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If anything, it’s kind of nice to have another person with me. No, that’s not it. What I actually like is having Cadence with me. She fits in my world and in my life. I don’t know how I got so lucky that I stumbled in there and found her when I did.
Thank God I came to my brother’s wedding. It haunted me all night last night, thoughts of what would have happened had I only sent a wedding gift and not shown up. The only thing that kept me sane was looking down and seeing that gold band on my finger.
Cadence belongs to me. She’s mine. She’s my wife, and that means I get to spoil her whenever I want. Starting with giving her a huge library.
She exclaims over all the books as we unpack them. I thought for sure she’d be one of those people who would arrange her book collection by author. But surprisingly, she does it by color.
It takes me a moment, but eventually I can see her pattern. She’s following the colors of a rainbow, and I have to admit that it’s bright and beautiful. She nudges my side. Her fingertips are warm, and I feel her warmth through the cotton of my plaid button down.
“Can you put this one up there?” She asks.
I do as she instructs, patiently putting the books on the high shelf. She beams at me with every book I put away. Just her smile alone makes me feel ten feet tall. I still can’t believe that she said yes when I told her to marry me.
“I didn’t have a lot of books as a kid. But my dad would take me every week to the library, and I would load up a backpack full of books. Even though things were hard for us, he taught me that stories can help you discover new worlds and find answers to your problems. But most of all, they can bring you comfort. They remind you that you’re not alone. I guess that’s why I read so much.” She gives a chuckle like she feels self-conscious after her admission.
I touch her shoulder and nod wanting her to know I understand her loneliness. Before the stroke, the only thing I ever read were business books by the gurus of the year that talked about how to hustle harder and crush your goals.
After my stroke, even the tiniest of tasks were difficult. That’s when I discovered the world of fiction. I couldn’t move from the bed without assistance, but I could be a commander on a spaceship, or I could be behind enemy lines, fighting for my life. Those books helped me with my recovery just as much as my physical therapy and medication.
“Favorite?” I manage the question, hating the gravelly sound of my voice. I might be able to speak, but I don’t do it often. Too much hassle so now when I do talk, my voice sounds odd even to my own ears.
She looks around the library and shakes her head.
“There are too many, but maybe I would start with this one.” She picks up a book with a blue alien on the front, but it’s clear from his ripped abs and piercing gaze that this isn’t one of the space opera books I read. No, this looks more like some type of romance.
I reach for it, curious as to her taste.
She snatches it away. “What are you doing?”
I make a gesture to indicate I want to read it.
She looks between me and the book, a slight pink tinge to her cheeks. “You want to read my romance book?”
If it has anything to do with Cadence, I want to know about it. I want to learn more about what turns her on and gets her going. If that’s what’s in those pages, I definitely want to see it.
“Why?” Cadence squeaks.
I reach for my phone in my pocket, frustrated with my inability to do more than utter a word or two. It’s all there in my head. I can see all of the words plainly. I can even write most sentences clearly. I just can’t seem to get them out.
The doctors told me that happens with some types of aphasia, but it doesn’t matter if I can still communicate through writing. It’s damn frustrating to have to take the time to spell out what I want. Usually, I don’t bother, but with Cadence, I want her to know what I’m thinking.
On my phone, I type out a quick message. I want to know what turns you on.
She looks again to the book, then finally shoves it in my hands. “Page sixty.”
She grabs an armful of books from the box and begins quickly sorting them on a shelf. She’s not looking at me, which tells me she’s embarrassed. A gentleman would probably wait and read it alone, but I don’t. Now that I’m this close to figuring out what excites my new bride, I have to know.
