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"Because at the time I didn't understand what it meant to want to give yourself to someone completely. I do now." He pulls me up to him. I wish he wouldn't, because a tear has found its way down my cheek, and I want to hide it. Tristan catches it with his thumb, glancing at it stricken.
"Aimee," he whispers, and in this moment, all I can think of is what a privilege it is to hear him say my name, and how very few times I have to enjoy the luxury of hearing him say it. I hate it. Most of all, I hate there will never be a wedding. I'll never stay next to him in white, exchanging vows. The longing to do that hits me fast, and so hard it wipes the air from my lungs. If I could have one last wish granted, it would be to do that. I don't understand why it's suddenly so important, but it would give me the peace I lost when I realized I won't make it out of here. When Tristan looks at me, he reads my thoughts. I see he wants to reassure me that it's not true, that I'll have lots of time—months, years—to hear him say my name. But now I'm the one who doesn't let him say anything. To silence him, I press my mouth to his, allowing his lips to envelop me with that wonderful power they have to wipe away every thought. I'm glad we had this conversation. I know how important it was to him. When you are healthy you think you have all eternity to say what matters. When you're sick you learn how to live every moment, and how to make every moment matter. How sad that we learn this when we're about to run out of time. I would have never told him this if I were healthy. Embarrassment and inhibition have always kept me from expressing my deepest desires, hopes, and thoughts. I guess in a way, I cannot consider my illness a complete curse.
We break apart, gasping for air, and then he wraps me in a tight embrace, kissing my forehead. "Well, if you want to be surrounded by lots of exotic flowers, we'd better pack a handful of them when we leave this place," he says jokingly. Then he leaps to his feet. I pull myself up straighter, my heart hammering a million miles an hour as I look around, trying to find what alerted him. I don't see anything that could pose a threat.
"We could do it here," he says.
"Do what here?" I ask blankly.
"Get married." He cups my face in his hands. "There are more than enough flowers, and you have a white dress. The one you didn't want to wear because it was too long. Kind of hard to get rings, but we could do without them for now. We have some of those spines with coloring sap," he says, pointing to the stack of spines he plucked from the bird. "We can use them for the tattoos. What do you say?" I fumble with the buttons of his shirt, fighting tears. He can’t possibly understand how much this means to me.
"Cold feet already so soon after saying yes? What do you say, Aimee?" he beckons me to answer.
"I'd love that," I whisper.
He presses his lips on my forehead. "I'll sneak out to bring some flowers…"
"No way. I've memorized all the flowers on the inside of the fence anyway. I'll just imagine we have them here."
"I'll help you change in your white dress after I change. Or do you want to me to help you before?"
"No, no… I'll change on my own."
"But you can't—”
"Please, Tristan. I'd like to do this myself."
"All right."
He goes inside the cockpit, a feeling fluttering in my stomach. Since I can barely move, I crawl to my suitcase, gritting my teeth as pain sears my leg with even the lightest movement. I refuse to look at my leg and put on the white dress with dark blue lace, thankful for its length. I'll ha
ve to make sure it doesn't slide sideways, revealing my leg. That would be a definite mood-killer. I comb my hair, letting it fall on my back. It feels strange after the months I've worn it in a bun. I find the makeup bag I stuffed at the bottom of the suitcase when we first made an inventory of what we had. I forgot I had it. I open it, and in the small mirror on the inside of the cap, I see my reflection and gasp. I look horrible, like someone sucked the life out of me. My skin is a sickly pale color. I must have lost far more weight than I thought, because my cheekbones are very prominent. They make the deep, dark circles under my eyes look even more haunting. I sigh, biting my lip. I wish Tristan could remember me beautiful. It's a silly wish to have right now, but I don't care. He has enough ugly memories.
I eye the makeup bag. Maybe I can work with this, though I doubt any amount of makeup can make me look beautiful now. My spirits lift a tad as I start applying makeup. The fluttering feeling becomes more intense, filling me more and more as I apply concealer under my eyes, and put a light blush on my cheeks. By the time I smear lipstick on my lifeless lips, I'm certain I will burst with excitement. The image in the mirror gradually becomes alive. By the time I'm done, I'm far from beautiful, but I no longer look like a corpse. It takes me forever to crawl back to my seat. After pondering for a few seconds whether this is the best place to sit, I crawl to the space in front of the door. We'll have more room here. I'm attempting to clean the spot by pushing aside the remnants of thread Tristan uses to tie the end of the arrows, when an idea strikes me. I put some of the thread between my fingers and weave it in a surprise for Tristan. When he comes out of the cockpit, I hide my secret behind my back. My breath catches. He's wearing his uniform with a freshly washed, white shirt underneath.
"Wow. You look beautiful, Aimee."
My face warms as his gaze rakes over me, drinking me in. "Thank you." I check whether the dress covers my hurt leg. “So do you."
"I had a tie somewhere, but can't find it. Why are you holding your hands behind your back?"
"None of your business," I say cheekily.
"What are you hiding?" He grins, and takes a step toward me, trying to peek behind my back. I jerk, pressing my elbow on my hurt leg. I wince from the pain, and Tristan's grin drops. I force a smile on my face, even though the pain is so sharp that my eyes begin to water. "Shhh, don't look. It's a surprise. Go find your tie."
He looks at my covered leg, but I shake my head, smiling. "Go find it, before I change my mind about marrying you." The second he's out of sight I let my pain out through gritted teeth. There is a blood stain on my dress from where I pressed on my leg. I don't dare look under my dress. I rearrange the dress so the stain isn't visible.
Tristan takes forever, and I begin to wonder if something happened to him, or if he changed his mind, when he comes out. His tie in place, I don't think I have ever loved him more than when he sits in front of me, saying, "Ready to be mine forever?"
I smile. "Ready."
He takes my hands. "I haven't prepared any elaborate vows, but I… I would love for you to be my wife. It will be a privilege to love you more every day. I will not take your love for granted, but give you new reasons to fall in love with me every day. I will learn all the ways to make you smile and make sure the only kind of tears you spill are ones of happiness."
A knot forms in my throat, and when Tristan indicates it's my turn to speak, I chuckle.
"You hadn't prepared any vows, huh?" I whisper, searching for words, but only finding tears. He spoke so beautifully of a future we won't have.
"Hey, we can skip your vows and go straight to the kiss."
