As I let the water beat down on me, I wonder how in the hell I got here. My morning has flown by and Saylor has been so busy trying to make today perfect that I haven’t even gotten a chance to kiss her and tell her good morning. When she slips in behind me and wraps her arms around my waist, I know my little mind-reading witch is finally gonna shed some mercy on her man.
“Thank you for helping me make this happen, baby. You’ll never know how much it means to me.” Her words are forced and I know she is struggling to keep it together. It is no secret that this is the last Thanksgiving Saylor will ever have. I turn in her arms and wrap her in mine.
“You don’t have to thank me. It should be me thanking you for giving me my first ever real Thanksgiving dinner.” She knows it’s my first because we talked about it. But she also knows that this one would mean more even if there’d been years of them before it. I grab her hair in my hand and gently pull until she is looking up at me. “Don’t be sad. Today is gonna be perfect. Just like you.”
And then I kiss her. I kiss away her doubt and her thoughts and her worries. Because that’s what I do. I’m the man of Saylor Samson. And I will be for the rest of my life. No matter how long that is and no matter how long she’s in it.
—
My house is full, everyone is hungry, and Saylor is the most beautiful hostess I have ever seen. She wanted us to dress up so we could take a picture. My look told her I wasn’t. But her frown told me I was. She wanted me to wear something bright because she had never seen me in anything but black. So, I’m standing in the kitchen, daring someone to say something about the bright yellow collared shirt I’m wearing. I even tucked it in. And wore the new jeans Saylor bought me.
I look like an idiot, but nobody is noticing what I’m wearing ’cause they’re all looking at her. Saylor is wearing a yellow dress that wraps across her chest, showing perfect cleavage, and belts at her waist. The sleeves are long but the dress stops just above her knees. On her feet is a pair of shoes that she calls “wedges,” and they’re yellow too. She said we look like Skittles. Which reminded her to get onto me about leaving the empty packs on the nightstand by our bed.
When everyone is seated, ready to dive in, Saylor grabs my hand with one of hers, then offers the other to Carrie, who sits on the right of her and asks if anyone wants to say grace. My eyes dart around the room, wondering how the club would react to her request. I don’t know if this isn’t uncommon or if they’re so hungry they’ll do just about anything to eat, but they all hold hands and take off their hats. Rookie agrees to bless the food, and I watch as all my brothers bow their heads while he gives thanks. When the prayer is over, I realize I’m the only man who didn’t bow, and the only man who didn’t say amen.
Everyone eats, complimenting Saylor on how good everything is, and she smiles then tells them that I helped too. I’m trying to force myself to eat, but my appetite is gone. Here, in my house and at my table, are the men I call family and the woman I love. I look at each of them smiling, eating, and acting as if it’s just another Thanksgiving Day. But it’s not. It’s Saylor’s last Thanksgiving Day. And right now, I feel like I’m the only motherfucker who cares about that.
I’ve tuned out their laughter, their talk, and their indifference to the turmoil that is happening in our lives. I’m ignoring everything they say and do. I’m wanting nothing more than to flip this table over and shatter every fucking dish in this house, and then dare them to ask me what’s wrong. Someone is telling a story and when laughter erupts so loudly that it breaks through the silence I’ve created, I’m on my feet and out the front door.
At the sound of my chair hitting the floor, their laughter silences. And now, the only noise I hear is the heavy beat of my heart. When the door opens then closes behind me, I’m expecting Shady or Jimbo. What I don’t expect is to see the face of my love. I’ve ruined her perfect Thanksgiving, but the look in her eyes isn’t disappointment, it’s understanding.
“I know it’s hard, Dirk. I know every day I smile and act like nothing’s wrong, but I feel what you feel too. I’m worried about what tomorrow will hold. I’m nervous about next month. I’m terrified of the unknown. But, more than that, I’m scared of what I’ll do when I don’t have you.” I light a cigarette, knowing if I continue to look at her that I’ll break.
“I’m trying, Saylor,” I tell her, but I can’t even meet her eyes. I’m staring out into the yard, searching for something to focus my wandering eyes on so they don’t land on hers.
“You’re more than trying. You’re making me happy.” She wraps her arm around my waist and tucks into my side. I put my arm around her shoulders and hold her closer, wishing like hell I had the strength she did. “Some people say tomorrow everything will be better. I don’t think that.”
I find the courage to look down at her, and I’m expecting tears, but what I find is a beautiful smile on the face of a beautiful girl. My girl. My happy girl. “I think that today is great, and yesterday was even better.” Saylor isn’t living for the future; she’s living for the present, and it’s the past that makes her feel alive.