Last Light by M. Pierce

more. What now?
    I pondered the question: What now?
    I had to admit, I liked this Melanie chick. She had guts and wit. And she was straight-up insane, so we had something in common.
    Plus, it was nice to have someone to chat with occasionally. No man is a fucking island.
    I typed, “I told you, I’ll give you my new phone number soon. I pulverized my phone after you called fifty times and activated man mode.”
    I sent the reply and logged out of the forum.
    I couldn’t write worth a damn that morning, couldn’t focus on anything but Hannah and her upcoming visit. So I made a list.
    SEX ALL WEEKEND
    Hannah, in the flesh (and nothing else)
    Candles/atmosphere/flowers?
    Nice meal (how?)
    Lube … or something
    Nonsexual gifts (books?)
    Clean the cabin
    Do your fucking laundry
    Xmas tree/lights etc.
    I prowled through the cabin collecting laundry and rereading my list. Hannah, Hannah, Hannah. Finally. Friday would be Valentine’s Day. It would be our Christmas. I would make it romantic and special—unforgettable—and maybe, just maybe, she would stay with me.
    I checked the food situation in the cellar. I had a lot of food—canned food, frozen food, untouched bags of pasta and rice—but nothing that would cohere into a “nice meal.”
    My thoughts strayed helplessly back to Hannah.
    God, I wanted her sprawled by the fire on a pile of shearling blankets. Naked. The firelight playing on her curves …
    Ten minutes later, I was sitting on the couch with a heap of laundry at my feet and the hard-on of the century. I had to laugh.
    If this wasn’t the epitome of my life without Hannah, then nothing was.
    *   *   *
    “Do you want me to wrap these, hon?” said the cashier. She lifted one of the twenty votive candleholders on the belt. “I don’t have paper, but I can wrap bags around them.”
    Twenty scented candles followed the holders.
    Also: a new TracFone, two boxes of chocolates, two fresh flower arrangements, three books, warming lube, massage oil, wrapping paper and ribbon, two cards, a plush rabbit holding a heart, a bottle of white wine, and two bags of frozen shrimp and penne dinner. “Ready in 10 minutes,” the bag claimed. “Just heat and serve!”
    Hell, I could heat and serve.
    “Yeah, please,” I said, “if it’s not too much trouble. I have a long way to go with them.”
    I slid off my hat and ruffled my black hair. I watched the cashier from behind my shades. I expected her to do a double take, to hesitate and then say I looked familiar, but she only nodded and began swathing the glass with plastic bags.
    “Is it too much?” I gestured to my purchases. “I have a date. For Valentine’s.”
    “Oh, it’s never too much.” The cashier smiled so hard that the apples of her cheeks reddened. “Some lucky girl.”
    “Mm.”
    I plucked the plush rabbit off the belt and studied it. Lucky girl. Yeah, right. Merry super-belated Christmas and ghetto Valentine’s, Hannah. Here’s a thirty-dollar bottle of wine and a bunch of wax that doubles as chocolate. Run away with me?
    With a sigh, I handed the stuffed animal to the cashier.
    “Cute!” She passed it over the scanner.
    I pulled out my cash and started counting off twenties. “Yeah, I think she’ll like it,” I said, and I did. Hannah would like any gesture from me.
    I pocketed my change and carried my bags out to a bench. There, I arranged the candleholders and other items in my pack. The wrapping paper and bouquets poked out the top.
    It was Thursday morning. The flowers would easily survive until tomorrow. I couldn’t find Christmas lights in the store, but fuck it. This was good enough. More than good enough.
    As I hiked back to the cabin, I laughed and remembered little things about Hannah. I pictured her every which way. My chronic anger and harsh moods stood far off when Hannah filled my thoughts, and no drug could do that for me, and no other human. Just Hannah.

 
    Chapter 17
    HANNAH
    The garter slip fit me like a sleeve.