“You remembered what?” he asked.
“The way you pair the shoes, hooking the first one on your index finger then carrying it to the second to do the same with your middle finger before arranging them in a neat little line. It was something silly that I just assumed I’d observed before, but seeing you do it now, I think it was definitely a memory. Same with the way you butter your toast.”
With slow, measured steps, he made his way to the kitchen. “And how do I butter my toast?”
“Thoroughly. Thoughtfully. Corner to corner, no surface left untouched.”
Drawing in a deep breath, he stopped in front of me and rested his hands on my hips. He jerked his chin, and well trained in Bowen’s silent orders, I placed my hands on his shoulders as he picked me up to sit me on the counter beside the sink.
“What else do you remember?” he asked, wedging his hips between my thighs.
“How you rinse out containers before throwing them away. How you always click the button on your key fob until the car beeps twice. How you hum after you laugh, and the way you insist on looking me in the eye when you say you love me.” I leaned forward and pecked his lips. “Ya know, just the little stuff that adds up to the big stuff.”
He stared at me for a long second. Like a painfully long second. To the point that a chill broke out across my skin, but I didn’t have to question him before he gave me the answer.
“That was your last suicide note.”
My head snapped back. “What?”
He peered down at the space between us. “When I got home from work that day, you’d left a card propped up in the middle of the table. I didn’t get the chance to read it before Sugar came out with bloody paws and all hell broke loose as I tried to keep you alive. But eventually I read it, only to discover it wasn’t a card for me at all. See, your final thoughts, just before you tried to take your life, were to write a letter to the woman who would love me next.”
“Oh, God,” I breathed.
His head came up and his eyes opened, blazing with a mixture of love and agony. I hated that I was so familiar with the look on his face.
“You told her when things got rough, not to worry about kicking her shoes off by the door after a long day of work because I was kind and patient and would ultimately pair them for her. You went on and on about how reliable and detail-oriented I was, in both love and life, explaining that I went so far as to wash out my trash before disposing of it. You told her to never say no to one more glass of wine with me because my buttered toast could cure even the worst of hangovers. And you assured her that she’d always be safe with me because not only was I gentle and understanding, but I went the extra mile to make sure everything was always locked up tight. Two beeps tight to be exact.”
My mouth fell open, though nothing came out.
He looked at his watch. “Fuck. My family will be here any minute. Let me call and cancel so we can talk.” He started to walk away, but I caught the front of his shirt before he had the chance.
“Wait, hold on. Do you want to cancel so we can talk, or do you think I need you to cancel so we can talk?”
“I…uh, just assumed. That’s a lot for you to remember, Remi.”
“Yeah. You’re right. But you’re the one remembering it. I’m thinking of buttered toast in the morning after I drink too many beers today with Tyson. I’m smiling because God knows I never remember to pick up my shoes, so that will really come in handy for me through the years. And most of all, I’m imagining how damn happy I would have been back then, at the lowest point in my life, to know I was writing that letter to a happier, healthier version of myself in the future. I am so sorry you had to go through that. All of it. It’s truly heartbreaking, and I am always here if you want to talk about it. But, for me, I’m positive that past me wouldn’t want us to cancel something so joyful and exciting in order to relive the pain.”
He stared at me for a few beats, pure awe showing on his handsome face. “How do you do that?”
“It’s not the same me.” I shrugged. “I’m not a woman who will ever have to write a note like that again. And you’re not a man who ever has to worry about finding one again, either. The world took everything from us, Bowen. That means even some of the bad stuff too. And now, over burgers, two pasta salads, three desserts, and your mother’s tears when she finds out we’re back together, we have the chance to take only the good stuff—the best parts of us—back. We don’t have these opportunities very often. I sure don’t want to let one pass.”
