Page 64 of Left of Forever

It’s just that we’re headed for the last stop on our trip, and that means decisions have to be made for where we go after this, for what we are after this. Are we… dating? Are we together, but going to live separately? It’s a weird concept to wrap my brain around when that house I still live in always felt like it was possessed by her. Maybe I’m getting too ahead of myself, but it feels like it’s my last chance to prove something. I know it’s not rational. I know that all our real tests are still at home waiting for us, folded in between the daily regularities of life.

But it’s all the mundane stuff that I can’t wait for again. That’s what this trip has made me realize the most. Like having a candlelit meal with her in a beautiful, romantic setting made me remember how special it was to share a meal at our kitchen table, or even standing up and eating over the stove. Laughing with her drinking champagne in a vineyard made me miss laughing with her in ourbackyard, sitting on lawn chairs and sharing a beer and a bag of salt and vinegar chips between us.

I want her sad music playing in our house and her shit all over the bathroom counter. I want the chance to be lazy with her on a day off. I want our boring life back.

She lets out a happy hum from the passenger seat, arching and knuckling the muscles in her back in a way that does something very distracting with her tits. I grip the wheel a little harder and stare out at the road.

“We should go through some more questions, shouldn’t we? The ones we didn’t do. I only had the one made-up one designed to seduce you,” she says, tracing a line down the arm closest to her.

“I’m in. You’ll have to read them off.”

She snorts. “Of course you’re in. You already looked them up.”

“If it helps, I had no answers for most of them, and there were plenty of them left that I am still nervous for you to ask.”

Her head tilts in the farthest corner of my eye. “Fine, then. I’ll just try to pull up a more obscure list.”

“Go for it, Byrd.”

“Do you have any hunch how you’ll die?”

“Oh, so we’re keeping things upbeat today.”

She’s chuckling. “It was the first one I saw. Let’s pick a different one.”

As much as I’d like to prove I’m game for this and show that I’m committed to these things, that’s the last question I want to think about. I’ve always had this lingering, buried feeling that makes itself known now and again—like some sort of recurring nightmare I can’t forget even when the dream itself bleeds away. I can’t remember the details, but it still leaves me edging panic the whole day after. I’ve always carried this illogical fear thateveryone I love will die before I do. It’s not exactly a hunch, but that’s all that question brings to mind. And I think… I think if Wren goes before I do, my body would probably give out. I can’t imagine I’d be long for this life.

“All right. Here’s a new one,” she says. “What’s your greatest accomplishment?” We chuff a single sound in unison because we both know our answer.

“Sam,” I say, anyway. “For all our faults, we’re good parents.”

She blows out a dramatic breath. “Okay, enough with the weepy ones. Let me find a happier one.” She clicks her tongue, scrolling on her phone. “All right. Complete this sentence. ‘I wish I had someone with whom I could share…’”

I scratch the back of my neck awkwardly. This is one I tried to come up with an answer for that didn’t sound overembellished and couldn’t. Oh, well. “Er, everything,” I say nervously. “I know that sounds corny, but really. I’ve sorta learned to be fine with being alone when it comes to a lot of the big, shitty stuff that takes up more space in your head than it should. Taxes, taking care of the house.” She smiles when I look at her briefly. “I miss sharing a bed, and notjustfor the reasons you think.” I turn back to the road. “I, uh, started sleeping on your old side for a while because it felt like the mattress was caving in on mine.”

When she’s still quiet, I look at her again and find her eyes shining. “You could have bought a new mattress,” she says through a wet chuckle.

No. Too many memories on that one. Maybe we’ll get to buy a new one together. “What about you? How would you finish that sentence?”

“Everything, too,” she breathes. “Everything, everywhere. I want to be able to call someone and share what I’m worried about or puzzling over at any given point during the day again.” I grabher hand and kiss it. “Sometimes just sharing helps, even when the other person can’t fix it.” She says the last part very pointedly. I guess I do have a tendency to jump in and try to fix things. “I want to do this kind of stuff more,” she goes on. “Trips. Going places, even if they’re not far. It’d be nice to share that with someone.”

“We should… we should try to do this more.” It’s such a casual thing to say when it’s meant to be anything but.Make plans with me forever, I mean.Hitch your life to mine again and we’ll go places. We’ll share every plan, every heavy thing together, and all the good stuff, too.

Through the speakers, the phone instructs us to get off at the next exit, and I almost think she’s not going to respond.

“I agree, by the way,” she says. “We should try to do this more.”

I nod a little too animatedly. This is where the old me wants to dive in and ask if she wants to move back home and be together and maybe even remarry me and if I should book another trip and for exactly when. I swallow down the urge and recommit myself to what’s been working so far. Taking it slow. We’re only ten minutes away from our last stop.

She looks at the questions again. “What’s your most treasured memory?” she asks.

I saw this one before, too, but didn’t have to consider my answer. “Sam’s fifth birthday party,” I say, grinning.

“When he sat in his own cake?” Wren laughs.

“Yeah. It was a perfect day.”

I feel her studying me. “What made it a perfect day?”