Our Last Time: A Novel (19 page)

“It’s something I don’t want to get used to,” he had said.

Just a little after five o’clock, we were arriving to what I assumed to be his place, which was a small, cozy house. It was colored a midnight blue, but it looked almost black at this time. His lawn was a pretty green, and he had swingy windows. His space was probably smaller than my apartment’s, even, but I liked looking at it.

“I don’t want to take you to a movie. I don’t want to take you to a restaurant. Today, I want to… teach you how to cook,” he said to me, as we shut our doors in unison.

“What?” I scoffed. “How do you know I don’t already know how to cook?” I challenged.

He chuckled at my defensive reply, but he hadn’t faltered before saying, “You can’t even microwave a pre-made breakfast proportionately. Some of my eggs were cold, you know.”

I giggled at that comment. “Okay, fine. I don’t cook actual meals much at all, so I guess I could use some lessons. Does this mean you can cook well, Wyatt?” I asked, raising a quizzical eyebrow.

He opened the door for me to enter the house as he said, “I’m alright, but I could be better. You know, if I could use my left hand.” He was smiling as he shrugged.

I thought about his answer as we walked through his small living room, down an open hallway, and into his blindingly clean kitchen. I glanced at wooden cabinets painted white, gray countertops made of stone, and shiny wooden floors at my feet before the idea finally clicked in my head.

“Oh, wow…” I trailed off. “This is because you haven’t had a real meal since you broke your elbow, isn’t it?”

He blinked. “Uh, yes…” he paused. “I don’t like being selfish with you or around you, but I know that you have always known that I’m selfish. I can never seem to shake that,” he said, turning his head to wink at me.

He had put his one arm over my shoulder and squeezed me. He then kissed my temple, and a smile spread across my mouth as I leaned into him.

“It’ll be fun,” he shrugged.

“Well… it’ll definitely be interesting,” I said.

And it was both.

He taught me how to cook spaghetti without using ketchup. He was disappointed that I had developed the habit to put ketchup in spaghetti.

He was an excellent speaker with his instructions, and it made me wonder what he was like in the classroom, teaching his students.

I gutted tomatoes, chopped vegetables, and got familiar with seasonings for the first time. Wyatt was used to eating really healthy; he often stuck to a workout routine that he couldn’t pull through with entirely since he had broken his elbow. It made him noticeably uneasy. He was so happy about the spaghetti, that it was amusing to me. He’d lean over my shoulder and smell the food absently.

When I laughed at his behavior, he’d scrunch his eyebrows at me, and would ask, “What’s funny?”

“Is your favorite food spaghetti, or something?” I had asked him.

He simply said, “Yes,” his tone nonchalant. His face presented a deadpan expression, and we soon laughed at each other, defeating the silence.

He put on a slow instrumental as I brought our plates and drinks out and into his living room. We were sitting on the couch, now, and he was eating his food as fast as he could with his right hand.

“This is delicious,” he sighed in relief. “Thank you so much for this, Willow. You have no idea what it means to me.”

“I think I have an idea,” I smiled.

He studied me in between his quick bites. I was eating rather slowly.

“What idea would that be?” he questioned.

I sipped on my water. “You needed this,” I said, half-shrugging. “And you needed me to help you.”

He tilted his head to the side, smiling widely, so I could see the spaghetti sauce settling in the corners of his mouth. “You’re right, and I don’t know how I'll be able make it up to you. Everything you’ve done for me, like… I feel bad for treating you like an incompetent babysitter. I suck, honestly. I don’t know why you like me, Willow,” he said, suddenly grinning before stuffing more noodles in his mouth.

I shook my head lightly, gazing up at him.

“I like you because I like you, Wyatt. I like the way you adapt to things you like yourself. I like your words and your views. I like you because you’re a likable person, and I simply had no choice. It just happened, and I like that it did.”

He smiled, just slightly biting his lip. “We’re just random people doing random things while also randomly falling for each other, and I assume - we’re both enjoying every minute of it. Don’t you agree?” he raised his eyebrows. He was swirling the last of his spaghetti around his fork as he spoke.

I chuckled under my breath. “That was random.”

“Ah, but Willow, I asked you a question,” he raised his voice, teasing me.

I rolled my eyes. “Yes, Wyatt. Everything, everyone, actions, and feelings,
yes
- they’re all undeniably random. And yes, Wyatt, I enjoy being random with you. It’s close to one of my favorite things to do.”

