Chapter Twenty-Nine

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Milo

We stayed in bed all night in a darkened room.

Starlet tried to get me to eat something, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I couldn’t think straight. I couldn’t focus on anything at all except the fact that Dad was currently fighting for his life.

My mind felt sick.

I didn’t know minds could feel sick until that very moment.

I couldn’t lose him, too.

Hadn’t I lost enough?

Hadn’t the world stolen enough from me?

Starlet stirred in my bed as she began to wake from the night prior. Before her eyes even opened, her hand reached out toward my side of the bed, and it landed against my forearm.

Still here, Teach.

Her brown eyes fluttered open, and I didn’t feel alone for a split second like I used to. I felt sad but not alone and sad, which used to be my default.

“Hi,” she whispered, rolling on her side to face me.

“Hi,” I replied, combing away the hair falling in front of her eyes.

“You didn’t sleep.”

“No.”

“You should’ve woke me.”

“We both don’t have to suffer.”

As I said that, her eyes softened with a sense of deep sadness. It was as if she remembered what reality had been for me after her dream state. If I were honest, I hadn’t realized the truth. I was walking in a state of delusion. Part of me was thinking that Dad was off drunk somewhere, being a damn fool, and I’d hear his car pulling into the driveway anytime now. Not that he was in a hospital bed debating between life and death, debating between finding Mom or coming back to me.

“I’m so sorry, Milo,” she said.

The words made me twitch. I pressed my forehead to hers. “Please stop saying that. It’s just a reminder that there’s something to be sorry about.”

“Okay, sorr—” She stopped herself and pushed out a smile. “How can I help you today?”

I kissed the tip of her nose before pushing myself up to a sitting position. “Can I cook for you?”

She raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“I want to cook for you. Breakfast, then lunch, then dinner. Can I cook for you, Star?”

“What? No. Don’t worry about me. I can cook for you—”

I swallowed hard and shook my head. “No, you don’t understand. I just…I need to cook today, and I want to cook for you.”

She stared at me, a bit perplexed, but nodded in agreement. “Okay, yes. I would love that.”

I stood from the bed and walked over to my dresser, where my mother’s recipe box was sitting. I hadn’t opened it since she passed away. I was too scared to look at the recipes she left for me.

Moving back to the bed with the box, I opened it and placed it in front of us both.

“These were my mother’s recipes. She left them to me after she passed away. She said whenever I felt extremely lost, I should make one of the meals. I haven’t had the nerve to open the box yet, but I’d like to today,” I told her.

She sat up and pulled her knees into her chest. “I think that’s a beautiful idea.”

I gave her a broken smile as I proceeded to open the recipe box. Inside were dozens of memories crafted by my mother. I paged through the recipe cards, some dusted with flour, others with drops of oil. Cacio e Pepe, ricotta gnudi, mushroom frittata, carbonara. Just seeing her words made my chest tighten. My first thought was how idiotic I was to wait so long to look inside that box. The thought that followed was how long would my sight allow me to see my mother’s handwritten cards. It was odd how somehow, I looked at life with a different set of eyes ever since my diagnosis. I’d never cared before how people wrote words against paper. How they dotted their i’s and crossed their t’s. But now, knowing that maybe someday I could lose all connection to those little things, I took them in more, especially when it came to Mom’s recipe cards.

As I pulled out one of the cards for a loaf of dutch oven baked bread, my chest tightened a bit. On the left side of the recipe card were the ingredients and directions to make said bread. Then on the right side was a note from my mother. I pressed my fingertips to the words, following the indentations where her pen leaned heavily on the paper. Her words were created with such tender love and care that I could almost feel her through the curves of her penmanship.

My world,

Making bread takes time. A lot of resting.

Humans are like bread, too. Sometimes we just need a little rest to rise.

Con amore,

Mama

Notes.

She left me notes on the recipe cards.

I flipped through the deck and pulled out another. Pasta alla norma.

My world,

Perfect for a sunny day with French bread and a side salad.

Even better with a glass of red wine. (Once you’re of age, of course.)

Con amore,

Mama

I felt as if my world was spinning faster as I flipped through more and more. Each card had a little note. Each card held a message to me from her. Even when she was at her weakest, she took the time to write out a personal message on every single recipe for me, signing each one with con amore. With love. Leave it to my mother to know when I’d need her love the most.

Who knew love could still exist in the afterlife? I felt as if Dad was trying to race off to meet her. A part of me couldn’t blame him.

“She left me little notes on each card,” I explained to Starlet. “I didn’t know that until right now.”

“Sometimes life brings you comfort when you need it the most.”

If that were true, I supposed that was why the world brought me Starlet.

