Say You'll Remember Me(88)

He would run himself into the ground trying to be here. He’d show up so exhausted from the effort of affording his two-thousand-mile commute that he’d sleep half the time he was with me. And I’d let him, because at least he was sleeping where I could reach out and touch him instead of him sleeping in Minnesota, where the entire time he’d go dark and radio silent and I’d wait on my end of the country for him to wake up and exist for me again.

I just wanted us to be a boring, regular old couple who napped and folded laundry together, who argued about whose turn it was to take out the trash. I wanted the luxury of mundane cohabitation.

I wanted to get sick of him.

I wanted to see him so much, his bad habits exasperated me. I wanted to be so tired of his shit, I looked forward to him going out on his boys’ weekends just so I could get some alone time, and then once he’s gone, I’d miss him so much I can’t stand it and I’m miserable the whole time because he’s my best friend.

But I would never get that much of him. Ever. Not even close.

This was it. This was the only way this relationship would ever be. And it was better than nothing, but somehow worse than anything because of what it cost us to keep it going. It didn’t even surprise me that he got sick. I don’t know how he didn’t get sick sooner the way he ran himself into the ground.

I wanted to go visit him. Go for a weekend. But now that I was unemployed I a thousand percent couldn’t afford to drop the money on an airline ticket, especially now that I was reaching the end of my severance payments.

I’d looked for another job. Had half a dozen interviews, but nothing was Murkle’s. No one wanted to pay me what I was worth—or they did, but the product sucked so bad not even I could sell it.

The only salvation for either of us was for me to get a job. If I got one that paid enough, Xavier could quit all his side hustles and I could pay for travel and then maybe both of us would be happier. He kept telling me something would turn up, to not force it, to just wait for the right opportunity to come, but waiting was killing me. I felt like I was fading.

Every night when Dad came home, I tapped out immediately. Handed Mom over and left to bed rot in my apartment and wait for Xavier to call me in between his two jobs.

I used to feel bad that Dad came home from work to more work. But now that I took care of Mom full-time, I realized his nine-to-five was his break. I couldn’t even pee with the door closed when it was just the two of us. I would love to have a nine-to-five and then come home and do a few easy hours of hanging out with Mom while the house is full of other helpers before she goes to bed. Or tries to. Dad said she was getting up in the middle of the night again. That the sleeping pills weren’t working anymore. He was tired, I was tired. Everyone was tense.

We weren’t a team.

Missing Xavier, grieving Grandma, and taking care of Mom. That was my life.

There was no color in my world. Only the promise of color for visits with Xavier that never seemed to materialize.

I was living now in nothing but gray.





41





SAMANTHA


MY DOOR FLEW open.

“Get up,” Tristan said.

I groaned into my pillow. “Be so freaking for real right now, Tristan. WHY. It’s Saturday.”

“I don’t give a shit. Move.”

I pushed up my eye mask to glare at him, standing in my doorway. “It’s one of my only days I don’t have to watch Mom!”

“Get up. I’m your fairy godfather. I’m granting you a wish.”

“Tristan, I don’t have the energy for this.”

He yanked my blankets off.

I shot up. “What is your problem?!”

“I’m sick of your face. I’m sick of your mopey attitude. I bought you a ticket to go see your boyfriend.”

I blinked at him. “You… you bought me a ticket? For when?”

“Now. The flight leaves at nine.”

The speed at which I moved off that bed would have impressed professional track stars. I tore around my room throwing clothing suitable for the arctic tundra into my bag. “When do I come back?”

“Tuesday.”

“Who’s watching Mom?” I asked, jumping to get my minus twenty-five-degree snow boots off the top shelf in the closet.

“All of us. Hurry up, you’ll miss your flight and that will seriously piss me off.”

I’d get to see Xavier today.

I felt like I’d just been zinged back to life. Shocked alive, wound up, and set north.

I took a quick shower, brushed my teeth, dumped my makeup into my purse to do on the plane, and we left.

Xavier didn’t pick up when I called. It was 8:00 a.m. in Minnesota. He was probably knocked out from NyQuil or pure exhaustion or a mixture of both. Let it be a surprise then when I showed up to take care of him.

I’d compartmentalized the repressed guilt and despair of not being there while he was sick because there was nothing I could do about it and now the relief of knowing I was going to see him in a few hours made me want to burst into tears.

I was going to kiss every inch of his fevered face. I was going to make him soup and watch him sleep and hand him his antibiotics with a cup of hot tea with honey and lemon.

I’d needed this so badly.

I smiled the whole way there.