May 7

Liam wakes suddenly to the light streaming through his 8 foot windows and the blaring sound of his alarm. 8:04am- it reads. He’s late again, how long has that alarm been going off? He hadn't been getting much sleep, insomnia became an unwanted companion. He flails out of bed and stumbles to the bathroom. On the mirror it reads “don’t forget to comb your hair!” on a sticky left by his wife Jane. He throws on slacks and reaches for a shirt. Ugh, why does my head not fit. He chuckles, oh wait these are Jane’s scrubs. In 2 minutes, he’s finally dressed and heads to the kitchen to feed Chunk, their British Shorthair. They had been on the adoption list to get him for over 3 weeks, and what a prize he was in all of his Chunk glory. He gives a quick scratch to Chunk’s head, “bye dude,” and in 7 minutes flat, Liam is out the door, flying down the street towards the subway. He settles into the sardine tube and looks down at his phone- at the top a notification reads “May 7 Jane’s birthday.” Crap. It’s not that he’d forgotten, he’d just lost track of the days.

At work in his grey cubicle, he clatters away on his keyboard inputting meaningless data onto a spreadsheet. He checks the time constantly, 12:05pm, 1:29pm, 3:33pm, finally 4:30pm comes and he ducks out almost unseen before his boss Kevin says, “leaving early Liam? You came in late today and I still need that spreadsheet that was due last Friday.” Sheepishly Liam replies, “sorry Kevin, it’s Jane’s birthday today and I’m cooking her favorite meal tonight.” Kevin sighs. “Look, your performance here has been lackluster recently and I know things haven’t been-” “I promise, I’ll have it to you by tomorrow, but I’ve really got to hurry to the store. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Liam turns and quickly shuffles to the elevator. He interjects his hand right before the doors close and slips through. Shit.

The cart rattles through the grocery store aisles as Liam hastily grabs for each ingredient to make chicken parmesan. Chicken breast, eggs, breadcrumbs, mozzarella, basil, tomatoes… He snags a bottle of pinot noir before heading to check out. Hurriedly down the street, bags in hand, the sun hits his face, and Liam remembers stumbling upon a neighborhood garden with Jane this time last year, the flowers in full bloom. He checks his watch. 5:19pm, Jane usually comes home at 6:30pm. His strides quicken as he passes a flower stand. He backs up and spots a bouquet, the last bouquet of marigolds, Jane’s favorites. Perfect. He pays the shopkeeper and slides the flowers into a bag, careful not to damage a petal.

At home, Liam filets the chicken unevenly, nicking the tip of his finger. Damn it. Washing his hands, the water stained a bright coral, he recalls the time he cut a gash so deep, Jane had to take him to the ER for stitches. Cooking was never my forte, he laughs. Chopping the basil maybe too finely, he sprinkles them onto the chicken. Oh shit the cheese! He takes a handful of chunks and arranges them on top, while handing a chunk to Chunk. Into the oven the tray goes, and Liam starts the timer. He sets the table for two, using the eggshell blue dinnerware that they use for special occasions. In the center of the table are the marigolds, in an antique rock-crystal vase, making the room the most colorful and fragrant it’s been in a long time. Liam uncorks the wine as the timer goes off. He opens the oven and in wafts the exquisite perfume of the meal. Setting the tray on a trivet, his brow furrows as he notices the burnt edges. He plates his share and sits at the table, pouring a glass of wine. “Well, it’s definitely not up to par with your cooking, but it’s the best I could do,” he smiles half-heartedly. Bringing the glass closer to him, his head down, he lets out a big sigh. He glances at his wrist, 6:35pm. He looks across the table at the empty chair and raises his glass. “Happy birthday, my darling,” and swigs down the crimson liquid. It’s been almost 6 months now. Tears form in his eyes as he pours himself another glass.

It’s late in the night as Liam rests on his recliner, a chair Jane reluctantly gave into buying for their home. The wine bottle empty at his feet, Liam remembers that night, the last time he saw her face, still as beautiful as the day they met. He remembers her hands slowly losing grip on his as he slips into a dream. Hello my darling, her sweet voice swirls in his head as he recognizes the outline of her face, her lips curved into a familiar smile, one only she had. Thank you for the flowers, you remembered, she gleams. How could I forget? I miss you so much, Jane, more than you know. Jane gently wipes away his tears. Oh, my love, I am always here. Reminding you to comb your hair, or the warmth you feel from the sun, there is no place you can go where I won’t be with you. She grins again assuredly and caresses Liam as he sleeps in absolute bliss.