The Counting-Downers (32 page)

“But I’d be by your side anyway! We don’t have to be married to be together.”

“What is going on here, Til? Because I have to say, I’m confused. I thought the idea was that when you’ve found your forever, it makes sense to spend forever
with
them. However long that may be. Is it the idea of marriage that has you running scared? Or the idea of marrying me?”

“Of course not. And I’m not running scared.”

“No, that’s true. You’re standing scared.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what it sounds like. I fell in love with the girl who cartwheeled her way through life. Since I met you, you’ve not stopped moving. Literally and metaphorically. You’re the one who helped me accept that life goes on and it’s better to move with it than be left behind. But it’s like you’ve just
frozen
. You’re paralyzed by something, and if it isn’t fear, I don’t know what else it could be. The whole point of a soulmate is that they accompany you through parts, or most of your journey through life. You need to move with me, Baby Bear. I don’t want to walk this road alone.”

“I’m
not
standing still.”

“You’re not going anywhere, either.”

“Look,” I say, holding up my palm in a placating gesture. “We’re ripping each other to shreds and that’s the last thing I want to do. I want you whole, not with strips torn off and scattered across a hospital room floor. Let’s just take a breath and table this discussion for now. It’s not going anywhere; we still have time to decide what’s next for us.”

“That you can even say that shows you don’t get it. We’re allocated time, but we’re not guaranteed it.”

“I do get it, I do. But still, I’m asking for the one thing we don’t have. Just… give me some time.”

“Fine.”

Wary of his reaction, I lower my head onto his chest once he’s put the ring box and plastic bag away. He gives a deep sigh of defeat. He doesn’t reject my touch, but he doesn’t embrace it either, and I know that things are far from fine.

WHAT THE HELL just happened?

My eyes open as the door to the hospital room closes. After an hour and a half of strained silence and awkward conversation, I faked sleep to spare us both further agony.

When I thought about proposing, it wasn’t in a hospital. And when I woke up this morning, grateful to be alive, I imagined a very different ending to this day. I should know by now that we don’t always get what we want, and nothing is guaranteed. The bruises of embarrassment, which stain my wounded ego, are far more painful than the purple splotches decorating my skin. It was presumptuous of me to think a ‘yes’ was guaranteed. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

On the one hand, I don’t get it. Even partially-sighted people can see we’re perfect for each other. Our relationship has been solid, strong, and
spectacular
, from the very beginning. The only love I’ve seen that matches it, is the ones my parents shared. And ours is more intense because it belongs to us, and is experienced through the hearts of adults, instead of the eyes of children.

Sure, proposing today was impulsive, but I only know how to be, because she taught me. Where she leads, I follow. I’ve learned so much from her in such a short amount of time, imagine what I could learn over the course of her lifetime?

Plus, I’ve been planning this for months. I thought I’d done everything right; a tireless search for the perfect ring, asking her mom
and
dad for permission, and rehearsing my speech until I could recite it verbatim. Everything was going to plan, until a drunk driver crashed into us and shattered more than just our bones on impact; he damaged her care-free nature, too.

I’ve been happier this past year than in the prior twenty-two years combined. From the second my head lifted from the sunset I was sketching, and locked eyes with Matilda’s all those months ago, I’ve known I was going to marry her.

The fact she has twenty-four years left to live, is as irrelevant to me as it is important. It’s irrelevant, because whether she had fifty-five minutes or fifty-five years left to live, I would want to spend that time with her, as her husband. And it’s important, because she doesn’t have fifty-five years left to live, she has less than half of that.

I knew it before, but this accident has served a painful reminder that our time is limited, and every second counts. For all I know, I could die before Matilda, which is why I don’t want to waste a single moment. If it didn’t hurt so much, physically and figuratively, I would laugh at the irony of
me
trying to talk
her
into seizing the day.

On the other hand, I do understand what happened today, because I understand Matilda. There’s no such thing as her emotions and mine. They can’t be spoken about as separate entities because they’re one and the same. Only
our
emotions exist. I feel what she does, and what’s she’s feeling is fear. It’s as palpable and overwhelming as her love for me. I can still feel it now we’re apart. It lingers in my bloodstream like the last remaining party guest. Except fear showed up to our party unwelcome and uninvited.

Behind the anxiety and desperation lacing her words earlier, were adoration and hope. She wants to marry me, I know she does. I saw it in the brightening flash of her eyes when I pulled out the ring box, felt it as her body trembled next to mine, and heard it in the unconvincing plea in her voice, as if her heart was protesting her words. But she allowed her fear to shout louder than her courage, and that isn’t like my girl.

