closed, fully spent. He pulled me against his side, tucking me up against him like he did every night, and kissed the top of my head. As I dozed off, I heard him whisper, “Goodnight, sweetheart.”
THREE
KARI
The room was cool and dark, the only sound was the whirring of the ceiling fan. When I had first stayed overnight with Max, I hated the sound and the feel of the moving air while I slept. He, on the other hand, couldn’t sleep without it and now I even turned it on the few nights when I was home in bed alone.
I lay still and closed my eyes, hoping that I could fall back asleep. I tried counting sheep and my blessings, but neither relaxed me. When the sun went down, my mind turned on and reminded me of everything that had gone wrong in my life; sleep was a sort of Purgatory.
Max was sleeping on his stomach, his right arm draped across me. The white sheets were bunched at his waist and his back was on full display, inviting me to touch. My fingers itched to trace the compass tattoo on his shoulder. It was his favorite of all of his art and my favorite, too. I loved the arrows in the dial. They reminded me of the arrow on my wrist.
I reached out to touch it, but he rolled onto his side facing away from me. I waited until his breathing evened out and then pulledback the blankets and made my way to the kitchen, Titus following me.
I flipped on the light. I poured the puppy a little bowl of kibble and then went about making a cup of coffee. Max had bought a Keurig after I made a comment about making a whole pot just for me since he didn’t drink it.
“Why did you buy this? What if I never come over here again? It’ll be a total waste,” I asked him, half kidding and half not.
“Oh, you’re comin’ over here again. And you’re comin’ again. And again,” he had grinned, pulling me in close and silencing any objections with kisses.
I pulled my mug off the console and sat down at the table, kicking my feet up on another chair. I looked around the room, seeing my touches on everything. A few months before, the refrigerator had broken and I had picked out the replacement. I’m not sure why I spent an entire day looking at models because its doors were covered in Max’s trademark sticky notes. There were notes about meal plans to maintain muscle mass, notes about meetings, and notes from the two of us to each other just because.
The red Solo cup by the sink had my wine glass beside it. His keys sat on the counter next to the candle I had picked up at the grocery store.
My eyes wandered to the box Jada had given me sitting on the counter. I stupidly forgot to put it away when we arrived home the night before. I eyed it like it might jump off and bite me because, truth be told, it definitely had the power to inflict pain. Slowly, I got up and walked over to it. I picked it up and carried it back to the table and took my seat.
I lifted the lid, seeing the cassette tapes Jada had mentioned sitting on top. I couldn’t help but smile as I picked them up, reading the labels in bright pink ink in my teenage handwriting, before laying them beside the box. Beneath them was a turquoise and white silk handkerchief that had been my grandmother’s. Our mom let Jada and I choose one thing when her mother died years before. I alwaysremembered Grandmother having a hankie in her pocket and I wanted one of those. They were delicate, yet strong, just like her. It was sort of token as to what I hoped I’d be someday. I held it to my face and breathed it in, trying to find the smell of her. The years had sadly erased the floral scent that never failed to take me back to her bedroom vanity and the pretty little bottles that used to sit beneath her mirror.
I sat it off to the side and continued through the box, finding old notes from friends folded into mini-envelopes, Valentine’s Day cards from random people, and a picture of Jada, Dad, and me at the Grand Canyon.
My heartbeat picked up, my hands beginning to tremble, as I took out the contents piece by piece. I knew what lay at the bottom and I felt pulled to it like I hadn’t in a very long time.
Breathe, Kari.
I lifted a delicate gold chain from the box, holding it in the air. A small purple orchid dangled from it. I touched it, spinning it in circles as my mind fluttered to a different time and place.
I held the chain in my hand, my palm sweaty with apprehension. I pushed open the doors, much heavier than they looked, and breathed in the smell of sanitizer. I asked for Jett, the artist I had made the appointment with. A few minutes later, he came around the corner, his kind smile a contrast to his dangerous appearance.
“Kari, right?”
I nodded nervously.
“Follow me.”
We walked through the studio, the sound of instruments humming and music playing lowly through a set of speakers I couldn’t see. I clasped my fingers around the necklace and held it against my stomach.
“What are we doing today? The orchid we talked about?”
I nodded again, knowing I needed to speak but my mouth seemed too dry. From the moment I knew how things were going to end, I knew I wanted something to symbolize what was, what had been, andwhat would always be a part of me; the orchid was the first thing that crossed my mind and the only thing that ever felt right. But standing in front of Jett, I suddenly felt like passing out. Not as much from the physical pain that would surely be inflicted in a matter of minutes, but more from the emotional pain that would undoubtedly rise with it.
I touched the ink on my hip instinctively. The orchid was the symbol my mother had worn around her neck for the date of my birth. I wanted something to honor what the month of October should have meant to me in the same way. If only things hadn’t gone wrong.
I gazed back inside the box to the wrinkled sheet of paper. It had been folded and unfolded so many times, balled up and then pressed back out more than once. Tears stained the ink, the blue writing faded in the spots where my sadness had spilled over my lids and onto the words.
