The Goodbye Kiss, Beth Stafford [read an ebook week .txt] 📗

The Goodbye Kiss

    “So that’s that then. It’s decided.”
    “I suppose so.”
    I stared back into those wide, hazel eyes, those eyes I’d stared into so many times before. I’d seen them alight with laughter, clouded with concentration, and, as now, misted with sadness. Compulsively I reached forward and clutched Oliver’s hand, pressing his fingertips to my lips.
    “I’m going to miss you,” I whispered, my eyes fixed to the floor.
    “I’m going to miss you, too,” he said, cupping my chin and lifting my face level with his. “But you’re right—we just can’t pretend this is working anymore.”
    I couldn’t comprehend it; how could two people just fall out of love? What had I missed? Where had I gone wrong? Where had we gone wrong?
    Oliver pulled away, leaving my hand an empty, up-turned husk in my lap. He ran his hand through his hair, letting out an exasperated sigh.
    “I’m going to start getting my stuff together,” he said, hooking his thumbs into his back pockets.
    “No, you don’t have to,” I said. “You don’t have to leave straight away.”
    “I think it’s probably best – better not to draw it out, right?”
    I watched him leave the room, his hands still buried in his jeans. A part of me wanted to run after him, to promise him we’d be able to fix it. But my more rational side knew we couldn't—it was over.
    I pulled my knees up into my chest, trying to derive some comfort from the illusion of touch. I could hear Oliver opening cupboards in the next room, pulling out bottles and books and clothes and stuffing them into a duffel bag. I felt the threat of tears prick my eyes, hot and urgent. But I swallowed them away, refusing to let myself cry. I had mourned the death of this relationship long ago.
    Our love had seemed so promising once, when we were both young and naïve to the ways of the world. Back then our relationship had consisted of secret meetings behind the biology block, of exchanging candy-heart bracelets and me stealing his jackets to wear in class. We’d lay sprawled in his backyard, my head resting on his chest, listening to Nirvana and The Smashing Pumpkins. We were just kids, but we swore we knew it all.
    My father didn’t approve, and I suppose in a way it only fuelled my interest in him. In fact, it was the whole reason I snuck out that night, after yet another heated spat. He’s not right for you. It’s just puppy love. You’ll only end up hurt, and then who will you come crying to?
   The window pane had scraped against my shins as I crawled out the narrow opening, leaving ruby droplets of blood on the tiles outside. I’d clattered down onto the roof, biting down on my lip to stifle a cry. I tightened the laces of my Converse sneakers and shimmied down the gutter pipe, my clammy hands seeing me slip and tumble to the bottom in a heap. Okay, so I wasn’t the best escape artist in the world.
    I’d made my way across the dewy grass, careful not to set foot in any of the fluorescent pools of light cast down from the outside lamp, as if some kind of alarm would go off and my Dad would find out I’d snuck out and lock me in a cupboard.
    The park we’d arranged to meet at was only a block away, but I felt as if I’d been walking for miles by the time I finally got there.
    “Oli?” I’d called out, my soft voice getting swallowed by the darkness. “Where are you?”
    I noticed a scrap of paper taped to a lamppost, fluttering feebly in the gentle spring breeze. I ripped it off, squinting in the dim light to read the words scrawled across the page. Follow the lights.
   “Follow the lights?” I asked, louder than I’d intended. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    As if on cue, I saw the subtle flicker of flame to my left, spluttering as it struggled to grow and take hold of itself. Self-consciously, I shot a glance over my shoulder, as if there was no way the note had been meant for me. Once sure I was the only one in the park, I made my way towards the light with slow, tentative steps.
    As I approached, another flame sprung to life in the distance, glowing starkly in the inky blackness of night. Soon another light burned, and another, and another. I found myself running to catch up with them, my clothes getting snagged on far-reaching branches as I tore passed. I could feel the laughter brimming up inside me, like a pot boiling over. The park rang with it, rang with the sounds of my happiness, echoing through the darkness.
    The lights disappeared into a small copse, obscured by the drooping hands of sorrowful willows. I pushed my way through them, my ragged breath catching in my throat as I fought to slow my pounding heart.
    I saw dozens of flames illuminate almost instantaneously, each bursting into vibrant white light with each passing second. They swept around me to enclose me in a flickering circle, bathing the entire grove in an ethereal, subdued glow.
    And then I noticed him, my Oli, leaning against the trunk of a broad willow with a smug look carved on his face. He held out a single rose for me, and beckoned that I come closer.
    “I can’t believe you did this,” I breathed, taking a moment to simply observe the vast ring of candles all around. “You’re such a loser.”
