AB: Breaking Point 6

It’s not quite dawn when I wake, sheets tangled around my legs and Anita draped against me. Sometime in the night we moved to her bed, but I don’t know or care when. She’s lying on my arm, one of hers thrown across my chest and the other curled in to hers. On leg is wrapped around mine.

It’s comfortable, oddly enough. Pleasant, reassuring to hear her breathing deeply as she sleeps beside me.

I move to get up and she protests in wordless murmurs, her head burrowing into the crook where my arm meets my shoulder. I kiss her softly, saying, “I’ll be back, I’m not leaving.”

She doesn’t say anything, only drifts back into the dreamless sleep she enjoys. I take the sheet and spread it out across her, kissing her cheek as I leave.

My pants are still thrown haphazardly on the floor, and I pause to put them on before going to the front door. The dog, Bear, follows me, whining as I move to go outside without him. I shrug and let him dart past me and into the cool morning air.

The swing is empty and drifting slightly, and it rocks more as I sit in it, pushing every now and then with a foot to keep the motion going. Bear is digging in the yard, chasing imaginary bugs. But not barking.

It’s peaceful.

I’m peaceful.

For the first time in eight years, I am completely at peace. It’s such an unexpected realization, but I only smile. Despite everything, all of my careful planning gone to waste, I have what I want, need, and I’m content.

I sigh, and then hear the low creak of the door opening. It’s Anita. She’s wearing sweat pants and a shirt, and comes to sit beside me, watching Bear run around in the yard. My arm goes around her shoulders, and she leans into it like we’ve done this a million times before.

Yes, content.

“The therapist made me get him, you know,” she says as the first hints of light begin to peek over the horizon. “Said that having a real pet gave you someone else to live for.”

I smile. “I trust that you have more to live for than a dog.”

She smiles at me, head turning up to mine. “I waited for you for two years, Edward. If I wasn’t planning on living for you, I’d be dead right now.”

I kiss her gently at that. “And I chased you for eight. Funny how things work out.”

“Yeah,” is all she says.

We wait until the sun is fully above the horizon before calling to the dog and going back inside. I have visions of fresh coffee, and start making it after I replay the motions of Anita the night before. She doesn’t even raise an eyebrow that I know where everything is by rote, and only grabs two mugs and sits at the dining room table to wait.

“Edward,” she says as the coffee drips. “Why did you come back? When you showed up, why did you come?”

I just glance at her. “I came for you.”

“No, really, why’d you come?”

I laughed. She was perfectly serious. And maybe my answer was a little too simplistic. So I go get my bag from the living room where I forgot about it the night before, bring it back, dump it on the table looking for something.

I small, brown paper wrapped package. Its maybe two inches square, looks like a box of ammunition. Which isn’t odd, since the outer box is an old ammo box. Keeps the leather from scuffing.

I toss it to her and grab the mugs. The coffee isn’t done dripping, but there’s enough that I can make two cups for us, and if I’m careful I won’t let any spill. “Open it,” I say, and she throws me a puzzled look.

“Just open it, Anita. It doesn’t bite.”

Paper rips and crinkles and she wrinkles her nose. “Bullets. Thanks, Edward,” she says dryly.

“Open it,” I say again as I sit back down and push her mug across the table to her.

And she does, leg propped in the chair, hair falling in her face. She tosses the torn box at me and then just looks at what she holds in her hand. A small, black leather covered box. No markings, no logos. But still, she looks up at me, eyes wide and face indescribable.

“Edward?” she asks. “Is it…”

She doesn’t finish the sentence, and I think for a moment that maybe I shouldn’t have told her, given it to her. But the dice have already been rolled, and I must see this through to completion. I smile at her, my usual blank smile, hiding the apprehension I’m feeling.

“Just open it, Anita. Please,” I add softly. “Please.”

She does, slowly flipping the lid up and gasping. Her eyes are even wider now, and she breathes my name. “Edward.” there is no other sound to me but the sound of her voice. And she looks at me.

“It’s just a ring,” I say to the girlish delight on her face.

“But you got it for me,” she answers softly. “It’s beautiful.”

And it is. Even I have enough brains to admit that the ring is stunning. A flawless diamond, just over a carat, channel set into a platinum band, so that it won’t interfere with her usual routines. It had cost a small fortune, but it was well spent.

I’d do it over again, every day for the rest of her life, if only to see that smile on her face.

I get up, go around to her, and kneel on both knees. My hands grasp hers, the box now sitting in her lap as she holds to the ring and my hands, staring into my eyes. She’s crying, and I don’t know why, but all the same I kiss her teary cheeks.

“I made a mistake when I didn’t tell you sooner, I don’t want that happen again,” I find myself saying. “I came back for you; I don’t want to lose you like I did before. I don’t want to be someone who pops in and out of your life.

“I want to be the other half of it.”

She’s smiling through the tears now, and she leans forward and kisses me. My hands go to her face, thumbs rubbing the hated tears away. If I have my way, she’ll never cry again.

She smiles at me and slides the ring onto her finger. It fits perfectly, as I knew it would. And then it hits me. She put the ring on.

“Does that mean yes?” I ask, unable to hide the uncertainty in my voice.

She nods. “Yes,” she says, “Oh yes.”

I kiss her again, smiling as I do so. “I’ll love you forever, you know,” I say as she runs her fingers through my hair, smiling at me.

She kisses me again and I smile at the light flashing from the ring against the table, from where the sun hits it. Oh yes, forever.

“Forever,” she whispers, “is not long enough.”