"Boris was a good man," Burt said, "he was honest. He was kind. But he wasn't always that way. He had to work hard to become that way and, I think, the fact that he did that at the age he was proves that anyone can change at anytime, regardless of age."
Burt took a long pause, exhaled, and continued as he looked out at the crowd before him.
"Admittedly, I didn't get to know him as well as others here did, Carol, for instance, but what I did know of him was that he was a person who strived to undo the wrongs he'd committed in life and come out the other side better for it. That's admirable. I want to be like Boris in that sense."
Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder, and he looked to see Boris standing there. Burt sighed and shook his head.
"This is hard," Burt said.
"Yeah, giving a eulogy isn't easy," Boris said.
The small crowd stood up from their seats and dispersed, heading back to their various activities. Carol approached the little podium where Burt and Boris stood and she flipped through her little notebook she kept for certain things, writing in pen in it as she exhaled, looking frustrated.
"Listen," Carol said, "I know this is important to you, but I can't force anyone to sit through a fake funeral for the sake of your ego. This is a rehearsal, but when the moment actually comes, they likely won't be here and the seats will only be filled with a few people, and I hope you can accept that."
"I'm aware that most people don't care about me, yes," Boris said, smirking, making Carol chuckle as he continued, "but the people who will be here are the ones who matter. I'm gonna get Whittle and John and anyone else I can round up. My wife, perhaps."
"You think your wife would really wanna come to this?" Burt asked.
"She's coming to my actual funeral," Boris replied, shrugging.
"Yeah, cause she's expected to," Burt said, "but this is just like you're putting on a play."
"First of all, she's coming because she still cares about me, not because she's expected to, so, ow, thanks for that. And secondly, she'll come simply because she knows this is important to me and she's a nice person," Boris said. And he wasn't right. Lorraine was a nice person. In fact, when it came down to it, there was only one person he was going to have trouble convincing to go, and it wasn't who he'd expect.
***
A few phone calls later and Boris had convinced just about everyone to show up to his pretend funeral. Everyone, that is, except John.
Sitting in the diner, having breakfast with him the day before the living funeral was meant to happen, Boris just couldn't understand why John had neglected to respond to the invite, and then, when asked about it in person, deflected the question entirely. Boris poured some syrup on his pancakes as he watched John tear his hashbrowns in half and sip his coffee while he ate them.
"The nice thing about being so close to the end is I can eat whatever I want with no consequences," Boris said as he cut a piece of pancake off and stabbed it with his fork, "I mean, I'm gonna die anyway, so why not just fill myself up with delicious garbage right?"
"So what you're telling me is there are upsides to the afterlife," John said, not looking away from his newspaper.
"I'm just saying it's nice that, at the end, you can give into total wanton indulgence," Boris said, "your innermost desires and animalistic instincts, the most base things one could want, can finally be achieved because, really, what's the downside? Unless, perhaps, you believe in Heaven and Hell and are afraid of spoiling your good name with the big man upstairs right at the finish line, but frankly, between you and me, that seems a little petty on his part. You'd think even God would understand that, hey, it's over, have some fun while you can."
John chuckled as he bit into his hashbrown and chewed, nodding in agreement. Boris finally put his fork down on the edge of his plate, drank his own coffee and then cupped his hands on the table.
"Why aren't you coming?" Boris asked.
John finally looked away from his newspaper and at Boris's face, their eyes meeting.
"Why aren't you coming, John?" Boris asked, "this means a lot to me. I want to know what people think of me before I go. I want to know that I mean something to anyone. And there's nobody I'd like to hear more from than yourself. So what's the deal?"
"...it's too hard," John said quietly, "it's too...real."
"No, what's going to be too real is my actual funeral. This is play pretend. This is a dress rehearsal. John, you're a priest, you of all people should know what it's like to want your last wishes fulfilled. What I'm facing down, the prospect of nonexistence, that's terrifying enough without having the comfort of those who are the closest to me. So why aren't you coming?"
John had thought about this a number of times. How could he properly explain it? He sighed and ran a hand through his blonde hair.
"...when my brother died," John said, "I was the one expected to give the eulogy. My parents spoke too, obviously, but the biggest effort fell to me. After all, he was my brother. Then, when Steven died, again, it fell to me. Course, that one was a bit different. A bit more...private, considering the circumstances, the nature of our relationship, but still. I'm tired of praising the life of people I don't want to leave in the first place. It isn't a personal thing against you, it's a preference for myself. I'm already having to say goodbye. Why must I do it publicly?"
