The Counting-Downers

by A. J. Compton

  I stand and make my way over to him, running my left hand through his hair with loving strokes. “I don’t care. Besides, it’s kind of perfect this way. It’s us. A bit different, a bit broken, and not playing by the rules. We’re making the moment ours.”

  “I did do at least one thing right. I asked your dad for permission.”

  I jolt at the electric shock his words bring. “You did? What? When? How?”

  My favorite throaty laugh leaves his lips at my ability to speak only in questions before he answers them in turn. “Yes, I did. About three weeks ago. I went to his bench and told him how much I loved you. I mean, it wasn’t a two-way conversation and he didn’t speak and give me his permission, but I’d like to think he would have granted it. I—”

  All of a sudden, he breaks off and his expression is anxious, as if he’s not sure he should say what he was about to. It means so much to me that he thought to do this. More than I can express or describe.

  “Go on.”

  “It”—he takes a deep breath—“it’s going to sound crazy, but when I finished my nervous, rambling speech and finally asked for permission, a strong gust of warm wind just came from nowhere. I mean the evening air was still before that, you know?” I nod, dumbstruck, my heart racing so fast it pounds against my ribcage. “I… I’d like to think it was your dad giving me his blessing. I know what this sounds like. I’m not one to believe in signs or messages from beyond. But it just felt… right. I was calm and warm… content.”

  He misinterprets the stunned look on my face as his forehead creases with concern.

  “I knew I shouldn’t have told you, you think I’m crazy, don’t you? Now you won’t want to marry me.”

  I laugh, my breathing still rapid from the shock of his revelation. “No. Not at all. I think you’re right. It was him giving permission.”

  “God, I love you.”

  “I love you too, so ask me.”

  He pulls out the familiar ring box from his olive green cargo shorts. My eyebrows raise at the fact that he has it on him. Because of the way he’s watching me, he reads my expression and reaches the correct interpretation.

  “I haven’t stopped carrying it with me. I kept hoping…” He trails off and doesn’t finish the thought even though I can guess the end of the sentence. “I never gave up hope. You taught me how to do that. You’ve taught me so much.”

  “You’ve taught me a lot too.”

  He smiles at me with a soft look of such longing. He doesn’t have to long for anything when it comes to me. I’m his in every way possible, except the immortal.

  This time I allow him to open the box and gasp at its contents. I know Tristan’s art has already made him wealthy, but this must have cost a fortune. Aside from Tristan’s priceless personal artwork that he’s given me, I don’t think I’ve ever owned anything this valuable before. I don’t know anything about carats or clarity, I’m not that kind of girl, but you only need a working pair of eyes to see that the ring is stunning, worthy of the grandest royalty.

  Shaped like a flower, a large round yellow diamond sits in the middle, surrounded by white diamonds in the intricate shape of softly pointed petals on a platinum band. Despite the size and sparkle, it still manages to be simple and understated instead of garish and ostentatious. It’s unique and special, made all the more so because I know this is Tristan’s way of telling me that this is how he sees me. He sees me. Full stop.

  My hand shakes in his unsteady grip. We’re as physically moved by the moment as we are emotionally.

  “Matilda Evans, you don’t just have my heart and soul; you are my heart and soul. You’ve taught me how to live, truly, deeply, freely, and I want to do so with you for the rest of my life. I want to live and die with you by my side. Will you marry me and make me the happiest man alive?”

  The pull and the plea swim around in his mesmerizing blue eyes. I could get lost in them, in him, for an eternity.

  Faced with the choice between my fear and my forever, I channel my fighting spirit and say the word I was always destined to say. The only word I ever could say to him.

  “Yes.”

  A SPECIAL KIND of moment in life exists, whereby something you’ve always dreamed about through a hypothetical lens occurs. And even if you’ve visualized it in precise detail and planned for it with excruciating perfectionism, you can’t quite believe it is happening. It’s so surreal that you struggle to be present. You end up passing through the moment in a daze. Sometimes, the event itself is almost anti-climactic. The reality doesn’t live up to your dreams.

