I DON’T HATE THIS. HAVING fay here is exactly what I wanted, even though I wouldn’t let him know that. He makes everything seem like it will be okay. I don’t think I’ve admitted that to myself until just now. I kept that gospel tucked away, because it would mean all those things I never said out loud were true: that I love him, that I need him. That those fairy tales where the prince sweeps the princess off into a happily ever after weren’t bullshit. Aabidah’s right. He makes me want to stay—stay and fight.
“Give me your foot.”
“Why?” I ask as I lean back on the cushioned bench in the sky lounge. It’s quiet with just a few businesspeople holed up in separate corners of the place, their heads glued to phones or pinned to computers. Fay and I are the youngest people here by at least twenty years, but Fay worked his magic. He’s leaning back against the wall opposite me in the one booth that isn’t visible from the attendant at the bar.
“I want to touch you.”
I suck in a tiny breath of surprise and Fay laughs.
“Not like that—well, I do… but… not right now.”
“Not like this, anyway,” I say quietly, and adjust my oxygen line, feeling too on display all of a sudden.
“Shut up. You being wild disrespectful to my generous offer,” he jokes.
He slips off my sandal and cradles my heel in his lap and begins to rub all the kinks out of my arch.
“That feels good.”
“I know. I am a champion foot massager. And before you get started, it’s ’cause of my mom. She works long hours. I rub her feet for her.”
“I wasn’t going to start,” I say, warring with myself to decide whether to apologize or confess. Is it pride I’m fighting? Embarrassment? What am I afraid of?
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“I wish we’d… you know,” I say, and raise my eyebrows.
“I know what?” he asks.
“You know. That night at Renata Tripp’s pool party last summer. Everybody was downstairs, and we went to the basement to dry off and talk, and we started kissing and… I should have. We could have—”
Fay holds up his hand to stop me.
“No, we shouldn’t have.”
I freeze as a bolt of embarrassment rises in my belly. I thought… I’m not sure what I thought, but…
“Relax, that’s not what I mean. What I mean is yes, I wanted to do that with you that night too, but I’m glad we didn’t because that’s not how I wanted it to be with you—in Renata’s unfinished basement on some moldy-ass towels while ESPN played old highlights in the background? Trying to do it quick so we wouldn’t get caught? Nah. If you had told me you were ready, I would have tried a lot harder. We both deserve better than that.”
I nod tightly, unable to meet his gaze while I sit with all my regrets. He slides my sandal back on and picks up the other foot. The warmth of his hands is a cross between a cozy blanket on a cold night and that feeling of complete peace when you float in a pool on the first day of summer. I let myself drink it in and consume me for just a minute. I’ll give myself that little bit because I deserve it. Even death-row inmates get a final meal.
“I was going to propose,” he says quietly.
“What? Why would you?” I sputter.
He shrugs. “You know I like to make things…”
“Big,” I finish.
I don’t know why it’s those words that start the tears. I didn’t even cry at Mama’s homegoing. Maybe I was more prepared for that than this. Family love is different from romantic love. You expect it and demand it in some ways. It’s supposed to be unconditional, and you don’t have to do anything to get it.
The attendant walks by and smiles hard at Fay on her way to some back room. She’s got lustrous hair that shines even under fluorescent lights. Her matching shorts set hugs every curve, and her makeup is perfect. She doesn’t even try to act respectful with her reckless eyeballing and juicy-lipped smile. Fay doesn’t even know she exists, but I can’t keep my eyes off her. I must look like a charity case. I might as well be the poster child for the March of Dimes with Fay’s beautiful ass as my last wish.
I pull away from him. His touch is too hot on my skin right now. I suddenly feel ridiculous sitting here together. “It’s because I’m sick.”
“You’re out of your mind if you think that’s true,” he says.
“You have to see all this. I’m sitting here attached to an oxygen tank. I’ve lost fifty pounds and gone down two dress sizes. I’ve got tubes snaking out of my nose and—”
“And I don’t care. You could lose another fifty pounds or gain a hundred. I don’t give a—”
“How can I believe you’re so sure about me, Fay, when you aren’t sure about anything else? How can you be all in with me when I’m like this?” I hold up my hand. “Don’t answer that. I know how. It’s because this tank and this disease make it temporary. You can play pretend forever without it having to be real.”
“You’re scared.”
“Of course I am.”
“Not of the disease. You’re scared of me and scared of yourself when you’re with me. You did this at the dance. At your mama’s funeral when you left in the middle of the service to make sure the house was clean and ready for the folks afterward. Even before you got sick and DeAndre had that kickback on that half day and you kissed me for the first time. You kissed me and, hand to Christ, I thought I was gonna pass out. You left right after. You don’t like to feel anything.”
“Are you a psychologist or something? Who are you to…”
But he’s right. I don’t like to feel, ’cause when I do it runs so deep that it feels like I’m drowning in emotion. I never even agreed to be his girlfriend. We never had the conversation, and I was glad because I didn’t want to risk him saying it wasn’t true. We just became us, a unit.
He looks at me with so much love, it makes me want to get up and run so far my heart won’t catch me, but there is nowhere to run. Wherever you go, your heart’s still there, still beating and waiting to break.
His watch beeps and I know time’s up. We sit there in the moment, until his hand slides from my foot to my calf and up to my thigh as he scoots closer.
I can taste his tears when his lips meet mine.
Ahem.
We break, avoiding the attendant’s reproachful stare, and walk slowly back to my gate. I’m searching for something profound to say, any words that will make this feel less like a goodbye and more like an intermission, but then there’s an outbreak of sound, like gunshots in the air, and everyone screams. My heart leaps into my throat and Fay grabs me around my waist just as an alarm starts to wail.
For a full minute there is absolute terror, until someone yells that it’s fireworks going off outside and I can breathe again. At least, I try to breathe again, but I can’t.
“Tamar?”
My hands claw at my throat. I twist my oxygen up to full blast, but I can’t take in any air.
“Tamar!”
Fay lays me on my back. There’s a crowd, but all I see is his face. All I feel are his hands cradling my head. Maybe I always knew I wasn’t going to make that flight.
“Help is coming, Tamar. I’m going to fix it. Just stay here. Stay with me! Don’t close your eyes. Stay with me. Stay with me,” he pleads; his eyes bore into mine before he lifts his head to the sky, his lips moving in prayer.