Boris hadn't considered this. He hadn't considered just how emotionally painful it might be for John to speak on his behalf. It was true that, of all the people he knew - friends, lovers, whatever - John was the closest Boris had ever allowed a person to get to him. Boris sighed, wiped his eyes with his hand, and nodded weakly.
"I understand," he said, "besides, what could you possibly say there that you haven't already told me directly?"
John felt bad. He didn't want to feel bad, but he did. He turned his attention back to his hashbrowns and coffee, Boris to his pancakes, and neither one said another word for the remainder of breakfast. What more could be said when so much already had been?
***
Boris had rarely worn a suit in his life.
He'd somehow managed to avoid the necessity, and now that he was wearing one, he felt kind of sad about that fact because he looked damn good in it. Dark blue with a yellow tie, he looked nice, proper, clean. Standing in front of the mirror in Carol's room, alone, he couldn't help but admire himself, and he felt good about that too. For so much of his life, he had shyed away from the side of vanity, but now, at the very end, he was allowing himself to appreciate his appearance, even in his old age. That felt good. The door opened and Carol entered, tapping on her notebook.
"Everyone is here," Carol said, "so whenever you're ready, Dapper Dan."
"Everyone?" Boris asked, and Carol's face sunk a little.
"Well, not everyone," she replied softly. Boris knew John wouldn't speak, but he was surprised he wouldn't even come. That, admittedly, kind of hurt. Carol approached Boris and he turned to look at her. She was in a very elegant black dress with pearls around her neck, and her hair straightened. She reached out and adjusted his tie, smiling as she did so, saying, "you clean up pretty nice, kid."
"...why didn't he come?" Boris asked quietly, the sadness in his voice breaking Carol's heart. She pulled her hands away from his tie and placed them on his chest, as he sniffled, trying not to cry.
"Sometimes the people we want the most to acknowledge us don't, even in our time of need, even when they love us deeply," Carol said, "but you have to recognize this is hard for everyone else too, right? I know you're the one who's at deaths door, but, Boris, shit...losing someone you're so close to...it hurts."
Boris walked to Carol's bed and sat down on it, running his hands over his face. Carol followed and seated herself beside him. He didn't talk for a few minutes, then he finally cleared his throat and said
"I love him."
"...yeah?" Carol asked, smiling meekly.
"I ignored myself for so long," Boris said, "but I do. It isn't fair. Polly might've been unable to be unapologetically herself during her lifetime, but she at least got to be with who she wanted. She didn't let shame or confusion stop her. I didn't even get that chance. I never will. I have to go to my grave with a life full of what ifs and half baked fantasies. And now, right at the precipice of the end, he isn't even here. The person I wanted here most couldn't even be bothered when it mattered."
Carol rested her head on Boris's shoulder and exhaled.
"Yeah, people are disappointing," she said, "but look at all those who did come. Lorraine and Whittle and Jenn and all the friends here at the home, Burt, and...myself. I've always been here for you."
Boris glanced at her, and she smiled. She had always been here for him, this was in fact true. Carol, next to Polly and his wife, was likely the woman he'd gotten closest to throughout his life. It had never once felt romantic, or anything beyond general companionship, but her friendship was something he had kind of gotten so used to that he'd started to take it for granted. Carol was the first friend he made at the home. Carol was the first person he told about dying. Carol was the one who helped arrange this living funeral. Carol. Carol. Carol. Boris reached up and rubbed her back, and she shut her eyes.
"...I'm going to miss you," she said softly, crying a little into the crook of his neck; she waited for her voice to stop shaking, then continued, "...you have no idea how much I'm going to miss you."
"I'm gonna miss you too," Boris replied quietly.
And he really, truly meant it.
***
The living funeral was better than he expected.
Burt said some kind things, his daughter said some very nice stuff, his wife, his friends. They all had nothing but pleasant things to say. After it was over, and the group went about the "wake" portion, where they chatted amongst themselves and had snacks, Boris snuck away to the outer area of the home, to the gazebo, and sat himself down. Sure, he'd been roasted a little, but hey, he could take some jabbing at his character. He was able to laugh at himself. Sitting in the gazebo, a napkin on his lap with some finger sandwiches on it, he listened to the sound of the birds and the wind in the trees and he realized, just then, that he would miss these things. These simple little things that you hear or see everyday and never stop to fully appreciate. Only once when faced with the void of nonexistance do you suddenly realize just how precious they actually are, the sounds that make up our lives.