“I’ll set up a grocery order to be delivered. Then I can start cooking. If you want to shower, I set out some towels and whatnot in the bathroom for you,” I told her. “I’ll give my uncle a call, too, to see what I need to handle today.”

“Sounds good.” She placed her hands against my kneecaps before leaning in and kissing me gently. She whispered against my lips. “You’re not okay.”

I shook my head. “I’m not okay.”

She kissed me once more. “And that’s okay.”

I kissed her back, and I was so thankful she existed. I’d never been more grateful for a person’s existence before.

She pushed herself up from the bed and held her hand out toward me. “Before you order that food, come take a shower with me. It will feel good against your skin.”

I hesitated for a moment, thinking of a million things I needed to do, but then I locked eyes with her, and an odd sense of calmness washed over me. The same kind of calm I’d received while reading the recipe cards. A sense of not being alone.

I took her hand into mine, and she pulled me toward the shower. We removed one another’s clothing after I turned on the water. The bathroom steamed up quickly as Starlet and I stepped inside. Water raced over our bodies as I shut my eyes. Something about the shower brought forth emotions I hadn’t known I’d been suppressing. Tears began to stream down my face, intermixing with the water crystals as Starlet began to wash my body. She started at my scalp, shampooing my hair. Then she washed my back and my chest, moving down to every piece of me. As I opened my eyes, I stared into her browns, feeling less and less alone as her body washed mine and I washed hers.

Her hair was soaked, showcasing her natural curls as they fell down her back. She’d never looked more beautiful to me than at that moment right there.

My hands fell to her hips, and I pulled her body against mine. I pressed my forehead to hers as I shut my eyes. The water was hot, yet for some reason, chills raced throughout my whole system.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“Always,” she replied.

***

After the shower, she put on a pair of her panties and one of my T-shirts that was oversized on her. She looked perfect. As she went to slide into a pair of pants, I gave her a tired grin. “Pants are overrated.”

She laughed. “So today’s a comfy day? No pants needed?”

“No pants needed whenever you stay with me.”

I cooked her breakfast. A bacon, red pepper, and cheese frittata. As I set her plate in front of her at the dining room table, I felt a pull of nerves hit me. “Just so you’re aware, I’m not a cook like my mother was, so if you hate it, that’s fine.”

She breathed in the aromas and moaned. “There’s no way I’m going to hate this.”

I sat down beside her, and before I began eating, I mumbled a prayer under my breath. I wasn’t a praying kind, but Mom always prayed over our meals whenever we’d sit at that table, so I took up the task for her. It was odd, but that was what fear did to a person. Fear makes a person do things out of character.

I rolled my shoulders back when I finished and began eating. To my surprise, it tasted like Mom’s used to taste. “Oh my god,” we said in unison.

I looked up at Starlet as she shot her stare toward me. “Bravo, Mr. Corti,” she said, applauding. “This is fantastic.”

“Not so bad at all.”

We ate until we were stuffed, and when lunchtime came around, and we ate some more.

I took a break and went to the hospital to sit with Dad for a few hours. Nothing changed, not for the better and not for the worst. I headed back home after visiting hours ended.

Starlet helped me prep dinner, which was an enjoyable experience. We moved around one another as if we were made to run a kitchen together. We’d prepped the dutch oven bread a few hours prior to going with dinner that night—bucatini with lemony carbonara.

My world,

It’s not the most authentic version of carbonara, but when life gives you lemons…make pasta.

Con amore,

Mama

As Starlet made the salad, I walked behind her and wrapped my arms around her waist, and kissed her neck. I paused a moment as a memory flashed back toward me. Dad used to always hug Mom from behind when she was cooking, and he’d kiss her neck.

Grief hit me like a wave. I stepped backward, trying to shake it off.

Starlet turned and noticed my sudden shift.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Nothing. Everything’s fine.”

“You’re lying.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. Do you know how I know?”

“Do tell.”

“Because when you lie, your eyes look cold.”

I chuckled, amused. “And when I tell the truth, how do my eyes look?”

“Alive,” she replied. “They look alive.”

I wanted to shoot off a witty comment, but my sarcastic ways were messed up due to my sadness. So instead, I told the truth. “My parents used to cook together. Mom called Dad her sous chef. They’d play music and dance around the kitchen, hugging and kissing and laughing. As a kid, I thought it was so annoying, but…I don’t know. I just got a flashback of that as I held you.”

“Oh.” She nodded. “The tiny ones hurt the most sometimes.”

“The tiny ones?”

“The memories that seem so small and minuscule. It’s as if you almost forgot they existed until they show up again and knock you backward.”

