When I Was Theirs

17. Ben

17

Ben

“ T ell me what this one means.”

I walk backwards, pointing to the bucket of pretty white flowers.

Today is a good day.

Today is a normal day. A day where I can walk with my girlfriend through the market, and the only thing on my mind is making her smile.

Because she’s stopped smiling.

And it’s killing me.

Emmy frowns as she leans in. “You’re adorable.”

I flutter my eyelashes at her exaggeratedly. “Why, thank you. I agree. And the flower?”

She snorts, the corner of her lip lifting slightly. “No, you dope. White camellias. They mean… adoration. Respect. But without the romance.”

“Oh.” I drop the flower back into the bucket. “That won’t work, then. What about red roses?”

Emmy nods, her fingers stroking over one of the petals. “True love. Passion. Desire.”

I yank several out of the bucket, and she side-eyes me. “What are you doing?”

I shake my head. “What else?”

Her head tilts to the side. “Tulips. For a love that is… perfect. Unconditional.”

I swallow down the thickening in my throat, plucking a few and adding them to the growing pile in my arms. “What about strength?”

Emmy hums, wandering away from me. I lose her for a moment before I catch up, trying to hide my heavy breathing. “The lotus. Strength in adversity.”

Silently, I pick a few out. “Happiness?"

Emmy points at a selection of bright, colorful daisies. “Gerbera daisies would work. Each color has its own meaning, but overall… happiness.”

She narrows her eyes at me when I scoop out nearly the whole lot. Innocently, I whistle as I move over to the watching stallholder. “Could you wrap these into a bouquet?”

Emmy’s cheeks flush as I present the bouquet to her with a bow. “If you were flowers, baby, you’d only be the good ones.”

She smiles at me, then, despite the shadows in her eyes. “Thank you.”

“Come on.” Grabbing her hand, I pull her toward a dessert stall. “We’ll get a crêpe.”

We share a crêpe topped with maple syrup, Emmy feeding me small bites that taste like sawdust on my tongue.

“Delicious.” She has a small drop of syrup in the corner of her lips, and I lean in to lick it off. “Mmm. Maple-covered Emmy.”

She giggles under my kiss, my lips teasing hers until she opens for me. My hands slide up to cup her cheeks, angling her face to mine as we stop in the middle of the market path.

The flush in her face has deepened when we break apart.

But the circles under her eyes have surpassed even mine. With her hair scraped back and her face bare, she still looks like everything I ever wanted. But I can see the strain of my sickness painted across her face, leeching the color, the life from her.

Her brows furrow in question when I back away. Across from us, a guy is playing guitar, singing quietly into his microphone. He reminds me of my brother, and my chest pulses with pain.

I’m running out of time to make that call. But not today.

I lean down, tossing some money into his open case and murmuring to him, my eyes darting to Emmy.

She looks nervous, and my smile grows as he hands me the microphone with a smirk.

I tap it as he turns up the volume.

“Good afternoon, everyone.”

My voice booms out, and if Emmy was flushed before, she’s scarlet now. She starts shaking her head at me, mouthing.

No.

Don’t you dare.

People walking past shoot curious glances at me.

My grin spreads across my face as I point at her, and she buries her face in her hands with a groan. “I’m sorry to disturb you all, but this won’t take a second. You see, there’s this girl standing right here. Her name is Emmy – Em, wave, baby.”

One hand is still covering her face as she gingerly raises a hand in the air.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” I say teasingly. “I’d say she’s pretty damn perfect.”

And pretty damn embarrassed. She spreads her fingers out, peeking at me.

“You see, I really, really love this girl.” My voice lowers. “I have to believe that everything in life happens for a reason. And if every step in my life was only to lead me to you, standing here glaring at me today, then I’d have to say it was worth it. All of it.”

Her hand slowly lowers. And her eyes are bright.

“I adore the ground you walk on, Emmy Marsters.” I swallow. “Every piece of you. Even the parts that snore.”

She groans, and a few chuckles ring out around me. But people are smiling, watching us.

“All the little moments,” I say into the microphone. “You and me, Em.”

She nods, wiping at her face.

I hand the microphone back to the grinning guitar player. He starts up another song as I approach her gingerly. “Too much?”

She half-laughs, half-sobs. “ Way too much.”

I hold out my hand. “Dance with me.”

I wait for her to argue. To point out that nobody else is dancing. That people are still watching us. But she doesn’t.

Emmy takes my hand, placing her bouquet carefully on the ground before I tug her forward, into my chest. She presses her cheek against my shirt, listening.

And we dance.