"Talk about your rampant unchecked narcissism," a voice said from nearby, and Boris's attention snapped to the front of the gazebo, near the stairs, where John was standing.
"Oh, look, it's an opinion nobody asked for," Boris remarked, sounding hurt. John smirked as he entered the gazebo and sat down next to Boris. Boris hesitated momentarily, then gave in and handed John a finger sandwich, which he graciously accepted and bit into. The two men sat there for a bit, chewing and listening.
"I'm sorry," John finally said, "I know I'm a priest, I know you rely on me, but...I just couldn't do it."
"It's fine," Boris said, "it was callous of me to even think you might. Carol kind of opened my eyes to the fact that despite being all about me it isn't all about me. I might be the one dying, but the ones I'm leaving behind are also in pain. I get it."
"No, I don't think you do," John said, catching Boris's attention; Boris watched him as he turned the sandwich over in his fingers and sighed, saying, "it isn't just about losing you, or the way I feel towards you, it's...it's so much more than that. You and I share a level of emotional intimacy that I never even shared with the men I loved openly. That's a rare thing, Boris. Steven and I, we were so good together, but we never talked deeply about things the way you and I do. I'm not just losing you. I'm losing part of me, and that...that scares the hell out of me."
Boris's eyesbrows lifted, surprised by Johns words. John sighed again and continued.
"And the thing is," he went on, "it's selfish, and I'm aware it's selfish, and I'm firmly in a career field where selflessness is the word of the day. Give your life to God. Help those around you who need council. But...but aren't I entitled to a little bit of selfishness now and then? So much of what I do with my life is at the expense of myself, for others, and I just...I needed to stay away for once. It's too hard to reconcile the reality that is mortality, especially the mortality of those I love so much. I'm never going to share another level of emotional intimacy with another man the way I do with you. That's a hard thing to accept losing."
Boris nodded, looking down at his shoes.
"I'm sorry," he said, making John laugh.
"Don't apologize for dying!" he replied, "that's...I mean, it happens to all of us. One day this situation will be reversed, and I'll be in your place. I only hope that, when that time comes, I'll have someone there for me the way I couldn't be there for you."
"You've been there so much already, John," Boris said, reaching out and taking his hand in his own, squeezing gently, "I don't know why I expected you to be there for this. Everything you said makes sense. You have every right to have a hard time accepting this. A right to distancing yourself. I don't think anyone would really blame you. I'm just so sorry that your life has been touched by death and loss and grief so regularly, and I hope that after me, you won't have to deal with that as much. You deserve to be happy. To be safe and comfortable."
Boris looked towards him, and John was smiling, near tears. Boris smiled back.
"You deserve a life full of life, not of death," Boris said, "and I sincerely hope you get it."
John leaned in and hugged him, and Boris hugged back. Boris knew he'd never get what he wanted, which was a different lifetime, a lifetime of being openly himself, a lifetime spent with this man, but that was okay. The time John had given him lasted a lifetime anyway.
***
Boris was tucking Ellen in after a long day. She'd struggled with her homework, and had spent much of the evening frustrated. Boris did his best to help her, and he even helped Lorraine make dinner that night. As he sat on Ellen's beside, pushing her hair from her face and smiling at her, she couldn't help but feel safe. It had been a rough couple of weeks. Her grandmother, Lorraine's mother, had passed unexpectedly, and seeing how close Ellen and she had been, Ellen was having a hard time adjusting to the loss.
"You think she's okay?" Ellen asked, squeezing her stuffed rhino to her chest.
"Yeah, I think she's okay. She's not in pain, and that's a good thing," Boris said.
"It's scary," Ellen said.
"Death is scary, yeah," Boris replied, "and while it can happen randomly, the odds of something like that are slim, so you don't have to worry, kiddo. You're safe."
"But I'm gonna die?"
"Someday, everyone does."
Ellen waited, chewing on her lip, then looked back up at her father.
"And you're gonna die?" she asked, and he chuckled, leaning in and kissing her forehead.
