Page 29 of The Art of Dying

Alecia stared at me for a moment, giving Kitsch time to get further down the hall.

“Have you two talked about it?” she asked.

I sighed. “Not really. I don’t want to think about it. I just want to enjoy our time together. He’s so good to me, Al. We already have a routine, there’s no question if he wants to see me or not. If I’m off work, we’re together, and it’s… it’s just good. Normal. Natural. Like it’s always been.”

“Have you had your first fight?”

I shrugged. “We’ve had a couple of minor disagreements. But he listens, and if he’s in the wrong, he apologizes. He never yells. He never makes me feel stupid for voicing my feelings.”

“What could you possibly get mad at him for? He worships you.”

I laughed. “I told you, it was minor. The other night he wanted to leave at a certain time, wanted to be at the theater way earlier than the movie started, for absolutely no reason, except that he had that specific time in his head. And yes, I asked. That was no reason for us to be an hour early. I didn’t rush and he was grumpy about it, was being short with me and moody. Didn’t hold my hand in the truck like he always does. I realized I wasn’t saying anything because of my experiences with Mason, so I finally decided in the truck on the way there to just come out and say it and see what his reaction would be.

“And?” Alecia said, clearly invested.

“He realized he was being unreasonable and apologized. I was floored.”

“I bet that was refreshing.”

“You have no idea. It brings back those same old feelings of frustration, anger, and shame, though. It’s hard not to blame myself for staying with Mason for so long.”

“Well, you can look at it like this: if you hadn’t, you would’ve never met Kitsch. And you appreciate him so much more because of Mason.”

“You’re not wrong,” I said, hearing the printer buzz again. “I’ll do this exam and then I’m going to stuff my face.”

I walked into the hall to the radiology waiting room, passing Nita and Patricia. Nita was nearly manic, talking in a tone reserved only when she was talking about one person.

“It took some convincing, but I did it. I’m getting his room ready, and tonight I’m putting a check in the mail,” Nita said, interlacing her fingers at her chest.

“I knew it was the money. He just doesn’t want to disappoint you, Nita. He’s always been such a considerate son. You’ve raised him right.”

I was frozen at the waiting room door, holding on to the handle.

Mason was coming back to Quincy.

chapter nine.

Kitsch

“The best three weeks of my life, Ma. There’s no other way to describe the time I’ve spent with Mack.”

I pulled my eyes away from my parents’ headstones long enough to scan the sparse trees of Mount Wollaston Cemetery. Dad had always joked about being buried at Hancock Cemetery where John Quincy Adams was once buried with his wife. Dad loved to tell us it was named after the father of Founding Father John Hancock, and once a year he’d take us there just to stare at the old, faded inscriptions on old, faded rock. He’d go on and on about the history of our town, how it was a breeding ground for greatness. I hated it back then. Now, I’d give anything to be standing with him in Hancock instead of with his headstone in Wollaston. I wanted to bury my parents in Hancock, even made a few phone calls in the little time I had to make arrangements, but it was a historical site or some shit now. I figured Dad would at least appreciate that his final resting place had a prominent veterans’ section, that it was among Quincy’s oldest cemeteries, and its Gothic Revival style.

“You’d love her. When she’s not working, we’re together. No games, no questions, just happiness. My next post is at Camp Pendleton in California, but don’t worry, Mack is staying here to take care of your house. It looks so good, Ma. You’d be proud of what she’s done to it. Not gonna lie, you guys, it’s been busy. We’ve been packing up her house just to unpack it at mine, painting, buying new furniture, setting up the security system, because you know… her ex, Mason, is total chowderhead. I’ve been learning all the features and teaching her. We pushed hard to get it all done so we could enjoy our last few days together. We’ve gone out for supper, to the shooting range for practice… she leaves these,” I held up my fingers to make a square, “little flirty notes on my windshield sometimes. It’s so fuckin’ cute.” I chuckled to myself.

“I cook her breakfast in the morning, and even though it pisses off her boss beyond measure, I bring her lunch just to have an excuse to see her. Every day that passes, Mack is more loving, kind, and affectionate. But more importantly, she’s more trusting. She trusts me. And you better believe I don’t play around with that, nosuh. She laughs at all my jokes—which tells me her feelings run deep, because my jokes are fucking stupid.

“We laugh hard, but we love harder. Not one fight, Ma, barely even a disagreement. I know what you’re gonna say. It hasn’t been long enough to fight, but we’re together more than regular, ya know? We both want the same thing, just to be together, because we both know we’re on borrowed time. So, that’s what we do, every spare minute, for every meal, every night out is Kitsch and Mack. The whole town is talking, but you know… I don’t care.”

I sniffed once. It wasn’t lost on me that I was having to come to a cemetery to talk to my parents. I knew I could talk to them whenever, but I felt closer to them where they’d been laid to rest.

“I miss you guys. I miss your cooking, Ma, and Dad… I miss your stories. So fucking much. I wish you’d met Mack. I wish you’d be here to spoil our kids, because I’m gonna marry this woman. We’re gonna have a ton of kids. A ton.” I wiped my eyes and touched each of their headstones. “Love you both. I’ll see you again one day. But not soon, because… I want to love this woman for my whole life.”

The long walk to the truck seemed to take forever. The winter wind had pierced my coat not long after I’d reached my parents’ headstones, but once I was behind the steering wheel, I felt an urgency to see Mack. She was at work, though, Sully was up to his eyeballs in engine repairs, and my parents’ house was finished. I had nothing to do but talk to myself in cemeteries and fight the urge to call Sully or Mack for the fifth time of the day. I took the long way home, driving five miles under the speed limit and listening to Tim McGraw on full blast. When I finally breeched the threshold of the parlor, I decided to pack. I’d planned what I’d take a hundred times, but I kept catching myself forgetting things, preoccupied with the security system and Mack’s safety. Mason still hadn’t come back into town, and no one had heard from him, but I could feel it in my gut, he was waiting on me to leave before he made a move.

Mack had tried to take the day off, but Nita insisted she had to come in, despite all of her other co-workers—except Patricia, of course—offering to come in if needed. There was no use in arguing; we knew why Nita wouldn’t give her the time off. Mason didn’t learn how to make people miserable on his own.

I looked at my watch then stood. I had to finish packing, because I was taking Mack somewhere special for supper.

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