  And other times, your dreams don’t come anywhere close to the reality. This is one of those moments.

  For while I can’t quite believe the wedding day I’ve thought about since I was a child is here, I know that I couldn’t have dreamed a more perfect moment. Even the wildest corners of my imagination couldn’t have conjured up a day like today. I’m the opposite of dazed. I’m hyper-aware, so alert that I’m almost restless and twitchy with the need to take everything in. I think my mom and two bridesmaids think I’m nervous, but the thought of marrying my soulmate and spending the rest of his short life with him fills me with nothing but calm.

  “You look so beautiful, darling.” Mom’s eyes are misty as she dabs at them to protect her pristine makeup. She’s been emotional all day, and I know she’s thinking about my dad and wishing he were here almost as much as I do.

  This day is bittersweet. The milestones always make you miss the departed most. Birthdays, graduations, weddings, anniversaries, births, and special occasions, like Christmas or Mother’s and Father’s days, all seem to widen that aching gap your loved one left behind. You most notice and feel who is absent when almost everyone you love is around you.

  On a day like today, I ache with the lack and loss of my father. Sometimes absence doesn’t make the heart grow fonder. Sometimes it just makes the heart hurt. It’s crazy that my heart is close to bursting with the amount of love and joy in it; and at the same time, it threatens to explode with unbearable pain.

  Still, I know he’s with me. I sense his presence today just as keenly as I sense his absence. That’s helped in no small part by Tristan’s wedding present. Last night, he presented me with a sketchbook he’d created full of paintings he’d done of all the memories I’d told him about my dad in passing. I didn’t think it was possible for him to rock me to the core any further with the beautiful things he does for me, the beautiful way he loves me.

  I’d given him a stunning painting he’d done of the two of us, which he’d shown at a recent exhibition. He’d only entered it to make up numbers, under the belief it wouldn’t be sold, so he was devastated and full of regret when it did, not knowing that I was the mystery buyer. It cost an eye-watering amount, but it was worth it to see the blinding smile on his face. Still, it was an inadequate exchange compared to his gift.

  “Your father is with you today.” My mom reads my thoughts as she brushes away a stray curl from my face with the tender touch only a mother can give. She cried over the sketchbook almost as much as I did. “I know that wherever he is, he’s so proud of you. He loved Tristan and he’d be so happy that you found each other.”

  “You think so?”

  “I know so.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  “I should be the one thanking you. You’re the best daughter a mother could ask for. I don’t know what I would have done without you, especially these past few years. I’m so proud of the woman you’ve become. If anything, I’m in awe of you. I wish I had even a fraction of the wisdom and courage you have when I was your age. I can’t believe my little girl is getting married today.”

  “I can’t quite believe it either.”

  “I’m proud of you for taking the chance and the risk. I know it’s scary, but you’re doing the right thing. A lifetime of happiness outweighs any sadness that may one day come. Trust me, I’m living it.”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you too, swee
theart. Now, let’s get you married. That young man of yours is vibrating with energy. I wouldn’t be surprised if he comes up here and drags you downstairs.”

  We both laugh at the truth that underlies her statement. It’s something Tristan would do. As he’s let down his barriers and his fears over time to allow the real Tristan to shine through, he’s also let go of his formality and cautiousness where I’m concerned, revealing the confident, self-assured man beneath. It’s as if he just needed permission and encouragement to go after his dreams. And now, there’s no stopping him. He’s become a man who knows what he wants and goes after it. Luckily, he wants me more than anything else in this world.

  Smiling, I walk over to my drapes and pull them back to peek out over the garden and the meadow where we’ll be getting married in a few minutes. There was no other option for us, other than the beach.

  At first, we were torn between the two locations as so much of our story has taken place at ‘our spot,’ but after discussing it, we decided that we didn’t want to share one of the most special moments of our lives with random beach wanderers.

