The Last Kiss

The Last Kiss

The hole in the dirt, gaping at my feet, beckons. If only I could fall in. If only I didn’t have to carry on. Alone for the rest of my days. . .

Our story started with a storm. A true and literal storm that danced down the busy street, chasing those foolish enough to be out of doors. I was one of those fools, I guess, thinking that if I hurried I could make it to the store and back before the storm made it to town. 

And, I would do it all over again in a heartbeat if I had the chance. If I could somehow turn back the clock.

Ferocious wind had whipped my hair into my eyes, despite my repeated efforts to tuck the long dark stands behind my ears. Big, fat drops of nearly freezing rain plastered themselves against my face, turning into small rivers running down my cheeks as I leaned into the cold, shivering uncontrollably in my sopping jeans and drowned sweater. I longed for the umbrella leaned against the corner by my front door of my tiny apartment even though it would have been nothing more than a useless toy for the storm to play with.

At last, my hand gained purchase on the cold metal handle of the cafe’s door and I gave a yank. The wind at my back did everything it could to stop me but I refused to give up. If I did I would be stuck in the storm, outside rather than inside, a prisoner to the elements.  A shift in the whim of the wind let the door fly wide, knocking me off balance as I tried to adjust, and then I was tripping over my own feet as I fell into the warm, strong arms of a total stranger.

“I am so sorry,” I said, mortified to find myself clinging to him. My hands, of their own accord, hand fisted into the lapels of his jacket and my legs had decided to almost give up after all they had already done to get me there.

I hate that the sun is shining, blistering my back with its promise of a beautiful summer day. I long, instead, for a big, fat raindrop to fall from the cloudless sky. The sun’s warmth now is nothing compared to the way his embrace had made me feel then. Under my long black dress, molten in the sun, I shiver from the ice now running through my veins.

As he set me gently on my feet, his left hand had lingering at my waist until he was sure I wouldn’t fall, then he smiled. Everything else faded away to nothing. The cream colored walls with their artsy-fartsy knick knacks, the wooden tables with their brown padded chairs. Even the sound of the customers crowded into the cafe, all trying to avoid certain death from drowning in the downpour outside, was suddenly nothing more than a quiet buzz. 

“It’s not a problem. Not a problem at all,” he said, lips quivering in delight. His eyes sparkled, topaz blue lights shining out from thick lashes, and he chuckled as if the secret punchline had just been revealed. Not maliciously, just beyond thrilled to have the answer revealed. With a tilt of his head, and the tiniest of dips of his chin, he added, “I’m Nico. Nice to meet you.”

“Serena,” I said, nearly choking over my own name as my eyes landed on the dimple drilled into his tan cheek.  His smile grew and I realized I was staring. Gawking, in fact. 

To cover my behavior I presented my hand for a handshake. When he took it, fingertips gently swallowing mine, I felt my heart thud in my chest, both fearing and hoping that he was about to kiss my knuckles in some old-fashioned, gallant gesture.

Bright green grass surrounding the darkest dirt I could ever imagine, acting as a picture frame as memory after memory of Nico being Nico rush through my mind, pushing and shoving each other as they try to get my attention. Our story went beyond simply opening a door, holding a chair, always making me feel like a queen. I knew I would never fall with him by my side. Nico wouldn’t let me. But what about now? The empty space next to me feels like a boulder pulling me down.

Nico squeezed my hand then slowly let go, leaving my knuckles bereft as my stomach flipped. 

“Come on, let’s get you something warm to drink,” he said as he led me to a table in the corner where we could watch the storm rage while protected by the thick glass window. “Coffee or tea?”

“Coffee, please,” I answered before I gave myself time to think and possibly get cold feet.  He held the chair for me, scooting it as I sat, then disappeared to the counter to order.

From that day on Nico never forgot how I like my coffee. A splash of cream and two sugars. He took his black. Both of our cups hang empty in the rack at the end of the kitchen counter now. I can’t imagine that I will ever drink coffee again. I tried, once, but it tasted bitter and putrid without him sitting across the table from me. Without those blue eyes to look upon while our fingers twisted together as we shared the morning paper. 