    A brief flash of hurt flitted across his face, but was chased away by my light-hearted laughter. I settled myself down on a raised tree root, cradling my chin in my hands and watching Oli with a shocked kind of amazement.
    Oli come and sat beside me, running his fingertips through my tangled blonde hair. He trailed the rose up my neck, the delicate petals setting a river of goosebumps in its wake.
    He leaned in close, his breath tickling my ear. “I love you.”
    “Just to let you know, if you’re going to start telling me you love me, you better mean it.”
    “I do,” he said, tracing the rise of my cheekbone with his fingertip.
    I moved closer to him, basking in the heat that radiated off his body. I turned to face him, winding my arms around his waist. I molded myself to the arc of his chest, pressing my forehead to his.
    The electricity in the air was static, shimmering in the spaces between us like sparks. It felt as though he were magnetised, urging me closer still to him, urging me to close the one pivotal gap that still remained.
    I pressed my hands to the sides of his face, and Oli’s slipped down to the small of my back. I could feel him pushing me toward him, just as I was pulling him toward me. We were so close that I could feel the flutter of his eyelashes against my cheeks when he blinked, like the kisses of butterflies.
    And then his lips were on mine, soft like velvet. I let my hands fall away from his face, winding them around his shoulders and weaving my fingers through his hair. I was pulling him closer still, hungry for his touch, hungry for his kiss. We moved together in unison, our mouths playing a perfect symphony.
    And then Oli tore away, our first kiss over as soon as it had really begun. His face was swamped by a broad smile, two dimples causing slight indents on each cheek. It was a What will this become? kiss. It was a I think I love you kiss. And it was a hopeful kiss.
    “I’ll love you always,” he said, planting a gentle kiss on the tip of my nose.
    I heard Oliver swear from the next room, snapping me from my memory.
    “What’s wrong?” I asked, leaning against the wide door frame.
    “I can’t find my Dad’s watch,” he said, his eyebrows knitted. “Have you seen it?”
    I shook my head, crossing my arms over my chest. “Why don’t you wait ‘til morning to do this?”
    “I can’t. The longer I hang around, the less I’ll want to leave.”
    I rubbed my forearms, trying to generate some warmth to replace the chill his words had just caused. Oliver cast his eyes over the room one last time, his brimming duffel bag dumped at his feet, bloated with the memories of our life together. Fifteen years, condensed into one bag. I had to stop myself from laughing.
    “I guess I’ll start getting my stuff from the study,” he said, slinging the duffel bag over his arm and shouldering passed me.
    I walked through the bedroom—our bedroom—now so empty, so ravaged. I ran my hands through the wardrobe, now pitted with the spaces where his clothes once hung. I spied a vibrant burst of crimson among my dresses, and pulled it from its hanger. I held it up to my face, breathing in the lingering remembrance of his cologne.
    I followed him through into the study. “Don’t you want this?” I asked, holding out his college jersey.
    “Huh, I totally forgot about that.”
    He took it from me, and I let it rush from my grip like sand raining from an open palm.
    College. That seemed so long ago now, like a different life. Oliver had been so excited, bursting with pride and anticipation and expectation.
    “I wish you didn’t have to go so far away,” I’d said, clinging to him in the same way a frightened child clings to their mother’s leg. “I don’t want you to go.”
    He laughed, unhooking my tensed arms from around his waist. “I’ll see you every semester break – and I’ll visit all the time, too.”
    I gazed up into his hazel eyes, desperately trying to see truth there but only finding dizzy delight.
    “But why do you have to go halfway across the country? Why couldn’t you just go to the city college with me?”
    Oli shook his head, brushing a wayward strand of hair from my face. “It’s family tradition—three generations of Stewarts have gone there.”
    Deep down I knew nothing I could say would change his mind, but my selfish side urged me on. I tried to shrug it off, to be happy for the boy I loved, but still it remained, niggling and nudging in the darkest recesses of my thoughts.
    “Do you promise to call every week?”
    “Every day!”
    I smiled—I couldn’t help it. His enthusiasm was contagious.
    He leaned down to kiss me, and I held him tight. I tried to convey all of my worries, all of my reservations, all of my deepest hopes into it. My words might have failed me, but kisses never lied. It was an I’m happy for you kiss. A don’t get into any trouble kiss. But most of all, it was a will I ever see you again? kiss.
    He pulled away, but still I cleaved to him, drinking in as much of him as I could. He quietly disentangled himself, his hands trailing through my hair.
    “I have to get going,” he said, his eyes flickering across my face as if he were trying to memorise what I looked like. “I’ll call as soon as I get there.”
    “You’d better.”
    I reached feebly for him as he walked away, my hands falling down on empty air. He gave me one, last wave before climbing into his Dad’s jeep, and then he was