  We just wanted something small and intimate with the family we have left and the family we’ve made. Our wedding may only have ten guests, but we wouldn’t have it any other way. Maia and Erin are my bridesmaids, while Blaise and Jacob are Tristan’s groomsmen. Although all the guests are sitting together as one, on my ‘side’ are my mom, Oscar, and my grandmother, and on Tristan’s are his art mentor, Pierre, his grandfather’s former nurse, Freya, and her husband, Jason.

  Erin walks back into my bedroom with Maia close behind, holding Oscar’s hand. He is adorably enamored with my best friend. The girls had left ten minutes ago to give my mom and me a moment together and to check on how the boys are doing. To his delight, Oscar has spent the day getting ready and spending time with the groomsmen. I love them even more than I already do for including him.

  The girls both gasp at the sight of me in my bridal outfit as Oscar lets go of Maia’s hand and runs up to me, crashing into me as his gangly arms wrap around my waist.

  “You look really pretty, Tilly.”

  “Thanks, Osc. And look how handsome you are.” His little chest puffs out in pride as I adjust his mini bow tie. I smile to myself at the memory of my mom trying to wrestle him into one for my dad’s funeral three years ago. How times have changed. Although by the way he’s fidgeting in his tuxedo, I would be willing to bet money that the tie will come off before the reception.

  “Shall we take one more picture before we get ready?” Mom suggests, nodding at the photographer who assembles us in a line with me in the middle and Oscar in front of me. It’s strange to have someone taking photos of me, instead of being the one taking them. Photographers are always more comfortable behind the camera.

  “Okay, let’s go. The boys and guests are already in place.”

  Mom leads the way as we walk downstairs and outside. We stop in the garden to take a few more pictures among the roses and other manicured flowers. My mom squeezes my hand and kisses both cheeks as she walks on ahead through the blossom trees to take her seat in the meadow. Even though he’s several yards away and I can’t see him, the pull I always sense when Tristan is in close proximity tugs at me.

  Taking a few moments to collect myself, I take a deep breath and resist the urge to succumb to the feeling that is trying to move me toward him.

  “Are you ready? You look so beautiful, Matilda.” Erin’s lyrical lilt gives me the strength I need to take my time and savor the next few moments.

  “Thank you.” I look down at my wedding dress again to check everything is in place. I say dress, but it’s two separate pieces. The white top finishes at my waist and is stitched with dozens of intricate daisy rows in beautiful golden thread. The long, white maxi skirt looks ethereal as it flows in the light breeze. It too has a thin band of flowers stitched in gold around the waist, almost connecting with the crop top, with only a tiny sliver of my bronzed skin showing in between.

  My long hair flows in smooth waves over one shoulder, curving at my hip and held in place with a hair clip decorated with fresh white roses from my mom’s garden. My feet are bare, as I wanted to feel grounded and connected to the earth around us. Maia has done my makeup so the effect is simple, but pretty. Her eyes water as she hands me my bouquet of forget-me-nots I picked earlier from the ones Tristan planted in the meadow all those months ago.

  “You look stunning, Til. I’m so happy for you. You know, two blonde people together tends to creep me out a bit.” We both shake with laughter at her words. “But you two don’t creep me out at all. You’re beautiful together. You give me hope for my own forever.” As amazing as she is, and with over sixty years left to live, I have no doubt she’ll find it.

  “Still, if you need an out, I have a cab waiting out front for you. If you want to run, now would be the time to do it.” She jokes, our laughter halting my tears.

  “I’m sure. I’ve never been surer. I’m right where I’m supposed to be.”

  “Okay then. Nobody can say I didn’t offer. Best friend duty has been done. Let’s do this thing.”

  As we walk through the arch of blossom trees that lead into the meadow beyond, we’re stopped for more photos. The delicate fallen petals tickle the soles of my feet as we stand on a blanket of pink. Once that’s done, we assemble our positions as Maia gives the gesture, which starts the procession song. Never one to follow rules, we chose Ingrid Michaelson’s hauntingly beautiful cover of ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love’ instead of the traditional wedding march tune.

