Memories returned of his darling Beth waltzing around their tiny living room clad in that kimono, holding the acceptance letter to the University of Michigan's med school in her dainty hands while golden sunlight wrapped her in its radiant embrace. Joey had stood by, trying to be happy and supportive though he feared that this new twist of fate would push their little paradise to the verge of collapse. The memories progressed to Joey holding her slender kimono clad body a few days later as they had breakfast in bed, discussing her plans to attend the prestigious college. And most difficult of all after many more days of arguing about logistics of her continuing education, the recollection of she in that very kimono one last time, slumped against the kitchen doorway sobbing when he told her that leaving to go off to medical school when he couldn't afford to come along was inconsiderate and selfish. How her face had seemed so wan and pale, dominated by her tear filled brown eyes and the expression of shock and disappointment his words had caused. Only a few days later, she would die in an accident, her car skidding on the icy roads to collide with a truck in the other lane, while driving back from apartment hunting, hoping to find a place they could afford together to ease his mind.
"I'm so sorry, Bethie," Joey's voice broke as he clutched the bit of lingerie closer, his eyes squeezing shut to try and stop the pain and tears.
Silence pressed in around him and soon soothed his inflamed heart. Like a soldier staggering ever onward despite a fatal gash to the chest, he got up and determinedly left the bathroom, the black kimono draped over his arms.
With great care, he lay the garment on his pillow, turned up one of his favorite songs, and began to clean in haste while he sang along to the underground UK band's latest hit, determinedly not looking at the heap of black silk on the bed.
"You're the catalyst that makes things faster," Joey yelled along with the lead singer as he tossed clothes into the basket to wash and shelved long neglected books.
By the time the western sky was streaked with pastel pinks, oranges, and even a little brilliant gold, he was well on the way to completing the next step of Dr. Hansen's suggestion.
Standing at the stove, now accompanied by The Cure, Joey contemplatively stirred the beef, tomatoes, onions, garlic, oregano and other herbs to make the spaghetti sauce. The apartment was completely cleaned; a very handsome place once all the clutter and dust had been cleared away.
After cleaning, Joey had taken a shower, embarrassed at the difference he'd made and how far he'd let things go. The tiles around him gleamed and shone with the effort he'd put into restoring some order into his surroundings, and if anyone stopped by for an impromptu visit, which was unlikely, he wouldn't need to keep the bathroom and bedroom doors closed out of self-conscious shame.
Given the significance of this romantic evening for lovers, he put a bit more care into how he dressed. Selecting a pair of black slacks and burgundy dress shirt, he looked especially handsome, just as he did when taking Beth out to a fancy dinner. Daring for the first time since her funeral to put on some of her favorite cologne, he felt surprised and a little guilty that he wasn't overwhelmed with more torrential sadness. Rather, he got lost in memories of picnics in the park or brisk walks together down busy city streets in the rain. A smile touched his lips as he gazed into his own eyes in the mirror, his skin recalling the feeling of her lips and embrace while she breathlessly declared how nice his shirt smelled.
While pasta swished about in a low boil and the sauce simmered on the stove, Joey went to his coffee table and lit a small ivory votive. The golden point of flame danced gracefully atop the candle like a fiery ballerina in a soft breeze drifting in through the slightly opened window.
"It's tuberose," Joey said softly to the air around him. "I know it was one of your favorites." Shrugging sheepishly, he spared his shadowy reflection a glance in the glass, watching the sky darkening with each passing second. This isn't going to work, he thought as he returned to the kitchen. But the way I'm stumbling along now isn't going to work either.
The wine was chilled and the food was ready. Joey went to the stereo and put on one of Beth's favorite mix CDs, set a place for himself at the coffee table, then settled in to enjoy dinner for one, thus completing the last of three steps assigned to him by his gorgeous psychiatrist.
The apartment had been thoroughly cleaned, including removal of Beth's things. He had planned a way to say good-bye that made him comfortable and held sentimental value. And, now he would enjoy one last romantic dinner with his beloved, ending a day that would hopefully be like any other next year when paper hearts and boxes of chocolates flourished everywhere he looked.
Reclining against the sofa with his wine glass in hand, he raised it for a toast.
"To you, Elisabeth Jane..." Pausing, he decided to continue on with what his heart had longed for; he began again, giving her his last name. "To you, Elisabeth Jane Davis. My best friend, my lover, and the woman of my dreams..." His words faltered and he propped them up with the strength of optimism that things would turn out for the best after tonight. "I love you. I'll always love you. And most of all, I'm sorry for the things I said to you. I just didn't want us to have any more worries, and it came out all wrong. "I know you're with me tonight, and I thought we could have one last dinner just for us." Tentatively, he kissed the rim of the glass, and then hoisted it high. "To you, my love. I miss you so much and won't ever forget you. Happy Valentine's Day. Cheers."
Downing the wine in a few determined gulps, he refilled his glass. As he contemplatively chewed a bite of garlic bread, Joey recalled Beth's first bashful dinner invitation, and of course she had served him this dish with a nervous smile and expectant expression in her beautiful eyes.
They made love for the first time that night, and he finally knew the bliss of falling asleep in her sweet embrace as a tangible reality of soft kisses and softer flesh, not a long dreamed of fantasy. It had been beyond his most erotic hopes and lusty dreams. It was perfect.
After dinner and half the bottle of wine, Joey got to his feet, put his plate in the sink, and went to the bookshelf in the corner of the room to retrieve an album of photographs. Many were printed from their digital camera while others he had been given by Beth's mother to keep, including a couple featuring Beth as a wide eyed and adorable child.
Belly full of food and wine, Joey settled into the black leather recliner, album in hand to reminisce. It wasn't an act he looked forward to enduring, but as part of the greater attempt to fully accept and embrace the event and the full magnitude of his grief, he recognized that it was something that needed to be done.
Fittingly enough, when he was about a third of the way through the album and almost to the end of the wine, "Pictures of You" began to play. Flipping to the next page, Joey paused. Beth grinned saucily up at him from a blanket in the sand, her long dark hair capturing caramel highlights from the sun, her Gibson Girl body shown off to its best advantage in a lilac colored string bikini.
"You got one hell of a sun burn that day," Joey smiled, carefully tracing the clear cellophane page that protected the pictures with his thumb. "I remember rubbing aloe gel all over your back. Your skin was so hot but still so soft..."
Perhaps it was the wine, but his body felt warmer than it had before dinner. Burning all those calories running up and down the stairs, hauling bags, and moving boxes must have taken their toll, because he felt very drowsy and content despite the flood of memories revealed in the pictures.
On still another page, Beth lay dozing in the tub. She had worked a ridiculous amount of hours that day on top of classes, and though Joey had jokingly warned her about taking a bath when she was so exhausted for fear she'd drown, she just laughed him off. In the picture, one leg was propped up on the edge of the tub while she rested against the back, her arms folded behind her head as if she were posing. Her small breasts jutted upward as if in intentional defiance of gravity, strawberry pink nipples erect from the chill or her dreams.
Joey looked up from the album, rubbing his eyes. Fuck, I'm tired and it's only ten o'clock, he thought to himself, carefully laying the album on the near by table and pouring the last bit of wine into his glass. As he sipped, he got lost in his own mental slideshow of photographs, surprised at his ability to see the joy and beauty in them rather than focusing on the horrible ending that came just months later.
Somewhere down the hall, someone's speakers began to crank out a dance beat at an obscene volume. Joey closed his eyes, always unable to resist trying to identify the track. As he strained to listen, he relaxed, leaning back to put up the footrest of the chair, his arms resting at his sides.