My girl is brave, strong, and courageous. She loves and laughs freely. She isn’t the crying, shaking, imposter that was in this room earlier and has been present ever since I came out of my coma. Nor is she the quiet, cautious person who has been pressing her lips against mine with quivering desperation, and squeezing my hand a bit too tightly, over the past few weeks. I’ve noticed her becoming more aware of time over the last month or so, but I never thought it would result in a ‘no’ today. This accident is at the root of it all. It’s shaken me up too, just in a different way.

But although I know what’s wrong, I have no idea how to make it right. Regret flows through me for losing my temper with her earlier, but I couldn’t contain the frustration. I hate arguing with her. It’s a waste of our words and our time. Both are far too precious to throw away. However, we don’t let the other get away with bad decisions or behavior. I won’t allow her to lose herself, and I’ll spend the rest of her life reminding her of who she is, if necessary.

I sigh, exhaling the remaining negative energy and confusion. The beeping of my heartbeat is steady as I listen to the monitor by my head. I take another moment to say thank you, to whom, I’m not sure. All that matters is I’m still alive. If I can be brought back from unconsciousness, Matilda can be brought back to me. Closing my eyes, I try to think of ways to rescue my should-be fiancée from her fortress of fear. I fall asleep dreaming of wedding rings, flowers, and a fearless girl who says yes.

IT’S BEEN SEVERAL hours since I left Tristan at the hospital. Things didn’t become any less awkward after my non-answer and after a while, he faked sleep, which I saw as my cue to leave.

For the past half an hour, I’ve just been sitting outside on the back deck swing in my pajamas. Sleep eluded me. It’s dark outside, with star and moonlight nature’s only source of illumination. I can’t see much, but I’m staring out at the stillness, as if I’m watching a show. The real drama lies inside me.

My head turns as I hear someone fumbling around in the kitchen, interrupting the quiet harmonies of the outdoors. After ten minutes, the back kitchen door opens and my mom walks out onto the deck. Even in her sleepwear and without any makeup, she’s beautiful. People say I look a lot like my mom, but I have my dad’s eyes, while Oscar looks a lot like my dad but with my mom’s eyes.

“So, we find our way back here.” She takes a seat next to me, offering me a mug of steaming hot chocolate with the hand that’s not holding her own cup.

“Thanks. And so we do.”

I curl my palm around the warm, radiating heat and bring it toward my chest. It doesn’t quite have the same soothing effect on my aching heart as it does on my fraught nerves, but I enjoy the sensation anyway. When I scald my tongue after taking a sip, I know I deserve it for my behavior today. I hurt Tristan with my fear and indecision, and hurting him is one of the last things I would ever want to do, third only to losing or leaving him.

Mom pulls the tartan blanket further up on our laps and just swings with me in silence, both of us looking out into the noisy darkness. The garden and meadow beyond both come alive at night in a different way than they do in the day, with crickets, fireflies, and nocturnal creatures all making their presence known.

Mom blows on her hot chocolate and takes quiet sips. I know she senses that my mind is heavy with thoughts and feelings and is giving me the time and space I need to turn them into words and offload some of the burden.

It doesn’t go unnoticed that our positions mirror the ones from three years ago, when we sat and talked after my dad’s funeral in more ways than one. This time it’s my turn to be vulnerable and look to my mom for strength. In a strange way, I’m happy the tables have turned for us in this direction. It seems like a step forward in our relationship, even if I am apparently ‘standing still.’

“Tristan proposed today.”

She nods as if not surprised by this news. “And what did you say?”

“I said… a lot, but I’m not sure I said anything at all.”

“I see. Where did you leave it?”

“I told him we should just take a moment and postpone the topic for now because I needed to think about it.”

“And have you?”

“Have I what?”

“Thought about it.”

“It’s all I’ve been thinking about since I left that hospital room. I’m scared of breaking something between us.”

“Are you scared that marriage will do that, or that your hesitancy to answer will?”

“I meant my hesitancy to answer, but I’m not so sure about marriage either.”

“Well, with regard to your uncertainty, sometimes things have to break so that they can be put back together in a new way that may just be different, but could also be better. Things can’t mend without being broken.” Her words strike a chord deep within me. I don’t know if they apply to Tristan and me, but I know they are true.