“Willow,” he said my name softly as he quietly placed his fork on his empty plate. “I just want to say this because I haven’t said it yet. Annette is the brightest young girl I’ve ever taught in my lifetime. She reminds me a lot of you because of her features, but her personality is unique. A practically flawless brain that girl has, and I know your favorite thing to do is to spend time with your daughter. And you know, I understand wholeheartedly. I have never met any other human-being quite that pleasant to be around.”

My eyes had squinted at the corners; my smile was so huge. At that moment, I knew that Wyatt’s words had a big impact on my heart and its ability to love him just a little bit at a time. “My daughter has had all of my attention since she was born, but tonight I decided to spend my time with you. And I’m inviting myself over again, just so you know. Tonight’s not the only night,” I said, winking awkwardly before immediately regretting it.

He hadn’t seemed to mind the wink. If anything, he appreciated it. “I’ll have to clear a drawer just for you,” he smirked. He pulled me to him, causing my body to hum. My chest pressed to his side as I met his gaze.

“I really like your suit, Wyatt. I mean, I like it a lot, don’t get me wrong, but… why would you wear such a nice suit to work?” I asked curiously. I was running my hand down the front of his suit.

He snaked his right arm around my waist. As I leaned further into him, I noticed his aroma wasn’t boyish at all, and I loved that.

“You’ll laugh, but I don’t care anymore. I wore the suit specifically for you, Willow,” he admitted. “A few other teachers stared, but they minded their own business.”

I chortled. “You look nice. You look nice even when you have spaghetti sauce around your mouth.”

He scoffed. “Well, eating spaghetti usually results to a mess, especially around the food entrance.”

“The food entrance?” I snickered.

“Well, yeah,” he said. “Unless you’re bulimic.”

“Or anorexic,” I pointed out.

“The two go hand and hand, really,” he shrugged.

I grabbed his napkin off of the coffee table and wiped his face with it.

“Like old times,” he teased.

“Not that old of times,” I retorted.

“True,” he exhaled.

I placed the used napkin on his plate, and then turned to face him. “You have good taste in music. Not many people do.”

“Oh, you like this?” he smiled. “Yeah, I prefer slow and meaningful over, you know… garbage.”

“We’ll get along just fine, then.”

“Someone’s taste in music says a lot about them as a person,” he pointed out.

“Unless you’re a psychotic killer,” I commented absently.

His body stilled. “I don’t know,” he said dryly. “My father’s taste was fairly simplistic.”

I squeezed my eyes shut tightly. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay, Willow.”

I had said the wrong thing.

We were silent as we brought our dishes to the kitchen. We hadn’t talked about his past since that day at the hospital, and I sensed he didn’t want to talk about it some more tonight.

He put the last dish on the rack before I grabbed his shoulder, so he’d turn around and face me.

“I’m too caustic with you, and sometimes I come off as an asshole, but I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being ignorant, and I apologize now for the stupid shit I’ll say later.”

He grabbed my waist with his one hand and pulled me to him, his lips touching my forehead. “I know you weren’t referring to anyone in particular. You didn’t do anything wrong, and I shouldn’t have made that comment,” he replied sternly.

He kissed me on the lips hard, and I kissed him back just as forcefully.

“Okay,” I whispered.

We had gone back in the living room after that, and he acted as if I hadn’t just struck a nerve in him. Or maybe he was able to let it go that quickly, I hadn’t known. I was able to relax once he put a movie on. He had brought a bottle of wine out along with two wine glasses. I loved being comfortable with Wyatt. We were so comfortable; we eventually fell asleep there on the couch. We were random, but we liked it that way. His chin settled on the top of my head, my arms around him, and my legs crossed over his. I hadn’t needed to be awake to know we were both smiling.

Willow

I had moved into
my dorm on the seventeenth. I said goodbye to my parents. My mom had cried and my dad was as emotional as he could be when they left. It wasn’t because I was starting college, and they were sad that I was growing up. They were sad that I was depressed, and didn’t
want
to grow up. They had known Kennedy was dying, because Trace had called and told them. I couldn’t talk to them about it. I was numb. I cried when silence consumed me, and I had known that it’d probably happen a lot more, now. I cried once I knew my parents were gone.

My roommate seemed friendly, but she was a stranger and I hadn’t had the energy to talk to her. She arrived later in the afternoon on move-in day. I pretended to be asleep when she came in the room, my back turned to her.

