Come Away With Me

7

Six months before the accident

“I like it,” Gabe said, his fingers caressing my ear with a gentle grace that belied their size. Self-consciously I touched where his fingers had just been, trying to tame a stray piece of bang. “It’s different, but it suits you.”

“I’m not sure what happened,” I said. “I asked for a trim but then I thought about all the blow-drying and told her to just chop it off.” My hair, best described as the color of mud except for when the summer’s sun added golden touches, had been just below shoulder length since high school. It was my safe length—long enough to feel feminine, but not so long I couldn’t quickly blow-dry it if whatever I was doing called for more than a finger-swept ponytail. I ran a hand through it again, still surprised at how quickly my fingers moved through the now short strands.

“Actually, it’s really hot,” Gabe murmured, his hand sliding down my bare neck, to my shoulder, to my breast, where it lingered. “I bet it looks even better when you’re naked.” I laughed until his lips met mine, warm, full and soft. I sighed and pressed closer to him, letting my sundress drop to our bedroom floor after he swiftly untied the neck strap.

“Just like I thought.” Gabe’s eyes trailed down my body, then back to my face. “It really suits you.”

Afterward we lay tangled in our sheets, and I rested my head against his chest. His heart thumped furiously.

“I have an idea,” he said, his fingers tickling up and down my spine. I shivered and snuggled in closer.

“Oh, yeah?” I tilted my head back to look at him. He kissed the tip of my nose and I breathed in his scent. Sweat mixed with the woodsy smell of his deodorant. “You really do like this haircut, don’t you?”

“That’s not it,” he said, smiling. “Although I would like you to hold that thought.”

“Tell me.” I settled back against his chest and closed my eyes. Contented. Happy.

“Well, seeing as we’re getting married in a few months, I thought we should think about what we want that to look like.”

“What do you mean? Everything’s already planned.”

He shook his head. “I don’t mean the wedding. I’m talking about life after that.”

“I already picture that all the time.” I smiled. I couldn’t wait for that wedding band to slide over my knuckle.

“I know we won’t be able to do this right away, with work and everything, but I had this idea to create a list of all the things we want to do, the places we want to travel to,” he said. “A list of experiences we can share.”

“So, sort of like a bucket list?”

“Yeah, sort of,” he said. “But that’s kind of grim, right? More like a wish list, you know?”

I kissed him hard on the lips. Again and again, my lips meeting his teeth as he laughed. “Tegan and Gabe’s wish list. I love it. Let’s do it,” I finally said.

“Now here’s the thing.” He jumped out of bed and grabbed a pad of paper and pen from his briefcase. “We’re going to write out each thing on a piece of paper, fold it up and stick it in a jar or something.” I nodded, grinning. “Then when we have vacation time or feel like life is dragging us down, we’ll pick something out and do that.”

I laughed. Gabe was going to have his work cut out for him; I wasn’t exactly spontaneous. He was the adventure-seeker, which was one reason why we balanced each other so beautifully. He pushed when I pulled.

“Okay,” I said, tousling his dark brown hair, which was curling from sweat.

Gabe smiled. “You go first.”

Over the next half hour we created a list of ten things, then folded the papers and put them in a giant crystal vase one of Gabe’s parents’ friends had sent as an engagement gift.

“So when do we get to pull our first one?” I asked, shaking the vase with some difficulty due to its weight, the little packets of paper dancing inside.

“Why not right now? Whatever it is, we’ll do it after the wedding, okay? Wish number one can be our honeymoon.”

“Deal!” I tilted the vase slightly so I could reach into its depths, then stuck my arm in up to my elbow and stirred the papers around.

“You pick.” I took out my arm and extended the vase toward Gabe.

“Ladies first,” he said, taking the vase from my hands. I closed my eyes and reached in, feeling the sharp edges of the folded paper scratch against my skin. I dug down to the bottom. I kissed the paper before opening it up.

Gabe’s eyes, blue like a midwinter sky, were wide and his smile generous. I felt bubbly inside, like I’d had a glass of champagne. “What does it say?” he asked. “What are we doing?”

I cleared my throat, pausing purposefully. Gabe bounced the mattress impatiently, which made me laugh. “Come on!” he said. “Tell me.”

I read it out loud, and Gabe cheered like we’d won the lottery. Then he pushed me back against the mattress. I laughed again as he kissed me all over.

