With me, Always

Our wedding day was blessed by doves. The undersides of their wings were painted with a non-toxic solution so as they flew overhead, all the different colours bathed us in a rippling rainbow glow. The setting sun cast tangerine glitter over the tide as it rocked back and forth against the shore. It couldn't have been a better day to get married, but it still wasn't beautiful as the moment I first laid eyes on you. 

It was Christmas in the year 2023. I was standing by the store Christmas tree, adjusting the latest book releases on their display shelves, when through the window a flash of blue caught my eye. 

'Odd,' I remember muttering to myself because the only colour for days now had been the stark white of freshly fallen snow. When I looked up to see where the blue had come from, there you were, wearing a coat the colour of a calm ocean on a fresh summer’s day. It went all the way to your ankles, and your black hair was done in a plait. A little pink bow adorned the end, which was carefully and strategically draped over your shoulder in a fashionable way. Even through the glass I could see how beautiful your smile was, lips painted bright red. 

You always did have such a keen eye for fashion. 

My assistant was the one to serve you, much to my disappointment, her round face lit up in a customer-facing smile. She was always spectacular with customers. You had come in to look for a book on birds, but left with several different novels including one about a thief and a princess falling in love. Your sense of romantic adventure was something I loved about you from the beginning. 

When the snow began to melt, causing rivers of black sludge to cascade down the sidewalk and coat the steps of my shop in filth, you returned. My assistant was ill that day, and so we finally met. We talked. Your voice was like rain falling on an autumn night, fresh and sweet, with the softest crackle of something I could never quite describe. It fell over me in waves of silken delight and I asked for your number. 

A blush tinged your pretty cheeks, hidden behind the sweeping bangs of black hair. Your coat today was a pale grey, much like the final remnants of the melting snow. Sometimes beauty can be found even in the most benign of things. You handed over your number, written in fine cursive on the back of a card for a fitness club. 

'Is this where you work?' I asked. 

'No,' you said and wrapped the bag with your purchases–another romance novel about a baker and a pirate this time–against your chest. 'I work at a coffee shop downtown. Come by sometime. I'll make you your favourite. By the way, the name’s Ava.' 

You winked and left the store; I swooned and had to sit for a moment. Your perfume lingered amongst the books for the rest of the day, delicate and poignant, just like you. 

The coffee you made was exquisite. I can see why you were the head barista. The walk we took afterwards ended in a kiss. A week later, Ava, I asked you to be mine. 

We weren't without our troubles, of course. All couples suffer the tests of time, and we made a pact to never end the relationship unless it was absolutely, one-hundred percent necessary. Our agreement was to give each other space after a fight, then come back and talk. It worked well. 

The night I crashed the car, you argued that I had been too drunk to drive. That I was irresponsible and what if I had hurt someone. I was angry for a while but eventually saw it your way. You cared so much for others, Ava, I'm sorry I scared you so badly. You wouldn't talk to me for weeks. But, finally, you relented and then we were married. 

It was just us, of course. Us against the world. Your pink bow sat at the end of your plait, draped so fashionably over your shoulder as the doves flew overhead. The sound of the ocean in the background was the melody to which you walked the aisle. Don't think less of me for this, my sweet, but I cried that day. Your dress swept behind you as you walked, leaving weaving delicate lines in the sand. 

With a bouquet of lilies in your hands, we stood and vowed to love one another until the final star in the sky winked out, and the universe collapsed in on itself. Until the ending of all things. 

Just you and me. 

Tonight, I am spending our honeymoon in a stunning hotel room that has a view of the mountains. Snow, as starkly white as the day we first met, coats their tops and it reminds me how much I loved you from that first moment I saw you through the window. You are my life, you are my everything. 

A knock at the door startles me from thinking about us. 

'It's time to check out, sir,' a young man says after I open the door. I nod, smile, and hand him a tip of twenty dollars, then close the door. You’re silent. You don’t approve. You think I should have tipped him more, but Ava, my darling, I am not made of money, you know. 

'Time to go, love,' I say as I look down at you resting on the bed. You've aged, sure, but still look as beautiful as the day we met. Your pink bow perched on your shoulder so fashionably. I sigh as I crouch beside you and open our suitcase. I've lined it with silk the same colour as the coat you were wearing the day I first saw you: Ocean blue. 

I carefully take your hand, letting my fingers caress your cold skin. I kiss the inside of your thigh, and you smile at me as you always do, lips painted bright red. I know that part of you is ticklish, my darling. I do it again to be a tease. 

Carefully, I lay every piece into the suitcase. Lastly, I place your head in the middle and touch your cheek. Smooth and cool, with a little scuff mark over your chin. I'll need to clean that up, soon, but for now we must go. The tags of the suitcase click together as I close the lid ever-so-gently. I could never hurt you, Ava. As I leave the hotel, the young boy I tipped comes up to me and smiles. 

'Are you a fashion consultant?' he asks as he walks me to the door, readying himself to open it for me. He’s a good lad, very dedicated to his job, clearly. Maybe you’re right, Ava, I should tip him more. 

'Not at all,' I say, my hand tightening on the handle of your suitcase. 'I just keep Ava with me. It’s safer that way.' 

'It’s a beautiful mannequin, sir,' the boy says, beaming as he opens the door. It's obvious he expects another tip. I don't respond. I walk out of the hotel into the frosty morn of a late autumnal day, and I hold you close to me. 

I’m glad I didn’t tip him more. He doesn’t understand; no one ever understands. 

My dear, sweet Ava, don't cry. You mean everything to me. It’s alright. As long as you’re with me, I’ll keep you safe. 

I promise.