I nodded. “That was exactly it. But it was odd because…it triggered me, but at the same time, I realized I had what they had with you. I felt what they felt when I held you…” I pulled her into me and kissed her forehead. “I realize that it’s you,” I whispered.

“What’s me?”

“You’re the something that makes me feel better, even on the worst days.”

Her eyes glassed over, and she kissed me slowly. Or perhaps I’d imagined it was slow. Whenever I was around Starlet, it was as if time slowed down in the best possible way.

I smiled at her as my arms wrapped around her body. “You know, I really like seeing you in my T-shirt. It’s almost as if it were made for you.”

She stepped back and spun around. “You think so? Maybe I should’ve put on pants instead of just my underwear.”

I moved over to her and pulled her into a hug. “Oh no. The panties are what makes the look complete.”

I kissed her forehead, and she snuggled into me. “Are you okay, Milo?”

“I am right now.” I always felt better when she was in my arms. I smiled and kissed her. I couldn’t wait for the day we could do that in public. I’d kiss her in front of every single person. We’d be that annoying public displays of affection couple who made people gag.

We stood in the middle of the kitchen holding one another, with no goal of letting go anytime soon. That was until dinner was ready. Then we moved back to the dining room for the third meal of the day.

I grabbed a bottle of wine from the liquor cabinet. “I would say my parents would have a problem with me drinking this, but seeing how one’s dead and the other’s in a coma, I doubt I’ll get grounded.”

Starlet’s eyes widened, shocked by my words, but then she narrowed her stare. “Does dark humor help you?”

“It does, and there will probably be a lot of it these next coming days.”

“Good to know. Very good to know.”

I glanced around my dining room, noticing how brighter it appeared than the days before. I couldn’t exactly put my finger on why it seemed that way, though.

“Did…did you change the light bulbs in here?” I asked her.

She nodded. “I ordered some while you were at the hospital a few hours after lunch. I read online that sometimes brighter lights can help with retinitis pigmentosa. I changed them in all the rooms.” She paused and shook her head. “I’m sorry. I should’ve asked you if that was okay. I noticed a few bulbs burned out and figured I should change them. If you hate it, I could switch them back. It’s not a problem at all.”

I stood stock-still, not moving an inch as I stared at her. She was remarkable in every possible way. From her messy hair, her stunning eyes, her kind smile, and her heart. Her heart… I didn’t know why she’d come into my world, but I knew she was my miracle. The thing that made my hard days more bearable. The person who reminded me how to breathe again after years of holding my breath underwater. She was the next act of my play after the interlude that I’d seemed to be stuck in for years. I couldn’t believe that I was lucky enough to know her. To feel her. To fall hopelessly in love with her.

How did a bastard like me end up with someone like her?

“I love you,” I blurted out. It wasn’t how I’d planned to tell her. It wasn’t attached to some big romantic gesture or said with a softened tone of admiration. I blurted it out. Almost aggressively, even. It was as if my body physically couldn’t hold the words in any longer. As if my body needed to expel that truth as soon as possible.

“I love you,” I repeated, this time slower, softer. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

Starlet’s doe eyes widened as she tilted her head up to meet my stare. “You love me?”

“I love you.” How could I not? She was the warm summer nights to my cold winter days. She was my person.

I never thought I’d have a person.

I thought it would always only be me.

My stomach tensed up as she stared at me. I cleared my throat, feeling a bit foolish for blurting it out. A tinge of self-doubt hit me as I realized she might not say it back. Why would she, honestly? I was a mess. I knew about my scars and often wondered how another could ever love them. I swallowed hard, reminding myself that I didn’t say the words to hear them back. I said the words because they were true. I loved her. I loved her in a way that I didn’t know my heart was able to love, and I thought she deserved to know that. A person like her deserved to know they were loved. It would be a shame if the most loving individuals never had a chance to hear those words spoken their way.

I brushed the palm of my hand against the side of my neck. “Listen, you don’t—”

“I love you, too.” She interjected, making my heart stop. Or was it beating faster? I couldn’t tell.

“You love me?”

“I love you.”

I kissed her because that was all I could think to do at that moment. She kissed me back because she loved me, too. Lately, my emotions never knew where to land. It was as if I had felt a million different things in such a small period, unable to get my footing, but as she kissed me, I felt as if I were finally back on solid ground.

That night when we went to bed, I was able to hug the woman who loved me as much as I loved her. As she lay in my arms, she turned to me and said, “Have you thought about telling your dad everything you told me last night? Maybe telling him how you need him here? I’ve read some articles about how sometimes those in a coma can hear you. I think he might need to hear how you really feel.”

I took her advice into consideration. At that point, I was willing to try anything to see him open his eyes again.