By the time I finished my cup of coffee Nico had me laughing. Silly stories and tales of things gone wrong, only to be saved at the last second, had me leaning forward in my seat with my chin resting on my cupped hands. I would have never guessed a day in the life of a simple carpenter could be so lively, but Nico showed me it was. From customers who changed their mind seventeen times, to shady suppliers who tried to get away with delivering substandard materials, there was always something to watch out for. And that didn’t even touch on the times ladders fell or tools broke. None of it brought Nico down though. One story after another showed me his resilience, his compassion, and his desire to do the right thing for people.

Across the hole, yawning its dirty breath my way, I see our children and it’s like looking at us all over again. One boy, one girl. One like him and one like me. Next to them, filling the first row of seats, sit her husband and his wife, a small bump filling the waistband of her long black skirt. I wonder if this newest member of the family will have Nico’s topaz eyes, his dimple or the cowlick twisting the hair above his left ear. 

Nico got up to get us refills, and returned with a napkin holding two giant chocolate chip cookies. 

“Best cookies in town,” he said with a smile giving peeks of his somewhat crooked teeth, “or so I’ve heard.”

When I hesitated, he broke off a piece and held it out for me. He held it as close to my lips as humanly possible without actually touching the tender flesh. My nose crinkle automatically at the sweet, rich smell of the chocolate. When I leaned a fraction of an inch forward and gently wrapped my lips around the morsel Nico’s eyes burned. His sharp intake of breath, raspy in the back of his throat, brought a rush of pink heat to my cheeks. 

“Thank you,” I whispered, my confidence flailing and my chin lowering so that my eyes were glued to the table.

“My pleasure,” Nico said, clearing his throat and shuffling in his seat. Silence built around us, not uncomfortable but walling us off from the rest of the room.

“Quite a storm,” I finally said, when I couldn’t take the long pause any more.

“Forecasters got it right for once,” Nico said, bringing his eyes back to mine. “Good thing we have the cafe to hang out in. Somewhere dry and warm to wait it out.”

HIs expression said he was glad for more than the shelter. It said that, despite the gruelling weather, he felt lucky to be right where he was at that moment. Slowly he tore off another chunk of cookie and held it out. This time I took it without blushing.

Chocolate chip cookies became our thing. Anniversaries and birthdays, date nights at home, whenever. Chocolate chip cookies were our thing. Our eyes would meet and lock while we ate them, reminding each other of that first time, while around us the world moved steadily by.

The third time Nico offered me a bite my lips brushed his fingertips. When he brought them away he gently licked the last crumbs from the tip of his thumb and I felt my cheeks burn.

An hour more passed and we knew all about each other’s family. Parents and siblings, cousins living nearby and overbearing uncles. I knew Nico had a witty sense of humor and he commented on my kind heart. I knew he loved B-horrors and he knew I preferred tear-jerking dramas. We made plans for the following Friday to watch a show at the hilltop drive-in. We settled on a western. 

I grew to love horror movies and Nico grew to tolerate tear-jerkers. Over the years he put up with my constant re-telling of the latest novel I was reading and I listened to him debate the odds of his favorite team winning the big game each season. It’s not that he cared about the novel, or that I cared about the game, but we loved each other's stories. We loved hearing each other's voices. 

Staring at the disturbed ground before me I ache to hear him ust one more time. One more “I love you.”

The storm began to let up, passing over us and heading to the next town. People began to leave, the bravest ones first followed by those who had some kind of pressing business elsewhere. Nico and I sat at that booth until we were the last ones there and the waitress was slowly turning off the lights as a gentle signal that it was time for us to go.

“Shall we?” Nico asked, standing and offering me his hand.

I took his hand, my fingertips resting in his palm, but I hesitated. If I stood then we were only steps away from ending our day. Steps away from the day we met being over. With a sigh I finally stood. Nico’s mouth, or at least the left side of it, lifted in a knowing smile. Without saying a thing I knew he was thinking the same thing as me. And then his hand was resting on the small of my back, gentle pressure guiding me to the door.

“Friday then?” he asked, standing close and letting his hand linger at my elbow.

“Friday then,” I answered, heart racing.

Slowly he leaned down, giving me plenty of time to protest if I wanted. His head tilted and his breath, smelling of chocolate chip cookies, brushed my face. After the briefest of pauses, as my eyes softly closed, his lips gently touched mine.

At the edge of Nico's grave, with the sun heating my gray hair and sweat filling the wrinkles covering my aged face, I bring the single rose I carry to my lips and press a tender kiss to its red petals before dropping it down to land on the rounded wood of his casket.