"Yeah, I am," he said, "but not for a long, long time."
It was likely the only promise he made that he kept.
Burt took a long pause, exhaled, and continued as he looked out at the crowd before him.
"Admittedly, I didn't get to know him as well as others here did, Carol, for instance, but what I did know of him was that he was a person who strived to undo the wrongs he'd committed in life and come out the other side better for it. That's admirable. I want to be like Boris in that sense."
Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder, and he looked to see Boris standing there. Burt sighed and shook his head.
"This is hard," Burt said.
"Yeah, giving a eulogy isn't easy," Boris said.
The small crowd stood up from their seats and dispersed, heading back to their various activities. Carol approached the little podium where Burt and Boris stood and she flipped through her little notebook she kept for certain things, writing in pen in it as she exhaled, looking frustrated.
"Listen," Carol said, "I know this is important to you, but I can't force anyone to sit through a fake funeral for the sake of your ego. This is a rehearsal, but when the moment actually comes, they likely won't be here and the seats will only be filled with a few people, and I hope you can accept that."
"I'm aware that most people don't care about me, yes," Boris said, smirking, making Carol chuckle as he continued, "but the people who will be here are the ones who matter. I'm gonna get Whittle and John and anyone else I can round up. My wife, perhaps."
"You think your wife would really wanna come to this?" Burt asked.
"She's coming to my actual funeral," Boris replied, shrugging.
"Yeah, cause she's expected to," Burt said, "but this is just like you're putting on a play."
"First of all, she's coming because she still cares about me, not because she's expected to, so, ow, thanks for that. And secondly, she'll come simply because she knows this is important to me and she's a nice person," Boris said. And he wasn't right. Lorraine was a nice person. In fact, when it came down to it, there was only one person he was going to have trouble convincing to go, and it wasn't who he'd expect.
***
A few phone calls later and Boris had convinced just about everyone to show up to his pretend funeral. Everyone, that is, except John.
Sitting in the diner, having breakfast with him the day before the living funeral was meant to happen, Boris just couldn't understand why John had neglected to respond to the invite, and then, when asked about it in person, deflected the question entirely. Boris poured some syrup on his pancakes as he watched John tear his hashbrowns in half and sip his coffee while he ate them.
"The nice thing about being so close to the end is I can eat whatever I want with no consequences," Boris said as he cut a piece of pancake off and stabbed it with his fork, "I mean, I'm gonna die anyway, so why not just fill myself up with delicious garbage right?"
"So what you're telling me is there are upsides to the afterlife," John said, not looking away from his newspaper.
"I'm just saying it's nice that, at the end, you can give into total wanton indulgence," Boris said, "your innermost desires and animalistic instincts, the most base things one could want, can finally be achieved because, really, what's the downside? Unless, perhaps, you believe in Heaven and Hell and are afraid of spoiling your good name with the big man upstairs right at the finish line, but frankly, between you and me, that seems a little petty on his part. You'd think even God would understand that, hey, it's over, have some fun while you can."
John chuckled as he bit into his hashbrown and chewed, nodding in agreement. Boris finally put his fork down on the edge of his plate, drank his own coffee and then cupped his hands on the table.
"Why aren't you coming?" Boris asked.
John finally looked away from his newspaper and at Boris's face, their eyes meeting.
"Why aren't you coming, John?" Boris asked, "this means a lot to me. I want to know what people think of me before I go. I want to know that I mean something to anyone. And there's nobody I'd like to hear more from than yourself. So what's the deal?"
"...it's too hard," John said quietly, "it's too...real."
"No, what's going to be too real is my actual funeral. This is play pretend. This is a dress rehearsal. John, you're a priest, you of all people should know what it's like to want your last wishes fulfilled. What I'm facing down, the prospect of nonexistence, that's terrifying enough without having the comfort of those who are the closest to me. So why aren't you coming?"
John had thought about this a number of times. How could he properly explain it? He sighed and ran a hand through his blonde hair.
"...when my brother died," John said, "I was the one expected to give the eulogy. My parents spoke too, obviously, but the biggest effort fell to me. After all, he was my brother. Then, when Steven died, again, it fell to me. Course, that one was a bit different. A bit more...private, considering the circumstances, the nature of our relationship, but still. I'm tired of praising the life of people I don't want to leave in the first place. It isn't a personal thing against you, it's a preference for myself. I'm already having to say goodbye. Why must I do it publicly?"
