Say You'll Remember Me(60)

He looked over. “Have you seen their marketing? How could I not?”

I grinned at him. So handsome. Standing over an ironing board, pressing my shirt—in gray sweatpants no less.

A core memory.

The best moments don’t have to be big to be forever.

My chest got a little tight. This was the guy. This was who I was supposed to be with. I was so sure about it suddenly.

All my best days would be like this. The two of us together.

But most of our days would be spent apart.





26





XAVIER


THE NEXT MORNING I took her to breakfast at Donna’s before we both had to split up to go to work.

Donna’s was Mike’s mom’s café. Mike’s younger sister, Janessa, was working.

“Hey!” she said when we came in. Then her face fell the tiniest bit when she saw Samantha. “Oh. Who’s your friend?”

“This is my girlfriend, Samantha. Samantha, this is Mike’s sister, Janessa.”

“Hi.” Samantha waved, looking around. “So this is your mom’s place? It’s so cute.”

“Thanks,” Janessa said dryly.

She grabbed menus and seated us without another word.

Samantha watched her walk back to the hostess stand. “Did you used to date her or something?”

“Why do you ask?” I said, looking at the specials.

“She seemed a little… not friendly.”

I looked up. Then I peered past her to where Janessa stood at the counter taking a phone order. She glanced at me, then turned to give me her back.

I guess she was a little cold.

The truth was Janessa had always flirted with me. I’d never reciprocated.

“No, we never dated,” I said.

“Why not?”

“Many reasons.”

“Which are?” She waited.

“I’m not interested,” I said. “That would be the main reason. I have a very specific type.”

“Oh yeah? And what’s that?” she said, cocking her head.

I went back to studying my menu. “Well, my dream woman is a glass-half-full kind of person. She fights for what she wants and believes in the humanity of others—and she’s usually right. She makes the most of bad situations, deeply dislikes heights. She’s funny. Smells great. A fan of seashells and mustard, hates chorizo. And she never brings the right jacket.” I raised my eyes to hers.

“Interesting,” she said, looking back at her menu. “My perfect man can speak to animals. He’s very principled. Not a big talker, but is paying more attention than anyone in the room. He became an animal doctor as part of a hero-arc-slash-revenge plot, which is an energy I can get behind. Hates people, loves pets. Wonderful with rambunctious pre-teen kids and frightened memory care patients. Really good at sex. He doesn’t like compliments but he’s gonna have to muscle through that one, it’s too important not to bring up.”

I was fighting my smile.

She set her menu down. “Why don’t you like compliments?” she asked.

“I just… didn’t get a lot of them growing up,” I said.

“Well, we’ll have to get you used to them. I have a lot of nice things to say about you.”

I gazed at her across the table and she smiled at me.

I would never forget that moment when I saw her through the glass yesterday. Looking out the door and seeing her standing there, holding the handle on her luggage, wearing a sweater with a scarf wrapped around her neck. She didn’t have the right jacket.

The memory of that moment was already tucked away. My brain had wrapped around it, storing it in the place I kept my most special things.

My first kiss. My first love. Seeing my dog Winnie for the first time. Seeing Winnie for the last time.

It was where I kept the day I opened my clinic and how I felt walking in there and knowing it was mine and I had done everything my parents always said I wouldn’t.

It’s weird knowing what’s going to be in your end-of-life montage, as it’s happening. But I already knew when my life flashed before my eyes, the best parts of it were going to be about her.

I was so happy she was here.

I was also tired. And not from being up all night with her either.

I’d started picking up shifts at the ER vet’s office on Sundays. Then they offered me the overnight shift on Saturdays too. It was twice the pay. I took it. I was starting graveyards this weekend. I’d do the overnight Saturday, go home, sleep four hours, and then do the noon-to-eight Sunday shift. I was officially working seven days a week. If I counted the volunteering I’d been doing, it wasn’t much different from what I was used to. The overnights would be rough, but it was only once a week. And if I could save enough, I could see her more. Maybe even go twice a month, or at the very least have the funds for better flights or nicer things to do when I got there. It was worth it because nothing made me feel as good as this. Nothing.

I loved waking up with her in the morning and that I would get to come home to her tonight. I loved going out to eat and talking about our days and making plans for tomorrow. I loved that she was going to use my shower and my pillow would smell like her hair. Being alone in a room with her.

And I hated that I couldn’t have it all the time. I already felt the loss of her leaving and she only just got here.