She pulls back and eyes me. "Are you trying to one-up me?"
My nose presses against the hollow of her throat. “How about I take you back to my bedroom and show you?"
I cup her backside and lift as she wraps her legs around my waist. Carrying her to my bedroom, our lips are locked the entire time. Her hands are in my hair, dragging strokes that shoot straight down to the center of my body, the effect of them immediate.
We undress in a hurry, needing so badly to be skin-to-skin. She lies back on my bed, watching me as I crawl up her body.
I line myself up with her, easing in, my gaze steady on hers, watching her face. I need to see her, need to capture every moment.
This is heaven on Earth. All of Autumn. Nothing held back.
Breath hisses between my teeth as I fill her completely. She wraps her hands around my neck, pulling me down, kissing me. We go slowly, relishing the closeness, reveling in the feeling of being bare. The closeness makes it difficult to hold back, but I focus my willpower and wait until I feel her muscles clench around me. The middle of her back lifts off the bed and I hold her, kissing her neck, letting go with her.
After a moment, I roll off her, trying to take her with me so I can pull her into my chest, but she resists.
"I need to clean up," she reminds me, kissing the tip of my nose and getting off the bed. I smile at her naked backside as she walks into the bathroom.
Being bare with Autumn not only felt amazing, it felt defiant. Sticking it to the man, so to speak. Fuck you, cancer. You can't stop us from living. You can’t stop us from creating a new life.
Perhaps it was an attempt to gain control when we feel we have none in the matter. Maybe it was redemption for the choice we made so long ago. Whatever it is, I know we both feel it. We are throwing a middle finger to the powers that be, the ones who saddled Faith with something strong enough to finally take her down.
Autumn comes back to bed, snuggling into me, and we ride on a euphoric high. It remains in place alongside our reluctant acceptance of Faith's choice. This is our mood for the next few days, until Autumn gets her period.
Chapter 22
Autumn
The only thing more shocking than the arrival of my period was the disappointment I felt at the sight of the blood.
For a moment I thought that maybe, just maybe…
It's over now, though. I’ve gotten my period and the universe has given me a clear sign that I am not to be a mother, not yet anyway. I’ve decided to go on birth control until I can figure out my life and plan things in order like a proper adult. Still, a deep ache I never thought I'd have has opened up inside of me.
I want to be a mother.
I want to be Owen’s wife.
I want more time with my mom.
I have more wants than I care to admit.
And I wasn't the only person who was disappointed. Owen's gaze fell down to my kitchen table when I’d told him.
"Is it weird that I feel a little sad?" he’d asked.
"I think it's a testament to how serious we are about each other."
Then he’d pulled me onto his lap and kissed me.
Now I need to add find a lady doctor to my list. It can go right below find a job. At least I have a place to live.
Thankfully, I can push those tasks off for another day. In an hour, we're leaving for Vegas. I'm packed but my mom is not. She went to take a nap, but that was two hours ago. Her naps are becoming more frequent, and when I asked Owen about it, he said that was normal.
Normal for what?
I didn't ask, because I didn't want to know the answer. And because I can guess what he meant.
Using two knuckles, I knock lightly on my mom's bedroom door.
"Come in," she calls.
She's standing in front of her closet, her back to me. Her frame that was already thin is now gaunt. Her robe hangs off her, her peach fuzz hair peeks out of a pretty silk floral wrap I bought her.
"Mom?" I walk to her, peering at her in the mirrored closet door. Stress pulls at her face. "What's wrong?"
She flings an angry arm at her bed.
Dress after dress lie haphazardly on her comforter. A wave of sadness rolls through me. "You don't know what to wear?"
"No." Her voice pricks with frustration. "Because everything falls off me. I don't have a single dress appropriate for a show in Vegas."
I eye the selection on her bed. I don't need to see them on her to know they don't fit. But I do have an idea.
"I'll be right back," I tell her. I go across the hall to my closet and pull it open. I've done some shopping since I came home. Not a lot, but there is one dress that might work. It’s tight and stretchy, meant to hug the curves. I pull it from the hanger and return to my mom's room.
"This," I say, thrusting it into her hands. "Try this. It's a little casual, but you have that cardigan with the silvery sheen. Between that and some jewelry, we can dress it up and make it appropriate for a show."
Mom eyes the fabric in her hand. "Are you sure?"
"Absolutely, Mom. Try it on."
I turn away while she changes, pretending to sift through the jewelry box on her dresser. The sight of her body, changed as it has been by the disease ravaging her on the inside, would send me to my knees. I can't let her see me like that. She needs me to be strong.
When I hear the sound of a zipper, I turn back around. "That's perfect," I tell her, and I mean it. The silvery cardigan makes the mint green dress a little fancier. "Here." I hand her a pair of dangly earrings.
She takes them and turns away quickly. She wasn't fast enough though. I saw the shininess in her eyes.
The sight of her upset makes my own eyes burn with tears. "Mom…" I place a hand on her shoulder. "It's okay to cry. I cry all the time."
Every night, I wonder how much time I have left with my mom.
She swipes at her eyes. "What's the use in crying? I don't want to spend what precious time I have left moping around. It's such a waste, except I can't seem to stop."
She sounds like the mom I remember when I was younger. She may have relaxed a lot since then, but her pragmatism still exists.
I have an idea. "Do you want to make up a word? Every time you feel like crying, say the word instead. It will release the emotion without having to burst into tears."
She nods. "I like that idea. What's the word?"
I think about it, but it's a lot harder to make up a word when you're focused on making up a word. Instead, I say a word that I never say in everyday language. It's a little weird on its own, and doesn't have any strong connotation. "Marzipan."
Mom makes a face. "Marzipan?" She says it a second time, then a third. She nods. "I like it."
I help her finish packing her overnight bag and carry it to the front door. I try not to pay too much attention to the fact that we're fulfilling last wishes.
Marzipan.
Marzipan.
Marzipan.
"Just throw it on the ground, Mom." I point down at the concrete and back to the small card she holds in her hand. We'd barely made it twenty feet from the entrance of our hotel before a man on the Las Vegas strip shoved the card at her. It’s reflexive to take something being handed to you, and this happened to be an advertisement for an all-nude strip club. Not sure why, of the three of us walking together, the man chose to give it to my mom.