When I finally get to work, I walk through the door and the first thing I hear is Luke singing in the kitchen. I hear his voice as it sings only to me, even if he has no idea that’s what he’s doing. I stop for a minute, just to listen. To enjoy the sound of his voice as it floats out towards me, wraps itself around me. Closing my eyes, I try to imagine it’s his arms that are wrapping around me. A shudder runs through me and I force my eyes to open and start to make us coffee.
When I take it out to him, he looks up and smiles at me. That smile, his smile. His whole face lights up and I smile back because I just can’t stop myself. I hand him the mug and when he takes it, our fingers touch. I have to grip the mug harder just so I won’t drop it and for a minute, we both stand there, holding it together, our fingers resting on the hot cup. I force myself to breathe and let go. Force myself to say, "Morning."
He smiles again, "Morning Ash."
Another minute and we keep standing there, silently watching each other. I’m not sure how much more of this I can take. I’m not sure how much longer this can go on without something, anything happening.
Kiss me.
It’s Luke who finally does something. "Ash, we ahh…" he continues, "we have a show this weekend, it’s um…it’s kind of a big deal." His hand runs over his head again. I know now this is something he does when he’s nervous or not sure what to say. "Will you come along?"
As I stand there watching him, all I can think about is what it would be like to kiss him, what it would be like to run my hands over his hair. How soft would it be? What would his lips feel like, what would he taste like, if I kissed him? Whether he would kiss me back? My fingers are tingling at just the thought of touching him.
"Ash?" He says again. "Will you come and watch us?"
I nervously swallow. It feels like my throat has been pulled shut. I blink. "Yes, I will come along Luke," I force out.
He takes a sip of his coffee and I can’t help myself. I watch his mouth, his lips as he drinks, his throat as he swallows. I really want to touch his lips. With my fingers, with my tongue, with my lips.
Kiss me.
His hand reaches out. His thumb hovers just in front of my cheek and for a second I think he will.
"Thank you," he says quietly, slowly pulling his hand back. "I really want you to be there."
∞
By the time Grandma died, my Grandad had been gone nine years. I know she missed him terribly, although she did continue to live her life, never wallowing in her sadness. She still lived up in Maine in that same old farmhouse, so I didn’t see her as often as I liked, although by the time I moved to Boston it was a little easier. Sometimes, she even came down and visited me and Sam.
I used to send her flowers every year on the anniversary of his death. I can’t remember exactly when I started doing it because I was only twelve when Grandad died, but whenever it was, I know why I started it. Guilt. Even if it was subconscious to begin with, maybe there was a part of me that always knew I’d been the reason he died. I don’t know. All I do know is that I sent them to her for years before it happened.
I always used the same florist and I always sent the same flowers. Red peonies, because at the time, I thought they were beautiful, the kind of thing she would like. Years later I learnt they can represent shame, but of course, at the time I didn’t know that.
Every time I sent them to her, she would always call me to say thank you and how sweet of me to remember and that honestly I didn’t need to keep sending them.
"It’s okay Grandma," I would always say back. "I want to."
"Thank you Asha, they are as always, beautiful my sweet girl."
If nothing else, it was a small piece of joy that I could give to her on a day that would otherwise be filled with bad memories. Then one year, when I was about twenty-one and living in Boston with Sam, I sent the flowers as I usually did and I didn’t get a phone call. I remember thinking it strange she hadn’t called me, but that maybe the florist had forgotten to send them. When I called to confirm the order had gone out, I was told yes they’d been delivered and the report also said they’d been received.
That afternoon when I called Grandma, I got no answer. I called my Dad then and asked if he knew if she was away or something.
"Not that I know of Ash, I was planning on going up there in a week or so and she never mentioned she would be away. I’ll try her tomorrow if you like and let you know."
"Okay Dad, thanks, please keep me posted alright?"
"Will do Ash, love you kiddo."
"Love you too Dad."