“I love you more than life itself,” I said.

“Ditto,” he said. “You are my forever.”

We cast the vase aside and tangled our bedsheets again. Then Gabe grabbed a permanent black marker and wrote Tegan & Gabe’s Jar of Spontaneity on the vase’s crystal-clear surface.

8

Holding the vase now, I don’t feel giddy or joyful. I feel heavy, sluggish with misery.

“Pick something out,” Gabe says softly. “Actually, pick three things, okay?”

“Why?” I ask, my bitterness seeping out. “What’s the point, Gabe?”

“The point is life, Tegan. It’s going to carry on, whether you want it to or not. And eventually you need to join back in.”

“No one understands.” I’m crying now. “Trust me, if there were some kind of switch I could flick I would. In a second. I want my life back, too.”

“I know you do, love. I know.” Gabe’s voice lulls me, the gentleness of his tone washing over me.

“But even if I hop a plane somewhere far from here, I can’t get away from it,” I say. “I can’t run away from my broken heart, Gabe. Or my broken body.”

“You’re right. So don’t think about it as running away from something. More running toward something,” he suggests. The look on my face says it all. “I know, I know. Hear me out, okay?” I shrug, keeping my eyes on the jar.

“Nothing can change...” His voice cracks and I imagine his Adam’s apple bobbing repeatedly, the way it does when he tries to swallow his emotions. “Nothing can change what happened. And staying here, reliving it every moment of every day, is breaking you, Tegan. You’re disappearing on us, and I’m afraid soon there won’t be any of you left.”

I don’t say it out loud, but that’s exactly what I’m hoping for. One day I’ll simply cease to exist, like a puff of smoke. There one moment, gone the next.

“But pulling something out of that vase? It’s going to force you to live. To create a new memory. And I feel like if you can do that, just make one new memory that isn’t sad, it will be easier to make another one. Then another one. And soon you’ll have a stack of happy memories to help balance the sad ones.”

As much as I’ve committed to my disappearing act, Gabe’s words spark in me the tiniest flicker of something. I’m not sure, but it feels different. Fresh, like a clean, fluffy towel, or biting into a tomato straight off the vine.

“And there’s all that money from my parents from the wedding, just sitting in our bank account. Doing nothing but gathering a pathetic amount of interest,” he says.

“I think your parents expected us to do something a little more grown-up with that money,” I reply. Gabe’s parents wrote us a check for $200,000 as a wedding gift, surely intending it to go into a house in the suburbs. A proper place to raise their grandson.

“Who cares what they want us to do with it? I can’t think of a more perfect way to spend some of it.”

I give a small smile and run my fingers gently over the black lettering on the vase, taking care not to rub it off.

“You need a change of scenery, Teg,” Gabe says. “You’re going to lose yourself if you stay here. And I can’t let that happen.” He sighs heavily. “Besides, school’s out in a few months and then you have the summer off.” Not that I’m going back to work anytime soon. Medical leave has turned into stress leave, buying me at least the rest of the school year. “The timing couldn’t be better.”

“I don’t know,” I say. “The thought of leaving this apartment exhausts me. Getting on a plane?” I shake my head.

“We can do this,” he says. “I’ll be with you the whole time. And I promise not to let you snore or drool if you fall asleep on the plane.” He laughs, and I feel the familiar pull of love, despite everything. “You need this, Teg. We need this.”

I look at him, then take a deep breath as I dig into the vase, stirring the papers. “Three things?”

Gabe nods.

I pull out the first one and set it down on the duvet, hands shaking. It’s the one we agreed on for our honeymoon. The trip we put off when we found out I was pregnant.

“Well, that’s interesting,” Gabe says, surprise in his voice. “Think it’s a sign?”

I shrug. Maybe. Though I don’t believe in that much anymore.

Reaching back in the vase, I pull out another one, and then one more. I carefully unfold the last two papers and smooth out the folds, taking my time lining up the small squares side by side.

Gabe starts humming a tune I recognize, breaking into song for the chorus. “We’re leaving...on a jet plane...”

There’s so much optimism in his voice, and I can’t stomach it.

I put my head in my hands and sob.

