“Come take a bath with me?”

He isn’t quite sure he hears her correctly, he’s finishing up cleaning the kitchen, closing the dishwasher with his foot and drying his hands on the dish towel. It gets thrown into the corner, missing the open laundry room and ending up somewhere on the floor. Close enough. He doesn’t want to raise his voice, it’s hard enough getting the kids to stay in bed as it is so he stays quiet, turning around and heading out of the kitchen.

It’s not a question she typically asks.

It’s not a question he expects, either.

Just three days ago she was complaining about the size of the tub again. What was her complaint again? Oh. “Forest is almost too big for it at this rate.” Something like that. That had to be an exaggeration. Surely, it was. Forest wasn’t even five yet. He was smaller than Kat was at that age. He wishes he could renovate the bathroom before they had no time left. But they were saving for other things now. Can’t get your wife a garden tub when you’ve got to buy her a coffin.

She’s standing there, foot of the stairs. Towel wrapped around her body. Smaller than she was before. They’ve both agreed not to mention it. One of a few subjects that were now deemed forever off topic. Water was left running in the tub above. She was serious. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

“Oh in the tub that’s too small for Forest?”

They only had one full bath. So he knew that was the only one she was talking about. She scrunched her nose, “maaaaybe I was exaggerating?” He laughs and she doesn’t. But not in a bad way. She has something else up her sleeve. “So that’s a no..?”

She drops the towel slowly, already (obviously) naked below it. She makes a sound that’s a cross between a sigh and a hmph, and turns to head back up the stairs.

In a motion that’s too quick for her to comprehend, he scoops her and the towel up, and carries her up the stairs. She’s giggling, like they’ve got all the time in the world. He sets her down on the soft rug in the bathroom, shutting the door behind them. Because. Well. The kids. Anything and everything wakes them up. He strips his clothes off and looks at her. She pretends to check him out and whistles.

“Woooow,” she draws it out. Slowly. Like they’ve never been naked together before and like they wouldn’t again. “My lucky day.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

He laughs and gets into the tub first. The thing about it too, is that she’s right. It's too small. He can’t lie. He can’t fully stretch his legs in it. Part of the reason why they’ve never done this before. The other part is that, normally, he doesn’t think he’d agree to this. They were both the type to consider bathing a personal solace for a few moments of uninterrupted thought. Once or twice when she first got sick he washed her hair for her. Back before she got used to being tired. Back when they thought maybe they’d get over this. But at this point, borrowed time is borrowed time and he doesn’t know how much longer he’s got to agree to his wife’s schemes. So he goes with it, rolls with the punches, and agrees to shared bathing time. Who wouldn’t in his position?

He holds his hand out to her and she gets in the tub with him. Water already too high. Pouring out over the sides. Whatever. It’s fine. They can dry it later. She sits with her back to his chest. He wraps his arms around her. Once again he can’t help but notice how small she was. People who didn’t know she was dying congratulated her on the weight loss recently. She didn’t need to lose anything. And Mark would’ve liked her at any size versus knowing he wasn’t going to have her at all. She wasn’t ever big to begin with.

On top of that, she doesn’t have much of an appetite these days. Which makes it hard when there’s a four year old who doesn’t want to eat and keeps getting pickier as the days go by and an eight year old who wants nothing but treats for all meals.

What’s the easiest way to say sorry kids, mommy is dying, so she’s allowed to have two spoonfuls of peanut butter for dinner. You have to eat that meal you don’t want? This advice wasn’t in any parenting book.

They’ve both agreed to not mention how much they will miss each other. Juliet said it’s a given. He still wants to say it, though. Because he will. He already does. He doesn’t think he wants to live life without her. She seems to think he’s gonna be able to move on. She’s encouraged it, actually. Says: I hope you find someone nice once I’m not here. The thought makes him sick. But he entertains the idea, for her. If it makes her happy to think he won’t be miserable forever without her, then sure.

The bubble bath she must’ve poured in smells fruity and he assumes it’s one she got for the kids. If they can afford one thing of bubble bath, it’ll be one that everyone can use. Her hair smells like artificial watermelon, and he knows that’s the kids shampoo. They all shared one bathroom so there’s no doubt she accidentally grabbed and used it. He takes a deep breath of it, and then for a second regrets it. Reminds him of Forest and Kat, and then it’ll just be yet another reminder of her once she’s gone. He sighs. As if the kids wouldn’t be reminder enough.

“Maaaark…”

“Hm?”

She turns to face him, water sloshing again. She peers up at him. Biiiiig brown eyes peering at him. Brow furrowed. Nose scrunched.

“I know you’re thinking about it.”

He wants to slip down below the water's surface and is embarrassed that he can’t. Because the tub’s too fucking small. Just like she complained about. It just sucks that she was right. In more ways than one.

He was. He was thinking about how much he would miss her. Was thinking about how even if he had no reminders of her he’d miss her. He thought they had forever.

“How can I not, Jay?”

She adjusts as he tries to sink further into the bathtub. She’s slightly hovering over him now, her face so close to his. Her hair creates a curtain around them. In a world that, at this point, is all their own. And she expects him to, what, just not think about missing her?

“It just makes it harder,” she eventually stutters out, and he just frowns. Easy for her to say. She wasn’t going to have to live with this.

“I’m just gonna fucking miss you.”

“I’m gonna miss you too.”

He laughs a little. Because how could she? She’d be dead. Even if it turns out there’s a Heaven, she’d be up there probably so entertained she wouldn’t think about him back there on earth. If she got around to missing anyone, surely it’d be the kids. Then maybe.

“I promise, Mark. Even if I’m the first person to accomplish missing someone from the afterlife. I’m gonna miss you, too.”

He cups her face in his hand, and she presses against it, before turning her face to kiss against his palm. His eyes sting, and he’s typically not a crier but this just isn’t fair. This is enough to make him want to fully break down and sob every day but he feels he will have plenty of time for that later. Now he’s got to enjoy. And not take it for granted. Or try.

They sit there together a little bit longer. They don’t talk much, they kiss here and there but eventually she’s feeling tired and so he takes her to bed. For the hell of it, he bridal carries her through their bedroom doorway. He thinks—but does not say—that even if he knew ten years ago that this wouldn’t last forever due to her untimely demise, that he would have still married her. Maybe would have done it sooner. He lays her gently on the bed and helps her change into pajamas and kisses her a few more times. He tries not to think about how he doesn’t know what kiss will be the last.

She lays her head on his chest and he wraps his arm around her and pulls her close. She says all the things she loves him more than until eventually, somewhere between I love you more than sneaking tastes of brownie batter and I love you more than orgasming, she falls asleep.

He kisses the top of her head, gently. “Love you,” he whispers. He lays there and thinks of all the things he loves her more than until he falls asleep too.

He dreams that they are able to finally cure her.