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“Hey, Weston,” he calls, his voice carrying through the still morning air.
“Good to see you again, Tom,” I reply, stepping forward to greet him, my heart pounding with anticipation.
“We’ve got your tree,” he announces, a twinkle in his eye. He knows the significance of this tree, the love and thought I’ve invested in this special surprise. Probably because I visited the nursery about five times and asked him hundreds of questions before I found the perfect one.
I can’t help but feel a rush of excitement as I follow him to the back of his truck. There it is, the elm tree, beautiful and elegant, its slender trunk holding up a lush canopy of vibrant green leaves. It’s not just any tree. It’s a symbol, for the woman who changed me into the person I am today. This tree is Elowyn, and I can’t wait to see her reaction.
Together, Tom and I maneuver it off the truck, its roots packed carefully in a burlap ball. My heart hammers in my chest with a fervor I haven’t felt since the day I proposed to Elowyn.
“Let’s get it planted,” Tom says, his voice steady and calm, a stark contrast to the frenzy of excitement coursing through my veins. As we haul the tree toward the empty corner of the yard, I can’t help but envision how it’ll look once it’s settled in, how it’ll grow and thrive just like the love Elowyn and I share. How it will be a part of our lives for years to come.
How our kids will climb it, play around it, and carve their initials in its mighty trunk.
The hole I prepared earlier waits patiently, the soil fresh and damp, ready to embrace the roots. Tom and I lower the tree into it, the earth swallowing it up with a greedy tenderness.
As we fill the hole, I steal a glance at the kitchen window, half-expecting Elowyn to be watching. But there’s no sign of her, no glimpse of her sunlit hair or curious brown eyes. I’ve been in stealth mode for weeks, and it seems I’ve pulled it off. The surprise will be worth it.
Once we’re done, I take a step back, admiring our handiwork. The elm stands tall and proud, like a king surveying its realm. I can already imagine it growing, its branches spreading wide and high, offering a cool, shady retreat on hot summer days, its leaves rustling in the wind with a melody of their own.
“Looks great, doesn’t it?” Tom says, his voice pulling me from my thoughts.
“It’s perfect,” I reply, my voice choked with emotion.
Tom pats me on the shoulder, a knowing smile on his face. “She’s a lucky lady, Weston.”
“I’m the lucky one,” I correct him, my gaze drifting back to the elm. I’ve known sorrow and pain, but nothing compares to the sanctuary I’ve found with Elowyn. This tree, this moment, it’s not just about surprising her; it’s about honoring our journey together.
It’s an early wedding gift. I can’t wait to see her walking down that aisle—looking so beautiful I won’t be able to stand it—toward our future together. And as we walk hand in hand toward it, this tree will be growing right along with us and the family we hope to have.
We’ve talked about that so many times already. During the quiet moments in the dead of night after our lovemaking tires us out, but we just can’t stop imagining our future.
As Tom drives off, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the elm, I realize the hardest part is yet to come—the wait. Waiting for Elowyn to finish her baking, waiting to lead her to the backyard, waiting to reveal the surprise. It’s a delicious kind of torment, the anticipation humming under my skin like a live wire.
But for Elowyn, for us, it’s worth every agonizing second.
As the scent of freshly baked cookies wafts into the backyard, I lean against the elm tree, its bark rough against my back. The late afternoon sun casts long shadows, turning the yard into a serene tableau of light and dark. Somewhere, a bird chirps, its song resonating in the still air. But it’s the quiet that unnerves me, the ticking clock that stretches each second into a minute as I wait for Elowyn.
I busy myself doing yardwork, raking and pulling some weeds. Finally, the back door creaks open, and my heart leaps. She steps out with a plate of freshly baked cookies balanced in one hand, her eyes scanning the yard, a frown knitting her brow. I straighten up, wiping my sweaty palms against my jeans. This is it.
“Weston?” she calls out, her gaze landing on me. Her eyes widen as she spots the elm tree, and she freezes, her hand flying to her mouth.
I swallow hard, stepping away from the tree, my heart pounding a wild rhythm in my chest. “Elowyn,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “I have something to show you. A surprise I’ve been working on.”
Her eyes never leave the elm as she walks toward me, a slow, measured pace that sets my nerves on fire. When she finally stands next to me, her gaze still fixed on the tree, she whispers, “You planted an elm tree.”
I nod, my throat dry. “Yes. Do you know what it signifies?”
She turns to look at me, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “It’s my name,” she says, her voice choked. “Elowyn, it means elm tree.”
I reach out, gently taking her hand in mine. “I know,” I admit, a warm smile spreading on my lips. “I’ve known it since we started dating. I wanted to know everything there was to know about you.”
Her eyes widen, surprise lighting her features. “You did?”
I nod. “I did. I was captivated by your name, by its uniqueness, by its meaning. I thought it was beautiful, just like you. I still can’t believe you chose me.”
A tear rolls down her cheek, but she’s smiling, her grip on my hand tightening. “Weston...”
I bring her hand to my lips, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles. “This tree is a symbol, Elowyn. A symbol of our love, of the life we’re building together. And just like this tree, I promise to nurture our love, to make sure it grows and thrives. I also promise to protect and adore you and our kids forever and ever.”