9

Three weeks before the accident

I stared at the gift and chewed my lip distractedly as I tried to sort out how to wrap it. It was Gabe’s twenty-seventh birthday, and I’d gone way over our agreed-upon budget for presents. We had two rules about birthday gifts: they had to be sentimental in some way, and they couldn’t cost more than a hundred dollars. We started the rules way back when we were broke, just out of school and looking for jobs. At the time, even a hundred had seemed extravagant. But now that we were properly husband and wife, with a bank account a lot more flush thanks to Gabe’s parents, I felt justified breaking the rule.

The guitar was a limited edition—a flame-red Gibson Les Paul. I couldn’t wait for him to open it. I knew once he saw it he wouldn’t care how much it cost—which, for the record, was way over the hundred-dollar limit. If only I could figure out how to wrap a guitar—and an amp—with the one roll of paper I had on hand.

Gabe would likely say he wasn’t good enough yet to deserve such a guitar, but he’d been taking lessons every week with the beat-up, secondhand acoustic guitar my brother Jason had given him.

I unrolled the jumbo-sized roll of wrapping paper and laid it out on our bedroom floor. Gabe would be home soon from work, and I wanted to have everything ready. The beef bourguignon simmered on the stove, its rich, heady aroma filling the apartment, and the garlic-and-blue-cheese mashed potatoes were ready to go. I’d picked up Gabe’s favorite dessert from a little bakery down the street—a meringue pavlova, piled high with clouds of whipped cream and strawberries, which looked amazingly fresh and succulent despite the winter season.

A few minutes and a lot of tape later I’d managed to wrap the awkwardly shaped present, adding a silver bow on top. There was no way Gabe wouldn’t know exactly what it was when he saw it, which made me think I should have saved the paper—and my knees, from kneeling on the hardwood floor—and just gone with the bow. I grabbed another bow from the package, a red one, and stuck it to the amp, which by this point I’d wisely decided against wrapping.

The front door’s lock clicked open and Gabe’s voice echoed down the hall. “Teg? I’m home, babe.”

I leaned the wrapped guitar beside the amp and went to greet him, shutting the bedroom door behind me.

“Hey there, birthday boy,” I said, letting him gather me in his arms. His face was cold from the winter’s wind, and I put my hands to his cheeks to warm them. We kissed deeply and I tightened my grip, feeling the fullness of my stomach press into him. “How was your day?”

“Just fine,” he said, kissing me again. Then he bent down and kissed my belly a few times before giving it a little rub. I ran my hands through his thick, dark hair, feeling the swell of love inside me while he layered me and my protruding stomach with a few more kisses.

“It smells amazing in here,” he said, finally standing. “Let me guess, beef bourguignon?” He crossed his fingers, a hopeful look on his face.

I laughed. “Yes, it’s beef bourguignon. With those blue-cheese mashed potatoes you love and a special surprise for dessert.”

“Sounds so good. I’m starving.” He loosened his tie, his eyes carrying a playful look I recognized. “Just wondering, though. Think everything will hold for say, fifteen minutes?” He unbuttoned his shirt and pants, and was undressed before I could answer.

I looked him up and down, appreciating his well-toned body and the beautiful olive skin he’d inherited from his Italian mother. I never tired of Gabe. “Of course,” I murmured, lifting my arms so he could pull my red-and-black striped jersey dress over my head. “Take all the time you need.”

He swept me up in his arms and I burst out laughing, protesting I was far too heavy for such a move.

“You are perfect,” he said, laying me gently on the couch. “Here...let me show you what I mean.”

Sixteen minutes later we sat down to eat his birthday dinner, both of us flush-faced and relaxed. And still naked.

“This is delicious,” Gabe said, his mouth full of the stewed, wine-laden beef and mashed potatoes. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

“Hold that thought.” I pushed my chair back and headed down the hall. “Now close your eyes,” I shouted from inside our bedroom. “Are they closed?”

“Yup!”

I carefully held the pathetically wrapped guitar with both hands and made my way back to the kitchen. “Shit!” I said, when my fingers ripped the paper a little.

“You okay?” Gabe asked, keeping his eyes closed.

“Fine. Although I definitely should not go into gift wrapping as a career.” He laughed. “Okay, now open!”

I stood naked in front of him, one hand on my hip and the other holding the neck of the guitar. “Happy birthday!”

“Holy shit!” Gabe pushed his chair back so quickly it toppled over. He didn’t even bother to pick it up, but instead walked over to where I stood.

