The Counting-Downers (25 page)

“I just… I have never had people our age round here. I mean, do you think there’s enough food?” he asks, pointing to the kitchen table buried under an avalanche of various snacks and drinks. “I mean, you just said to buy some party food, so I went to the grocery store earlier but I wasn’t sure what ‘party food’ meant, so I just bought a bit of everything. Do you think it will be enough?”

It’s far too much, but I’m trying so hard not to cry that I can’t focus on anything other than the fact that he’s never had friends his age over to his house, and from the sounds of it, he’s never been to a party before. At least not in the last fifteen years.

Tristan is just so mature and independent that I sometimes forget he hasn’t experienced most of the traditional rites of passage which adolescence brings. He’s immature in ways I’m not, and vice versa. We balance each other out.

“It’s perfect; you did a great job, baby.” My throat clogs as he crumples with relief.

“Good, I’m glad.”

I can’t bear it any longer and rush into his arms, burying my head under his chin and squeezing him to within an inch of his life. And because he’s Tristan, and he gets me, he doesn’t question it, just hugs me back until my threatening tears subside.

We spend the rest of the afternoon in his studio, just
being
. And kissing. Lots of kissing. With a few extra things. Our bodies explore what our hearts and minds already know: that we’re made for each other.

He shows me some of his current works in progress, which I’m grateful don’t feature me this time.

The group is due to arrive in half an hour, so I think it’s the perfect time to give Tristan his final present. It’s a moment that needs to be shared just between the two of us. Making an excuse that I’ve left something in my car, I sneak out to collect it.

The red velvet cake I’d made him this morning before my shift at the shelter, sits safe underneath in its cake stand and cover. Mom suggested I just order a fancy bespoke one from the local bakery, but I knew it would mean more to Tristan for me to have made it myself. I’ll bring it out later once everyone arrives.

Tristan glances up from the couch in the living room, when I come inside. Leo is idling on the cushion next to him, basking in the glow of Tristan’s attention. Soon he’ll be big enough to take up the whole couch by himself.

“Everything okay?”

“Yep, fine. I just wanted to get your final gift from the car.”

“My
final
gift? Til, you’ve done way too much. You didn’t have to give me anything at all, let alone all of this.”

“I know I didn’t have to, but I wanted to.”

“Thank you, crazy girl.”

Taking a seat next to him and shifting so I can see his reaction, I hand him the small black velvet jewelry box.

“This is for you. Open it.”

He gasps as he does.

“Til…”

“Do you like it? It meant so much to me when you gave me the gift of time, I wanted you to know what that felt like.”

His long, paint-calloused fingers tremble as he picks up the silver pocket watch from where it was resting on a bed of black satin.

“I know it’s not a stopwatch like you gave me, but you can always pull out the dial to halt time.”

The pocket watch is around the same size as mine, but more modern and masculine in its design. Simple except for the deep grooved edge and bold numbers, the effect is striking.

Engraved on the back is my favorite A.A. Milne quote:

‘If you live to be a hundred, I want to live to be a hundred minus one day so I never have to live without you.’

This time, it’s Tristan’s turn to launch himself into my arms, crushing me into his chest until it becomes a struggle to breathe. But dying in Tristan’s arms would be a divine way to go. He pulls me into his lap and we just sit there in silence with the current of our connection flowing strong and sure between us.

As the faint sounds of a car making its way through the forest reaches our ears, Tristan tilts my head back and places a kiss softer than a butterfly’s wings on my lips. As I lick away the slight saltiness on instinct, I realize that his cheeks are damp.

“Thank you,” he whispers. He eases me off his lap before standing and composing itself. His eyes tell me that like me, he sometimes finds those two simple words painfully inadequate.

“You’re welcome. You ready to have the best birthday ever?”

“It secured that title the second I saw you coming up the driveway.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Mr. Isaacs.”

“I sure hope so, Miss Evans.”

We’re still grinning stupidly at each other when a resounding rap on the door has Leo leaping off the couch and bounding over to welcome the group.

TWO HOURS LATER and the party is a huge success. After devouring most of the food Tristan had bought, the celebration spilled outside, where we’re all congregated by the lake next to Tristan’s cabin.

It’s early August, and the changing air holds the promise of fall. Dusk is dawning as the sky casts the deepest shade of twilight around the forest. We all spread and scattered across the country and globe for the summer like autumn leaves, so this is also a reunion of sorts before school starts back up in the next few weeks.

At the moment, I’m curled up on Tristan’s lap, watching in amusement through the firelight as Blaise and Jacob try to teach Leo tricks. For someone who is accustomed to unwanted isolation and suffocating solitude, he’s picked up the rules of socialization in no time and is reveling in the attention of his new friends. Much like someone else, I know.

I’ve never seen Tristan so happy or relaxed. My mind drifts back to the start of the summer and the haunting sadness that swirled in his eyes. Although traces still linger when certain words are said, a light in them, which didn’t exist before, illuminates his whole being from the inside out. Because his emotions are so tightly tethered to mine, unadulterated joy flows through my veins as I share in his delight. It’s infectious.

It’s with this thought that I realize what love is. At least what it means regarding Tristan and me.

Love is when you don’t have to be around someone to be happy. Just knowing that they live and breathe in this world is enough to brighten your day.

