Every Day

I find two trays and arrange our meals on them. I even find a dozen candlesticks to take along. Then I lead Rhiannon out the back door.

“Where are we going?” she asks once we’re in the yard.

“Look up,” I tell her.

At first she doesn’t see it—the only light is coming from the kitchen, drifting out to us like the afterglow from another world. Then, as our eyes adjust, it becomes visible to her.

“Nice,” she says, walking over so that Alexander’s tree house looms over us, the ladder at our fingertips.

“There’s a pulley system,” I say, “for the trays. I’ll go up and drop it down.”

I grab two of the candles and scurry up the ladder. The inside of the tree house matches Alexander’s memories pretty well. It’s as much a rehearsal space as a tree house, with another guitar in the corner, as well as notebooks full of lyrics and music. Even though there’s an overhead light that could be turned on, I rely on candles. Then I send down the dumbwaiter and raise the trays one by one. As soon as the second tray is safely inside, Rhiannon joins me.

“Pretty cool, isn’t it?” I ask as she looks around.

“Yeah.”

“It’s all his. His parents don’t come up here.”

“I love it.”

There isn’t any table and there aren’t any chairs, so we sit cross-legged on the floor and eat, facing each other in the candlelight. We don’t rush it—we let the taste of the moment sink in. I light more candles, and revel in the sight of her. We don’t need the moon or the sun in here. She is beautiful in our own light.

“What?” she asks.

I lean over and kiss her. Just once.

“That,” I say.

She is my first and only love. Most people know that their first love will not be their only love. But for me, she is both. This will be the only chance I give myself. This will never happen again.

There are no clocks in here, but I am aware of the minutes, aware of the hours. Even the candles conspire, getting shorter as time grows shorter. Reminding me and reminding me and reminding me.

I want this to be the first time we’ve met. I want this to be two teenagers on a first date. I want to already be planning the second date in my head. And the third.

But there are other things I have to say, other things I have to do.

When we’re finished, she pushes the trays aside. She closes the distance between us. I think she’s going to kiss me, but instead she reaches into her pocket. She pulls out one of Alexander’s pads of Post-it notes. She pulls out a pen. Then she draws a heart on the top Post-it, peels it off, and places it on my heart.

“There,” she says.

I look down at it. I look up at her.

“I have to tell you something,” I say.

I mean I have to tell her everything.

I tell her about Nathan. I tell her about Poole. I tell her I might not be the only one. I tell her there might be a way to stay in a body longer. There might be a way not to leave.

The candles are burning down. I am taking too much time. It’s almost eleven when I’m done.

“So you can stay?” she asks when I’m finished. “Are you saying you can stay?”

“Yes,” I answer. “And no.”

When first love ends, most people eventually know there will be more to come. They are not through with love. Love is not through with them. It will never be the same as the first, but it will be better in different ways.

I have no such consolation. This is why I cling so hard. This is why this is so hard.

“There might be a way to stay,” I tell her. “But I can’t. I’ll never be able to stay.”

Murder. When it all comes down to it, it would be murder to stay. No love can outbalance that.

Rhiannon pulls away from me. Stands up. Turns on me.

“You can’t do this!” she yells. “You can’t swoop in, bring me here, give me all this—and then say it can’t work. That’s cruel, A. Cruel.”

“I know,” I say. “That’s why this is a first date. That’s why this is the first time we’ve ever met.”

“How can you say that? How can you erase everything else?”

I stand up. Walk over. Wrap my arms around her. At first she resists, wants to pull away. But then she gives in.

“He’s a good guy,” I say, my voice a broken whisper. I don’t want to do this, but I have to do this. “He might even be a great guy. And today’s the day you first met. Today’s your first date. He’s going to remember being in the bookstore. He’s going to remember the first time he saw you, and how he was drawn to you, not just because you’re beautiful, but because he could see your strength. He could see how much you want to be a part of the world. He’ll remember talking with you, how easy it was, how engaging. He’ll remember not wanting it to end, and asking you if you wanted to do something else. He’ll remember you asking him his favorite place, and he’ll remember thinking about here, and wanting to show it to you. The grocery store, the stories in the aisles, the first time you saw his room—that will all be there, and I won’t have to change a single thing. His pulse is my heartbeat. The pulse is the same. I know he will understand you. You have the same kind of heart.”

“But what about you?” Rhiannon asks, her voice breaking, too.