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More than anything, I don’t know how I’ll handle another loss. What will I do when she’s not brightening my little cabin? Where will I go when I can’t run into her arms and let her chase away my nightmares?
“What are you making me tonight?” she asks, sweeping into the cabin as if she owns the place.
In a way, I think she does. Some of her things have made their way into my bathroom, and she wears my button-up shirts as if they’re hers. As if my entire heart belongs to her—and it does.
“Why do you assume I’m cooking?” I lift an eyebrow.
It’s become our routine, especially on the weekends. She spends the day either at work or with her family. On the weekdays, I either drive her home or drive her here. Some nights, after spending time with her family, she shows up unannounced in her mom’s beaten-up car, and I take care of Aurora as best as I can.
In every way. In bed. In the shower. On the couch. Her memories will be with me even after I’m forced to leave her.
Most nights, she stays the night. When I wake up at midnight, haunted by a ghost that follows me all the way here, she holds me. We never talk about it the next morning.
“Because I’m hungry,” she says.
“Uh-huh.” I guide her to my little kitchen. “What if I teach you how to cook?”
I won’t be around to cook for her forever, and she’ll be right back to too much takeout and frozen food. I bite my tongue. The last thing I need is to remind her we’re temporary, but we are. The more time I spend around her, the more at risk she is.
I wasn’t built for happy-ever-afters, not like the books she devours. She was made for that, but I was made for tragedy.
“How about I order us something instead?” She looks warily at the chicken I was planning to roast.
“It’s not as hard as it looks.” I already have the spices in the bowl, which I push toward her. “Just rub these on there.”
“Ew.”
“How about… you can chop the potatoes?”
Aurora tilts her head to the side, thoughtful, before nodding. “Yes. I can do that.”
She settles onto a chair at my table and peels potatoes, the hum of indie folk in the background lulling us into peace as we work on our tasks. Every now and then, I glance at her—the cute look of concentration on her face, her tongue sticking out—and my heart warms right up.
Even if it’s not forever, even if nothing on this plane is, I have love now. Again. I’ll cherish it for as long as I can. As long as her cord of life is still bright, I’ll be here—and it’s brighter now than it was when we met. Back then, it was feeble and flickering, the way someone’s lifeline often is when they’re…
Well, when they’re depressed.
She’s worked hard to put herself in a better place, and I won’t get in the way of that.
“I can tell you’re overthinking,” she says, giving me a look of disbelief.
I let out a surprised laugh. “Oh? How so?”
“Because I’m a chronic overthinker, and great minds think alike.” She looks up at me, her dark eyes meeting mine with something unknowable. “I’m here.”
“I know.” I put the chicken in the oven, using the moment to adjust my face. Passive. Not like she’s crawling into my mind and reading every thought, though it’s starting to feel like she is.
“I’m not going anywhere. I know I was flighty at the start, but…”
I sit on the opposite end of the table and look at her, folding my hands together. “But?”
“But I was afraid of the same things you are, I think. Loss. Death. Heartbreak.”
“Who broke your heart?”
She aggressively chops a potato into little pieces. No uniformity, but I can tell she’s doing her best. “Who didn’t? No one took me seriously. I was the good time girl, and after a while, I preferred it that way. They never made me… come first, if you know what I mean.”
Of course, she breaks the tension with a joke.