“I know,” I said, teasingly. “I’m irresistible.”

“I’m pretty much living out a fantasy here.” Gabe’s eyes were wide. He looked like a little boy who’d just discovered the toy he wanted most in the world was under the Christmas tree with his name on it. “Seriously.”

I handed him the present, and let him kiss my neck, then my lips. “Happy birthday, Gabe,” I said softly. “Go on, open it.”

He didn’t need any more encouragement. He ripped the wrapping paper off in one pull and whistled deeply. “Tegan, what the hell have you done?” He looked at me in awe for a brief moment, then back at the guitar. “It’s a fucking Les Paul.” He ran his hands over the guitar’s edges, gently, like he had over my curves earlier.

“I know,” I said, shrugging. “I decided that hundred-dollar rule was stupid.”

“I can see that.” His eyes were still on the guitar. Then he looked up at me. “But this is like, way, way over the budget. So you know what that means, right?”

“What?”

“It’s open season on presents now,” he said, winking. “I hope you can handle it.”

I laughed. “Take it easy, tough guy.”

He grabbed me with his free hand and pulled me into him. “This is the best gift ever,” he said. “Thank you, Teg. I love it.”

“You’re welcome.” I tilted my head up so his lips could meet mine. “You deserve it.”

“Well, I don’t know about that, but what do you think about seeing what this thing can do?”

“Let’s do it,” I said. “Do you want to get dressed first?”

“Hell, no! I’ve always wanted to play a Les Paul in the nude.”

“The other thing you’ll need is in the bedroom. It’s unwrapped. I gave up.” I allowed him to pull me over to the couch before he ran to our room to grab the amp.

I shivered, the heat of our lovemaking and the excitement of the present now fading. I grabbed a blanket from the arm of the couch and tucked it around me while Gabe plugged the guitar into the amp.

“Okay, hot stuff,” I said. “Show me whatcha got.”

He wiggled his eyebrows up and down a few times, then pursed his lips in what he surely thought was a sexy rock star face, and slammed his hand down against the strings. The room filled with an ear-splitting whine that sort of resembled music, and Gabe laughed when I put my hands to my ears. He reached over and fiddled with the amp, then moved his fingers more deftly over the strings, this time producing a sound that would certainly be called a tune.

As he awkwardly played his way through a classic rock song I recognized but couldn’t name—I was the worst with remembering song titles—stopping every few notes to make a correction, I took a mental snapshot of the moment. Things were perfect. We were beyond happy, and not just because we were newlyweds. We’d been together long enough to know how we felt about one another had little to do with the shiny white-gold bands on our left ring fingers. We had good jobs, healthy families that loved us, great friends, an apartment that was on the small side, sure, but stuffed full of memories. And soon, we’d have a baby. A son.

Watching Gabe play his birthday guitar, in the nude nonetheless, I wanted nothing more than to stop time. To press the pause button and live in this moment indefinitely. Perhaps I knew deep down what was coming. Or maybe it’s simply that the moment you realize just how perfect everything feels is the moment it’s all about to change. In the blink of an eye, as they say.

I started to cry. Gabe, still focused on the chords, was oblivious. Until he looked up, a huge smile on his face that wilted the moment he saw the tears.

“What’s up? What’s wrong?” he asked, hand poised with a guitar pick over the strings. The last note reverberated through the living room. When I didn’t answer right away, he lifted the strap from around his neck and put the guitar down on the ottoman. He kneeled in front of me.

“Tegan, talk to me,” he said, worry creeping into his voice. “What’s the matter?” Of course his concern only made me cry harder. I tried to stop, but couldn’t.

“Shh, shh,” he said, sitting beside me to rub my back. “Babe, talk to me. You’re freaking me out.”

“Sorry,” I blubbered. “I’m just so...so happy.”

He stopped rubbing, his hand resting in the hollow between my shoulder blades. “Huh,” he said, wrapping an arm around my naked shoulders that now trembled, like the rest of me, with the release of emotion. “This is sort of a funny way to show it, don’t you think?” I laughed, and then hiccupped through my tears. “I thought maybe it was my guitar playing.”

“Nope,” I said, wiping the tears best I could with my hands. “It wasn’t great, but definitely not tear-worthy.”

“Good to know,” he said. “Maybe I still have a future as a rock star?”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” I teased, blowing my nose with the tissue I grabbed from the side table.