  The girls begin their slow walk ahead, as I pull out the clasp on the stopwatch around my neck before taking hold of Oscar’s hand. He looks up as I look down.

  “You ready to give me away?”

  His face is somber with understanding and a heavy maturity that belies his seven years. I’ve seen this look on his face only once before. Something in his serious baby blue eyes tells me that he understands the significance of the moment and the task.

  He nods, as he squeezes my hand in his. “Yes.”

  As Ingrid sings about not being able to stop the inevitable, we take our first steps into the meadow and toward my eternity. Up ahead, I can see the smiling faces of our friends and family, but I am only focused on Tristan’s eyes on mine, even as the distance separates us. But with us, there is no distance. Even when we’re physically apart, we’re always together. Never far away, yet never close enough. We could never be close enough.

  Reluctant to draw my watery gaze away from him, I look around, trying to take in my surroundings and the moment. The whole meadow is cast and burnished in the amber glow of the setting sun. Behind me, I hear the furious shutter of the photographer’s camera. This lighting is a dream to capture. And I would try to do the same if I wasn’t so busy trying to capture the moment with every sense I possessed.

  The wild grass has been cut to form a winding path, reflecting the twists and turns on our journey to each other. Because it wasn’t a straight line to reach this point. Designating the way, a thick carpet of fresh daises have been sprinkled on the path, some of them brushed out of place by Maia and Erin’s slow shuffles.

  Every slow step I take toward him goes too fast. Before I know it, we’re face to face, eye to eye, heart to heart, hand to hand, soul to soul. Not for the first time, but for the beginning of the rest of our lives.

  Watching on from a table underneath the floral and fairy-lighted wedding Chuppah are framed photographs of my dad, Tristan’s parents, and his grandfather. Their faces lit by a solitary candle, they smile out at us; their two-dimensional eyes convey nothing but love and happiness at our union. It was important to both of us that they could all be there in whatever way they could. It sounds ridiculous but the photographs feel more alive than I’ve ever seen them, almost as if they’re thrumming with the energy of their presence and spirit. I hope so.

  Although Tristan’s dad was liberally Jewish, and I’m still trying to make sense of
my conflicting thoughts and feelings about the Christian faith I was brought up with, it meant a lot to us to honor our heritage by weaving in elements of where we’ve come from on the day that marks where we’re going. Tristan looks so handsome in his black tuxedo and golden bow tie, with his feet bare and a golden Kippah on his head.

  Jacob became ordained online so that he could conduct the ceremony. Less rigid in his faith than his minister father, he was more than happy to hold a secular ceremony that included bits of Christianity, such as the traditional vows, and Judaism, like the Sheva B'rachot blessings, which Pierre will do.

  I never break eye contact with Tristan until it’s time to exchange the rings. We both opted for simple platinum bands engraved with the words, ‘Forget-us-not.’ I’m so glad we waited the seven weeks it took for our casts to come off and our scars to heal so that we had no obstacles to this moment.

  Then Jacob says the seven simple words that will join our lives until death parts them. As my lips lock with my husband’s for the first time to the sound of rapturous applause and the sight of our loved ones blowing dandelion wishes in our direction, I know that I’ve made the right decision in fighting through my fears.

  Because I would lose him a thousand lifetimes over if it meant I had the chance to love him a thousand times. And have him love me back.

  If only for a little while.

  WE TAUGHT EACH other how to live, and in doing so, taught each other how to die. For one cannot exist without the other. Life means death, and death means life.

  Although that may be true, whoever said life was a circle was wrong.

  Life is a straight line, with a beginning, middle, and end. And we’re nothing more than players in a cosmic game, drawing random straws of different lengths to determine who goes first and last.

  We didn’t write the rules of the game, but we have to live by them. Grains of sand at the mercy of the fickle dancing wind.

  In the end, the size of the straw doesn’t matter. You can drink the world’s best milkshake with a short straw, or spend your life only drinking water with a long one.