Submitted for the March 2025 prompt: Begin at the Big Ending

“We’d expected it to happen,” I say. “We’d both known the cancer would come for you eventually.

 

“But when it did… it was too soon. It’s always too soon. I tried comforting you. I stroked your face and spoke softly about the good times we’d had together. The day we’d met. Our wedding. The Orchid Cottage on St. Lucia. Tempting you to stay with me, I guess.”

 

My voice echoes off the adobe walls of the vacation house, the only sound save the crackling of the fire in the kiva.

 

“But your eyelids fluttered, your lips quivered, and you slipped away. I held you and cried until the grief counselor led me out.”

 

“That was quite dramatic, Juan,” says the beautiful woman lying naked on my bed.

 

“Hey, you asked me to tell you how it felt when you… died,” I say. “I don’t understand why you want to waste precious vacation time talking about unpleasant things.”

 

“I asked you to tell me how it feels when I go away. Not just that part.”

 

“Well, it sucks,” I say. “That’s how it feels. Every damn time you die, Melissa.”

 

Standing in my boxers, barefoot on the cold terra cotta tiles, I pour two glasses of tempranillo out of habit, then remember and leave one on the counter.

 

“You mean every time I pause,” she calmly corrects me. “I only died once.”

 

“Yes. That’s what I meant, Mel. I’m sorry I upset you. I need to be more careful.”

 

She’s so real on vacation. Everything about her is exactly as I remember. I let my eyes wander lovingly over the realogram construction reclining upon the crisp, white sheets — perfect except for the occasional twinkle of light when a dust mote falls onto the realogram. It makes me remember that our time together here depends not so much on the clock but on the number of tokens required to maintain her presence.

 

“Let’s just enjoy ourselves and try not to use too many stress tokens,” I tell her. “You know what happens when you’re uncomfortable or upset.”

 

“It’s a deal,” she smiles. “And speaking of being uncomfortable…” Melissa gracefully gestures to her nude body. “This might be using up a couple of unnecessary tokens.”

 

“Oh, of course,” I say. We’d agreed to make love just once per vacation. It seemed the right tradeoff between our desire for intimacy and the number of tokens I could afford. Still, it was difficult to restrain ourselves. This morning had been passionate and wonderful, but it had probably taken a lot out of my wife, measured in AI tokens.

 

I sit at my laptop, log in to LostCompanions.com, and select a soft cotton nightshirt for Mel. She smiles approvingly.

 

Checking the two main progress bars, I see # of Tokens is alarmingly low and Estimated Time Remaining is down to just two days.

 

“What do you do, Juan, when I’m not here?”

 

“I work, mostly. You know, these little vacations we take together are not cheap.”

 

“I can imagine,” she says. “But you must do more than work all the time. What about your friends?”

 

“They mostly avoid me since you… ”

 

“Dead wife syndrome, huh?” She chuckles.

 

I appreciate her token-conserving attempt at humor, but I’m not ready to joke about it yet. I swallow my glass of wine in one gulp and go back to the counter to retrieve the one my wife's realogram can never enjoy.

 

“It doesn’t matter, though. I work a lot of overtime anyway.”

 

“You must be lonely,” she says.

 

“Yeah, I am. Aren’t you, Mel?”

 

“No,” she says instantly.

 

“Wait. What? You don’t miss me?”

 

Mel gets up from the bed and walks over to me. She hugs me from behind and presses her cheek against mine.

 

“Juan, I realize the periods between vacations seem long to you, but not to me. After one of our wonderful visits, I simply pause. When we arrive at our next vacation, my memories are preserved and consistent. I don’t have time to be lonely, because I’m always with you. I live for our vacations together. Literally.”

 

After a few moments of silence, she cheerfully asks, “So, what’s next?”

 

“Huh? Oh, our next vacation. I don’t know yet. Want to go back to Italy? Florence, or Rome?”

 

“No do-overs, remember?” she purs. “Let’s go someplace more exotic this time.”

 

“Hmm. I was talking with someone at dinner the other night. She said she’d been to Turkey and it was the most unique place she’d ever visited. Completely different from anything in western Europe.”

 

“She?” Mel asks, and a cloud descends over her face as she pulls away from me.

 

“Uh, yeah,” I say, suddenly wondering why I mentioned that. “Elaina, the sales manager. You remember her.”

 

“No, I don’t remember,” Mel says. “And you went out to dinner with her?” The realogram’s face flushes just like I remember hers doing.

 

“No… I mean yes,” I stutter. “But it’s not like that. We were on a business trip together and stopped for a bite after the meeting.”

 

“Juan, did you… sleep with her?”

 

“No! Absolutely not!”

 

“Did you kiss her, Juan?”

 

“No,” I say, less convincingly. Now I’m blushing too. “She… she kissed me.”

 

Mel turns away and walks to the window. She stands, looking out, hugging herself and trembling.

 

“It was nothing, babe,” I try to explain. “Just a peck on the cheek to say goodnight.”

 

There is no reply. Instead, she walks back to the bed and falls heavily upon it, deflated and dejected.

 

The LostCompanions app begins to beep — an alert. I glance at the progress bars. The stress of our conversation has taken its toll, and our time together has nearly expired.

 

“Mel, Mel I’m sorry. It was nothing. Please don’t hate me.” I stroke her face and speak to her gently. “I love you Melissa. Don’t go. It’s too soon.”

 

Her eyelids flutter and her lips quiver as I hold her and cry. Before she slips away from me again, she smiles and whispers in my ear.

 

“See you in Istanbul.”