I feel him nod.
Silently, he crosses to the shower and sets me on my feet as he reaches in to turn the spigots. As the water heats and steam begins to fill the room, Nate starts to undress.
There is a sense of finality in his every movement, as though he knows that this will be the last time he will remove his clothes for me, the last time he will touch me in the shower, the last night we will spend together.
I feel the same way, only I know.
I know.
Moving his hands out of the way, I set my fingers to work on the buttons of his shirt, slowly divesting Nate of his clothes. I cherish the feel of the soft cotton against my skin as I shift against him. I relish the smell of his cologne tickling my nose. I revel in the warmth of his closeness, searing me all the way to my bones.
If I’d had a last wish other than to see my daughter safely into the world, it would’ve been this: To spend these minutes alone with my husband, even if I’d never have thought to ask for it.
Finally, we stand bare, staring into each other’s eyes. We stay this way for several heartbeats before we both turn at the same time and step into the shower.
Together.
One last time.
Every moment seems especially significant. Every look, every touch, every whisper of breath into the stillness is the last of its kind.
The last we will share.
With excruciating tenderness, Nate bathes me. He massages my skin with his soapy hands, making small circles that ease the tension in my muscles. He kneads my thin arms, rubs my swollen belly. He even gently cleans the irritated tip of my nose where it’s been taped up for so long.
And when I’m too tired to stand, he helps me to sit on the tile bench and finishes, even washing the sensitive space between my toes. He worships every inch of me, kissing the arch of my foot, the bend of my knee, the curve of my hip. With every stroke, he tells my skin goodbye. He misses nothing.
Quite simply, Nate loves me. With his whispered words, with his careful hands, with his broken heart, he loves me. He tells me I’m beautiful, even now, without saying a word. And he tells me goodbye, too.
With every stroke, he tells me goodbye.
Afterward, as he carries me out of the stall to dry me off, I breathe into his ear, “I will love you forever. Dead or alive, I will be yours, wherever I am.”
“And I’ll be yours. Always.”
Always.
That says it all.
There is nothing left to say.
********
Dinner is the best thing I’ve ever tasted. Every flavor explodes on the surface of my tongue, and every bite is like the first I’ve ever taken. It’s more than a last meal. It’s a last experience.
I take my time and chew thoroughly, not wanting to mar the moment with choking and hacking. Eating had never been a chore before, but has certainly become one recently.
Although I am thrilled to have eaten a quarter of the steak Nate grilled and nearly a third of the small pile of potato I scooped from the peel, everyone else eyes my accomplishment with concern.
The message is clear.
And they all know it.
Nissa stays to help clean up. She and Nate are in the kitchen when I spot a bright blink through the patio door and get a better idea.
“Nate! Nissa!” I call. Both come running, alarm carved on their faces. “Let’s go catch lightning bugs. With Grace. And Momma. You can film us, can’t you, Nissa?”
Although her smile is soggy, my friend nods enthusiastically.
Wordlessly, Nate collects an empty Mason jar from the cupboard and brings it out. He hands it to Nissa along with his phone and then stoops to scoop me into his arms. His expression is meant to be neutral, I know, but I can see the way his mouth is pinched at the corners.
Bittersweet.
I feel it.
And he feels it.
I rest my head on his shoulder as we all make our way to the patio. I look out at the view—my home, my yard, and the night—with eyes that strain to memorize every last detail. I take in the white rattan furniture I fell in love with on one of our trips to the beach. I take in the cheerful row of pink and red roses that sway gently in the breeze. I take in the perfectly manicured lawn that I can’t remember Nate cutting this year, as well as the cobalt sky that is coming alive with the yellow flash of lightning bugs.
I’ve been happy here, with my husband, in our home. So happy. We’ve been so blessed, even when I couldn’t see it that way, when I’d been more aware of what we lacked—a child. But I can see it now. I can see all the smiles, hear all the laughter, feel all the love. This is home. And I wouldn’t want to die anywhere else.
When Nate moves to set me on a lounge chair, I pat his chest in protest. “No, I want to hold Grace while you and Momma catch them. Is that okay?”