Chapter Twenty-Two

BLAKE

 

 

The restaurant looked like nothing from the front. It sat between a newsagent and a greengrocer in a small strip of shops by a highway. Old men sat in groups out the front, making themselves at home like they were regulars. The plain dirty white interior was filled with plastic tables and chairs, each with a red-and-white checkered tablecloth and a simple white vase holding a freshly cut rose bud. It was a recommendation from James, and at first sight I was disappointed. This was meant to be a special night, and this place didn’t look special.

Then the smell of garlic, spices, and slow-cooking meat drifted out to us, exquisitely delicious. I followed it, and Georgina, inside. We found a quiet table in the back of the restaurant, in a small courtyard framed by rose bushes. This is more like it.

Nerves left me quiet, unable to say what I needed to. Georgina had become pale and drawn since we left the falls. Something raw and vulnerable stirred inside her. Looking at the shadows under her eyes, I wondered how long she’d been living with the thought that she was dying.

We all die. I knew that. It was the price we paid to get on the ride in the first place. But for most of us it was distant, easy to forget. But to believe it was imminent, just on the horizon—I couldn’t imagine how that would feel. Would I manage to keep my head up, and keep going like Georgina did? Would I even be able to make it through a day without breaking down and crying my eyes out?

I could only hope the results gave us good news: that the lump was benign. And if it was bad news, if it was … cancer. The word hurt my heart. It was such an ugly sound. Cancer. Even the syllables sounded insidious, nasty, and evil. I could picture a blackness spreading through her body, and it hurt so bad.

Maybe that was why Georgina hadn’t told anyone for so long. I wasn’t sure I would want people looking at me and seeing only death.

Looking at Georgina now, I saw life. I saw love. I didn’t give a shit if she was sick, if she was dying. If I only had her for a little while, I would take that. I knew it wouldn’t be all sunshine and rainbows and pithy wisdom bestowed upon me like in the movies. She would be tired; she would be sick. She would be angry and sad and so would I, and we would suffer. I knew that. I understood it. I wanted to be with her anyway.

Stars twinkled above the open courtyard and the waitress brought some bread and took our order. Everything on the menu was overtly French, and Georgina smiled at my cringing when she ordered snails. She giggled, and for a second she looked about twelve years old. I wished I had known her then, before she got sick, before she became so afraid that people, life, and her own body would hurt her.

We sat, barely talking as we enjoyed each other’s company and the delicious meal, the heartiness of the rich dishes and red wine keeping us warm. Georgina dipped torn pieces of sourdough bread into the garlic butter left behind under the snail shells, and popped them into her mouth. She ate like a cat, picking delicately and lapping up every morsel. The little pink triangle of her tongue came out and licked at her lower lip, like a tiny blooming flower. She had an unselfconscious delight about everything she did that turned me on.

I had to say something to her. But my voice kept catching. Fear held me back, and I wished I was as brave as her.

We finished, and after paying I caught up with Georgina out the front. She was leaning against the wall, looking deep in thought and far too sexy from behind.

I put my arms around her. She turned in my embrace, and I kissed her three times lightly across her lips. We walked down the street, and although plenty of cabs passed by, we wandered together slowly, arms wrapped around each other, no real destination in mind.

Until Georgina said, “I want to see the falls again.”

We returned to the highest lookout just as fireworks exploded in the sky above us. The sky turned purple to match, the color reflecting in the low clouds and mist surrounding the falls. Streaks of coral orange and bright pink burst in shimmering stars. Up on the lookout, it felt as though we were in the sky amongst them.

Rainbows sparkled from everywhere. Little drops of spray stuck in Georgina’s dark hair, glittering like diamonds, and she was smiling in awe, pointing at the fireworks as they whizzed past us. I could see only her. Her head was back and her long creamy neck was exposed above the scarf she wore. The skirt of her dress swirled around her legs, and she looked like a painting come to life. I had never seen anything as alive and beautiful as she was.

I reached for her and she came into my arms, nestled against my chest, and rested her forehead against my chin. She fit so perfectly into my body, into the curve of my own skin and bone. The world around us glittered like magic, and I knew it was the right time.

I breathed my fear out of me and it turned to crystals on the cold air.

Pulling the ring box out of my jacket pocket, I stepped back a little. The concrete was soaked, and the water went right through the fabric of my jeans as my knee went to the ground. Georgina paused, her eyes opening wider and her pretty mouth rounding into a tiny circle.

“Georgie, will you marry me?” I popped open the box.

The ring was a plain silver band with a modest diamond set within a pretty art deco design. From the small selection at the pawn shop that night, it had caught my eye, and I knew it was the right one. It was gorgeously unpretentious, and it was the perfect ring for Georgina.

Her mouth fell open. She stood there for what felt like eternity. Tourists up and down the lookout stopped and stared at us.

Georgina took a slow step back. I noticed the desolation in her eyes.

I should have known by now exactly what her response would be.

She ran.