Now it was morning, and I had classes to attend, whether I liked it or not. My roommate had woken up before me, but I could tell she definitely wasn’t a morning person.

She awkwardly walked up to my side of the room, where I was sitting cross-legged on my bed. I made eye contact with her. Her eyes were a lime green type of green, which they stood out against her bright red hair that reached her shoulders.

“Hey,” she had said. “My name is Caitlyn.”

I had forced a barely-there smile, but I hadn’t said anything. I hadn’t talked much at all since the sixteenth. I hadn’t known how to, without becoming a shriveled, uncontrollable mess.

“I know moving away from home is hard,” she looked down at her feet. “But for some reason,” she said, suddenly looking back up at me. “I get the feeling there’s something bothering you. Something far more complicated.”

I bit my lip as she sighed.

“I’m here to talk whenever you’re ready,” she said to me, her tone quiet but promising. She turned, giving me a half-smile over her shoulder before grabbing her things, and leaving the dorm.

Somehow, Caitlyn had known I was broken.

Is it that obvious?
I had wondered.

I picked myself up off the bed, and sauntered to my closet. My parents had unpacked my things. I decided a sweatshirt and a pair of old jeans would do for the day.

I walked over to the door after dressing myself, opened it, then stood in the doorway. I blankly stared into my dorm room. I hadn’t known how I’d be able to live here like this.

5:47p.m.

Attending my classes
had somehow drained more life out of me. I had been waiting for Caitlyn to come back to the room since four o’clock. I decided I’d talk to her a little, but nothing about Kennedy or Nolensville. I just thought it’d be decent of me to engage in some type of friendly conversation with the one person I’d be living with here. I could tell she was a nice and welcoming person, and I wanted to be nice and welcoming back.

She came in the room, opening the door quietly. I was sitting on my bed cross-legged, which is how she left me. She looked up at me as she placed her things near her bed.

“Hey,” she greeted.

“Hey,” I said.

“You have snot all over your sleeves,” she told me, as she walked closer, her eyebrows scrunched. “You okay?”

“Allergies,” I mumbled.

“Oh,” she said, expressing the word.

“Yeah.”

She smiled weakly as she walked a step closer to me. “What’s your name, anyway?”

“Willow,” I answered. “Sorry about… earlier,” I shrugged.

She sat on my bed next to me, crossing her legs, like we had been more than just acquaintances. “It’s okay,” she assured me, patting my knee. “We all have our days.”

I studied her. “Yeah, I guess so.”

She sat there for just a moment in silence.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot,” I nodded, trusting myself to speak.

“Are you, like, going through med school just because, or am I the only one?”

I tilted my head to the side. “I love people. I’ve always been fascinated by those who work hard to help others. It’s kind of a dream of mine to become a nurse,” I answered, sounding hollower than I should, talking about dreams. “Why are you going through med school just because?” I asked curiously.

She exhaled sharply. “I got engaged just before deciding to go here,” she said. “My parents wouldn’t tolerate me not obtaining some type of degree that appeared to be meaningful. To them, having a man to take care of you isn’t enough.”

I nodded. “What’s his name?”

“Brian,” she grinned.

I could tell she loved him, and seeing someone in love like that had shifted my mood just slightly.

“Surely there’s something you’d like to do as a career, though,” I commented. “And parents are usually like that. The ones that care, anyway. I call it parent-nature.”

She chuckled. “I guess it is parent-nature. And I do have hobbies and things I genuinely enjoy doing, but it’s not something stable that I can rely on as a future career. I do a lot of writing. I used to work for my high school’s newspaper. It’s something I’ve always loved to do,” she smiled at me.

“Never give up on it,” I told her.

“I won’t,” she agreed.

“Pinky swear?” I stuck out my pinky.

She looked at my outstretched pinky for a second, her expression quizzical before she finally crooked her pinky over mine, and shook.

“Pinky swear,” she promised.

At that moment, I had thought to myself that it was okay for me to have just one friend. Figuratively, I had known I could use one, and Caitlyn had known I
needed
one.

She went over to her bed, then asked me, “Do you want to watch a movie, or something?”

“Whatever’s available is fine with me,” I said.

She picked a movie and we watched it all the way through. I forced myself to study my notes before crashing, finally allowing myself to sleep and dream of
good to come
things.