“So now you’re crying with happiness?” Gabe shifted to the edge of the cushion so he could turn and look at me. “This should be a long few months.” He eyed my belly and raised an eyebrow.

“I know, it’s so stupid,” I said. “But I just had this moment where everything felt so perfect and I didn’t want it to ever end.”

“Well, I have good news and bad news for you. What do you want first?”

“Good news, always.”

“Okay, the good news is we are going to have plenty of moments like this one. And I guarantee you I’ll play you naked guitar songs even when we’re old and wrinkled.” I scrunched up my nose. “Oh, you just wait,” he added. “This body is going to age well.”

“Lucky me,” I said. “So what’s the bad news?”

“You’ll have to put up with my terrible guitar playing for a long time yet. Don’t they say you need to put in ten thousand hours to get good at something?”

“Something like that. Which reminds me, I just thought of something you can get me for Christmas.”

“What?”

“Earplugs.”

Gabe gave a “Ha-ha, you’re funny,” and then gently pushed me back against the couch cushions. His hands roamed my body, pulling the blanket off me as they traveled across my skin. My belly was noticeable now and my breasts were fuller than they’d ever been.

Pregnancy suited me, which surprised me. Before, I would have described myself as semi-body-confident, meaning I would wear a bikini to the beach but I’d spend a lot of time worrying about the padding in my bikini top and the small spare tire I carried around my narrow hips. Now I felt beautiful in my roundness, with the softness of my body. Especially when Gabe looked at me in that way. Like a goddess, about to be worshipped.

“I’d like to collect part two of my birthday present, please.” Gabe carefully held his body over mine, and I shifted to the side so he could lie beside me.

“Part two?” I asked, my hand tickling over his hip bone, reaching lower...

Gabe groaned and closed his eyes. “This is the best birthday ever.”

10

Today I have one thing to do. One task; I promised Gabe before he left for work. To call the travel agent and book flights. I told myself “first thing” in the morning, but it’s almost noon and I’m still in bed.

It’s amazing how one-dimensional my grief is. I am only capable of feeling numb. Even the pain, which used to be so sharp, has gone dull.

Mom’s set to arrive in about an hour for her daily visit, which means fresh sheets and towels, and because it’s Monday, a restocked refrigerator. She’s turned Sundays into cooking marathons—as much for her freezer as ours, she claims, though I know how much she hates to cook. I’m subsisting mostly on Ritz crackers and peanut butter, but am appreciative of her effort, even if I barely touch the shepherd’s pie, chicken à la king or barbecue chili—Gabe’s favorite—she regularly brings over.

Anna will stop by not long after Mom, once school’s out, to bring me a coffee and some gossip from work. Gabe usually leaves us alone for these visits, knowing if I’m going to confide in anyone, it will be Anna. And the phone will ring a lot. My in-laws, checking in; Dad, wondering if anything in the apartment needs fixing. He lives for a leaky tap or squeaking door these days, because those are things he can do something about, even though Gabe is pretty good with his hands, and we have a landlord who deals with such things.

I prop myself up in bed, at least considering getting up. My phone is right beside me, on my nightstand, so it’s not like I have much of an excuse.

It was another crappy night of sleep. I’m sure my family and friends think all I do is sleep, which is fair enough based on how many hours of each day I spend in bed. But I’m asleep very little of that time—the nightmares make sure of it. And when I’m not lucky enough to be unconscious and dreamless, I usually lie in the dark, crying softly so Gabe doesn’t hear me, and wonder what I did to deserve such suffering.

I long for small problems, like not having the money to take a five-star vacation, or not getting two seats together at a sold-out movie, or waking up with a giant pimple on my nose the day of staff photos.

Reaching for my phone, determined to complete one thing today, I jerk my hand back when it rings. A normal person would just answer it, but I’m far from normal these days. It rings five times and then goes to voice mail. I recognize the number—Rosa, Gabe’s mom. I decide to listen to the message because if I don’t respond there will be another call soon.

“Tegan, amore, I wanted to... I saw the calendar this morning.” Rosa sounds strange. Like her words are strangling her. “This was supposed to be the happiest day for all of us...a blessing...” Her voice trails, and for a moment I wonder if she’s hung up. “I’ll try you later tonight, okay? Ti penso, bella.”