Boris hadn't considered this. He hadn't considered just how emotionally painful it might be for John to speak on his behalf. It was true that, of all the people he knew - friends, lovers, whatever - John was the closest Boris had ever allowed a person to get to him. Boris sighed, wiped his eyes with his hand, and nodded weakly.
"I understand," he said, "besides, what could you possibly say there that you haven't already told me directly?"
John felt bad. He didn't want to feel bad, but he did. He turned his attention back to his hashbrowns and coffee, Boris to his pancakes, and neither one said another word for the remainder of breakfast. What more could be said when so much already had been?
***
Boris had rarely worn a suit in his life.
He'd somehow managed to avoid the necessity, and now that he was wearing one, he felt kind of sad about that fact because he looked damn good in it. Dark blue with a yellow tie, he looked nice, proper, clean. Standing in front of the mirror in Carol's room, alone, he couldn't help but admire himself, and he felt good about that too. For so much of his life, he had shyed away from the side of vanity, but now, at the very end, he was allowing himself to appreciate his appearance, even in his old age. That felt good. The door opened and Carol entered, tapping on her notebook.
"Everyone is here," Carol said, "so whenever you're ready, Dapper Dan."
"Everyone?" Boris asked, and Carol's face sunk a little.
"Well, not everyone," she replied softly. Boris knew John wouldn't speak, but he was surprised he wouldn't even come. That, admittedly, kind of hurt. Carol approached Boris and he turned to look at her. She was in a very elegant black dress with pearls around her neck, and her hair straightened. She reached out and adjusted his tie, smiling as she did so, saying, "you clean up pretty nice, kid."
"...why didn't he come?" Boris asked quietly, the sadness in his voice breaking Carol's heart. She pulled her hands away from his tie and placed them on his chest, as he sniffled, trying not to cry.
"Sometimes the people we want the most to acknowledge us don't, even in our time of need, even when they love us deeply," Carol said, "but you have to recognize this is hard for everyone else too, right? I know you're the one who's at deaths door, but, Boris, shit...losing someone you're so close to...it hurts."
Boris walked to Carol's bed and sat down on it, running his hands over his face. Carol followed and seated herself beside him. He didn't talk for a few minutes, then he finally cleared his throat and said
"I love him."
"...yeah?" Carol asked, smiling meekly.
"I ignored myself for so long," Boris said, "but I do. It isn't fair. Polly might've been unable to be unapologetically herself during her lifetime, but she at least got to be with who she wanted. She didn't let shame or confusion stop her. I didn't even get that chance. I never will. I have to go to my grave with a life full of what ifs and half baked fantasies. And now, right at the precipice of the end, he isn't even here. The person I wanted here most couldn't even be bothered when it mattered."
Carol rested her head on Boris's shoulder and exhaled.
"Yeah, people are disappointing," she said, "but look at all those who did come. Lorraine and Whittle and Jenn and all the friends here at the home, Burt, and...myself. I've always been here for you."
Boris glanced at her, and she smiled. She had always been here for him, this was in fact true. Carol, next to Polly and his wife, was likely the woman he'd gotten closest to throughout his life. It had never once felt romantic, or anything beyond general companionship, but her friendship was something he had kind of gotten so used to that he'd started to take it for granted. Carol was the first friend he made at the home. Carol was the first person he told about dying. Carol was the one who helped arrange this living funeral. Carol. Carol. Carol. Boris reached up and rubbed her back, and she shut her eyes.
"...I'm going to miss you," she said softly, crying a little into the crook of his neck; she waited for her voice to stop shaking, then continued, "...you have no idea how much I'm going to miss you."
"I'm gonna miss you too," Boris replied quietly.
And he really, truly meant it.
***
The living funeral was better than he expected.
Burt said some kind things, his daughter said some very nice stuff, his wife, his friends. They all had nothing but pleasant things to say. After it was over, and the group went about the "wake" portion, where they chatted amongst themselves and had snacks, Boris snuck away to the outer area of the home, to the gazebo, and sat himself down. Sure, he'd been roasted a little, but hey, he could take some jabbing at his character. He was able to laugh at himself. Sitting in the gazebo, a napkin on his lap with some finger sandwiches on it, he listened to the sound of the birds and the wind in the trees and he realized, just then, that he would miss these things. These simple little things that you hear or see everyday and never stop to fully appreciate. Only once when faced with the void of nonexistance do you suddenly realize just how precious they actually are, the sounds that make up our lives.