Their very existence, the makeup of their molecules, leaves you grateful to be alive. You wake up in the morning because a world exists with them in it. You go to sleep at night, thankful for the additional minutes Fate granted you in their orbit.

Love is not standing in someone’s shadow; it’s basking in their light. The blinding strength of your light combined pushes the darkness away.

True love is not two half-lives joining to form a perfect circle. It’s two people who were whole to begin with. Their individual circles join and overlap like a Venn diagram where their souls sit in-between, sharing the space instead of competing for it.

When they feel, you feel. When they cry, you cry. When they smile, you smile.

And when you are around them, no such thing as too close exists. You try to capture their whispered words with your lips so that they don’t escape and reach anyone else’s ears. You press your body up against theirs with a quiet sense of desperation, resenting the layers of skin and muscle, which prevent you from sinking into their bones.

Even as I think this, I catch myself trying to melt into Tristan, and recognize my actions for what they are. An attempt to become one with him on a physical level as we are on a metaphysical one.

“You okay?” he murmurs into my neck.

“I’m with you.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that I’m always okay. Even when I’m not, your presence helps me know that I will be.”

“I’m the luckiest man alive.” He turns my head and kisses me.

“Hey, lover boy,” Blaise shouts, breaking the moment and making me groan in anticipation of what’s coming next. To my right, Maia and Erin giggle. Jacob doesn’t look up from where he’s playing with Leo on the ground, but I see him shake his head.

“Why do I feel another lazy Norwegian joke coming on?” I ask Blaise.

“Because you know me well.” He winks. “Anyway, I wasn’t talking to you, I was asking Tristan a question.”

“Yes?” my anxious boyfriend asks.

“When you guys do it, do you speak Viking to each other?”

It completely sucks any lingering romance out of the air and lowers the tone in the special way that only Blaise can, but the question is so unexpected that I can’t help but burst out laughing, shock shaking my body. Tristan also seems stunned into nervous laughter, although his is more embarrassed than mine is.

“Um…”

“Don’t encourage him by answering,” I whisper to Tristan whose shoulders slump in relief. “Blaise, behave.”

“What? I was just curious. Even you have to admit that it’s not exactly the language of love, unlike the one my people speak,” he says with mock arrogance in reference to his French ancestry.

“‘Viking’ is not a language at all.”

“Potayto, potahto.”

I roll my eyes at him. “I will chase you around this forest. Don’t think I won’t.”

“Bring it, Woodstock.”

I’m about to make a run for it before I remember my inappropriate footwear. It’s too dark and dangerous to run around barefoot. An idea comes to me.

“Can I jump on your back?” I whisper in Tristan’s ear. “We can take him as a team.”

Adopting my ‘go with the flow’ philosophy more and more, Tristan only hesitates a second before agreeing. We both stand, and as soon as Blaise figures out what we’re going to do, he begins to run, exciting Leo, who thinks this is a game and follows close behind him.

Tristan and I chase after Blaise with a battle cry, shaking with laughter when his screams of “The Vikings are coming! The Vikings are coming!” echo around the forest. Somehow our antics morph into piggyback races after a while, with Maia on Blaise’s back, and Erin on Jacob’s. Leo is in his element.

Once we’re all out of breath and our sides ache from laughing, Erin pulls me to one side and reminds me about Tristan’s birthday cake. While the boys and Maia are preoccupied listening to a funny story Jacob is telling them about a client at the tattoo parlor where he works part-time, we sneak off to prepare everything.

With the cake balancing in my steady palm and the warmth of the candles heating my face, we begin to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ as we walk closer to the group around the campfire.

Seeing the look on Tristan’s face as he spins in surprise with a face full of wonder, makes me wish I had a camera handy. Hearing the snap of a shutter behind me, I look back to see Erin has thought ahead and captured Tristan’s special moment. I mouth ‘thank you’ to her as she nods and smiles in return. Even in the dark, I can see that her cheeks have turned the color of her beautiful red hair.

The rest of the group has now joined in the song as it reaches its soprano finish, but Tristan is the only thing I can focus on. The look on his face says he feels the same way about me.

His expression takes my breath away. Awe and gratitude are mixed with something fierce and almost primal that strikes my core.

My breath catches as I watch him reach into his pocket and take out his watch, maintaining eye contact with me even as he pulls out the clasp, which controls the dial and whispers, “Pause,” in a voice husky with the effort of holding back tears.

Salty liquid fills both of our eyes as we stare at each other, enraptured and overwhelmed by the magic and meaning of the moment. After a few seconds, the excited smiles and cheers of our friends and the heavy weight of the cake in my hands begin to pull me back into reality.

“Make a wish,” I murmur. A tear glides down my cheek as I blink.

He takes a moment to look around at all of our friends and his surroundings before resting his gaze back on me for a number of seconds. And with his elated face beaming in the glow of the candlelight, he is lonely no more and loved indeed.

Clearing his throat to let air rush past the emotion, he looks at me as he says,

“All of my wishes already came true.”

I smile at the sentiment even as I notice his eyes glance up and away from the countdown I try to forget is above my head. I attempt to ignore the sharp prickling of fear along my spine, which reminds me he’s not the only one with an earthly deadline.

As he blows out the candles and welcomes another year that brings him closer to his oblivion, I can’t help but wonder if he made the one wish he knows can never come true for him or for any of us—more time.