The Five Stages of Falling in Love
By Rachel Higginson
The references made to the five stages of grief were inspired by the Kubler-Ross Model on death and dying.
To Zach, please don’t die.
Ever.
Prologue
“Hey, there she is,” Grady looked up at me from his bed, his eyes smiling even while his mouth barely mimicked the emotion.
“Hey, you,” I called back. The lights had been dimmed after the last nurse checked his vitals and the TV was on, but muted. “Where are the kiddos? I was only in the cafeteria for ten minutes.”
Grady winked at me playfully, “My mother took them.” I melted a little at his roguish expression. It was the same look that made me agree to a date with him our junior year of college, it was the same look that made me fall in love with him-the same one that made me agree to have our second baby boy when I would have been just fine to stop after Blake, Abby and Lucy.
“Oh, yeah?” I walked over to the hospital bed and sat down next to him. He immediately reached for me, pulling me against him with weak arms. I snuggled back into his chest, so that my head rested on his thin shoulder and our bodies fit side by side on the narrow bed. One of my legs didn’t make it and hung off awkwardly. But I didn’t mind. It was just perfect to lie next to the love of my life, my husband.
“Oh, yeah,” he growled suggestively. “You know what that means?” He walked his free hand up my arm and gave my breast a wicked squeeze. “When the kids are away, the grownups get to play…”
“You are so bad,” I swatted him-or at least made the motion of swatting at him, since I was too afraid to hurt him.
“God, I don’t remember the last time I got laid,” he groaned next to me and I felt the rumble of his words against my side.
“Tell me about it, sport,” I sighed. “I could use a nice, hard-”
“Elizabeth Carlson,” he cut in on a surprised laugh. “When did you get such a dirty mouth?”
“I think you’ve known about my dirty mouth for quite some time, Grady,” I flirted back. We’d been serious for so long it was nice to flirt with him, to remember that we didn’t just love each other, but we liked each other too.
He grunted in satisfaction. “That I have. I think your dirty mouth had something to do with Lucy’s conception.”
I blushed. Even after all these years, he knew exactly what to say to me. “Maybe,” I conceded.
“Probably,” he chuckled, his breath hot on my ear.
We lay there in silence for a while, enjoying the feel of each other, watching the silent TV screen flicker in front of our eyes. It was perfect-or as close to perfect as we had felt in a long time.
“Dance with me, Lizzy,” Grady whispered after a while. I’d thought maybe he fell asleep; the drugs were so hard on his system that he was usually in and out of consciousness. This was actually the most coherent he’d been in a month.
“Okay,” I agreed. “It’s the first thing we’ll do when you get out. We’ll have your mom come over and babysit, you can take me to dinner at Pazio’s and we’ll go dancing after.”
“Mmm, that sounds nice,” he agreed. “You love Pazio’s. That’s a guaranteed get-lucky night for me.”
“Baby,” I crooned. “As soon as I get you back home, you’re going to have guaranteed get-lucky nights for at least a month, maybe two.”
“I don’t want to wait. I’m tired of waiting. Dance with me now, Lizzy,” Grady pressed, this time sounding serious.
“Babe, after your treatment this morning, you can barely stand up right now. Honestly, how are you going to put all those sweet moves on me?” I wondered where this sudden urge to dance, of all things, was coming from.
“Lizzy, I am a sick man. I haven’t slept in my own bed in four months, I haven’t seen my wife naked in just as long, and I am tired of lying in this bed. I want to dance with you. Will you please, pretty please, dance with me?”
I nodded at first because I was incapable of speech. He was right. I hated that he was right, but I hated that he was sick even more.
“Alright, Grady, I’ll dance with you,” I finally whispered.
“I knew I’d get my way,” he croaked smugly.
I slipped off the bed and turned around to face my husband and help him to his feet. His once full head of auburn hair was now bald, reflecting the pallid color of his skin. His face was haggard showing dark black circles under his eyes, chapped lips and pale cheeks. He was still as tall as he’d ever been, but instead of the toned muscles and thick frame he once boasted, he was depressingly skinny and weak, his shoulders perpetually slumped.
The only thing that remained the same were his eyes; they were the same dark green eyes I’d fallen in love with ten years ago. They were still full of life, still full of mischief even when his body wasn’t. They held life while the rest of him drowned in exhaustion from fighting this stupid sickness.
“You always get your way,” I grumbled while I helped him up from the bed.
“Only with you,” he shot back on a pant after successfully standing. “And only because you love me.”
“That I do,” I agreed. Grady’s hands slipped around my waist and he clutched my sides in an effort to stay standing.
I wrapped my arms around his neck, but didn’t allow any weight to press down on him. We maneuvered our bodies around his IV and monitors. It was awkward, but we managed.
“What should we listen to?” I asked, while I pulled out my cell phone and turned it to my iTunes app.
“You know what song. There is no other song when we’re dancing,” he reminded me on a faint smile.
“You must be horny,” I laughed. “You’re getting awfully romantic.”