"Talk about your rampant unchecked narcissism," a voice said from nearby, and Boris's attention snapped to the front of the gazebo, near the stairs, where John was standing.
"Oh, look, it's an opinion nobody asked for," Boris remarked, sounding hurt. John smirked as he entered the gazebo and sat down next to Boris. Boris hesitated momentarily, then gave in and handed John a finger sandwich, which he graciously accepted and bit into. The two men sat there for a bit, chewing and listening.
"I'm sorry," John finally said, "I know I'm a priest, I know you rely on me, but...I just couldn't do it."
"It's fine," Boris said, "it was callous of me to even think you might. Carol kind of opened my eyes to the fact that despite being all about me it isn't all about me. I might be the one dying, but the ones I'm leaving behind are also in pain. I get it."
"No, I don't think you do," John said, catching Boris's attention; Boris watched him as he turned the sandwich over in his fingers and sighed, saying, "it isn't just about losing you, or the way I feel towards you, it's...it's so much more than that. You and I share a level of emotional intimacy that I never even shared with the men I loved openly. That's a rare thing, Boris. Steven and I, we were so good together, but we never talked deeply about things the way you and I do. I'm not just losing you. I'm losing part of me, and that...that scares the hell out of me."
Boris's eyesbrows lifted, surprised by Johns words. John sighed again and continued.
"And the thing is," he went on, "it's selfish, and I'm aware it's selfish, and I'm firmly in a career field where selflessness is the word of the day. Give your life to God. Help those around you who need council. But...but aren't I entitled to a little bit of selfishness now and then? So much of what I do with my life is at the expense of myself, for others, and I just...I needed to stay away for once. It's too hard to reconcile the reality that is mortality, especially the mortality of those I love so much. I'm never going to share another level of emotional intimacy with another man the way I do with you. That's a hard thing to accept losing."
Boris nodded, looking down at his shoes.
"I'm sorry," he said, making John laugh.
"Don't apologize for dying!" he replied, "that's...I mean, it happens to all of us. One day this situation will be reversed, and I'll be in your place. I only hope that, when that time comes, I'll have someone there for me the way I couldn't be there for you."
"You've been there so much already, John," Boris said, reaching out and taking his hand in his own, squeezing gently, "I don't know why I expected you to be there for this. Everything you said makes sense. You have every right to have a hard time accepting this. A right to distancing yourself. I don't think anyone would really blame you. I'm just so sorry that your life has been touched by death and loss and grief so regularly, and I hope that after me, you won't have to deal with that as much. You deserve to be happy. To be safe and comfortable."
Boris looked towards him, and John was smiling, near tears. Boris smiled back.
"You deserve a life full of life, not of death," Boris said, "and I sincerely hope you get it."
John leaned in and hugged him, and Boris hugged back. Boris knew he'd never get what he wanted, which was a different lifetime, a lifetime of being openly himself, a lifetime spent with this man, but that was okay. The time John had given him lasted a lifetime anyway.
***
Boris was tucking Ellen in after a long day. She'd struggled with her homework, and had spent much of the evening frustrated. Boris did his best to help her, and he even helped Lorraine make dinner that night. As he sat on Ellen's beside, pushing her hair from her face and smiling at her, she couldn't help but feel safe. It had been a rough couple of weeks. Her grandmother, Lorraine's mother, had passed unexpectedly, and seeing how close Ellen and she had been, Ellen was having a hard time adjusting to the loss.
"You think she's okay?" Ellen asked, squeezing her stuffed rhino to her chest.
"Yeah, I think she's okay. She's not in pain, and that's a good thing," Boris said.
"It's scary," Ellen said.
"Death is scary, yeah," Boris replied, "and while it can happen randomly, the odds of something like that are slim, so you don't have to worry, kiddo. You're safe."
"But I'm gonna die?"
"Someday, everyone does."
Ellen waited, chewing on her lip, then looked back up at her father.
"And you're gonna die?" she asked, and he chuckled, leaning in and kissing her forehead.
"Yeah, I am," he said, "but not for a long, long time."
It was likely the only promise he made that he kept.