The Sky and a Sunflower

Beth Collins had always hated sharing her anniversary with Valentine’s Day.

Everything would be decked in ostentatious shades of pink and red. It was a day when all the restaurants were filled with starry-eyed lovers. It was a day that was not solely for her and her love, but a day which had been stolen from them.

Zane loved it.

He thought it was the funniest thing in the world, watching her scowl at the decorations in the store as their anniversary approached. Beth thought he would never stop teasing her for the fact that she was the one who woke up that morning, shook his shoulder, and told him she wanted to get married that day.

And realized only once the vows had been exchanged that it was the day of love. 

She set out a baby blue tablecloth. She refused to adhere to the colors of the holiday, and it almost matched the blue of Zane’s eyes. He might have enjoyed the double celebration, but she refused to. 

“We’re not going to a restaurant full of other couples for our anniversary,” she said almost four decades ago.

But three years after that, he coaxed her out for lunch.

“Fine,” she relented. “Lunch. Just lunch. A Valentine’s lunch. And dinner will have nothing to do with it, understood?”

He smiled, his striking blue eyes crinkling around the corners, and kissed the top of her head.

That night for dinner, she bought the blue tablecloth. He bought her yellow flowers.

Yellow was her favorite color, blue was his. Zane lived in varying shades of blue, while Beth thrived within the vibrance of yellow. Her friend once called them “the sky and sunflowers.”

Beth liked that very much.

She retrieved a bottle of champagne from the fridge, and placed it next to a vase of yellow flowers. She moved slower than she had in the past, weathered by time and hardship. The small house showed the same signs of wear.

Newly built almost the same year they bought it, it felt as though the small property was a part of their relationship. The wooden slabs had lightened over the years, paths worn across the floor where they had stepped a million times.

Beth was thrilled to have finally moved into a house of their own.

At the time, she was living with a friend out-of-state. She was working two jobs, but she needed the money to pay for college and couldn’t cover the cost of living. The friend was incredibly kind to host her, but quickly turned out to be a less-than-ideal roommate.

When Zane proposed, he did so with a key and not a ring.

Beth’s eyes darted to the setting sun, her small steps quickening. She would have to hurry if she wanted to finish setting the table in time.

She made her way to the closet to retrieve another keepsake to add to the table: A small brass trophy, gold paint worn away over the years.

When she first met Zane, she was a junior in college. He was only a freshman, but his charismatic personality and charming smile had made him many friends beyond his age.

Beth was studying in the library with a few friends when one of them called a tall, awkward looking boy, over to the table. He shuffled towards them, smiling sheepishly.

“Zane!” Beth’s friend greeted. “This is my roomie, Beth. She’s the one I was telling you about.”

The friend turned to a suddenly uncomfortable Beth. “This is my buddy Zane. He’s got a public speaking contest coming up, but he’s having a little trouble--”

“I can’t write anything to save my life,” he interjected, grinning. “I was told you were the person to ask.”

Beth frowned. It wasn’t the first time her friend threw her under the bus to do someone else’s homework. But seeing as the person in question was also paying her utility bills, she didn’t have much of a choice.

She offered Zane a small smile. “If it’s a public speaking contest, I’m definitely not the person to ask.”

“The speaking isn’t the issue,” Zane clarified. “I enjoy talking quite a bit. The issue is the writing.”

“Ah,” Beth nodded. “Well, let’s take a look.”

She reached for the crumpled papers in his hand, but he pulled them back, again grinning sheepishly. “I don’t think I know you well enough to show you my greatest humiliations, yet.”

“Oh, bother,” Beth’s roommate snatched the papers from his hand, thrusting them at Beth. “Help him, will you? His helplessness is almost pitiful.”

Beth frowned at her friend, who was extremely generous with anything belonging to anyone else. Her time. Her father’s apartment.

With this in mind, it’s safe to say that she wasn’t in the best mood upon meeting Zane for the first time.

“Do you mind if I go grab my stuff?” Zane asked, gesturing to the contents of his book bag sprawled across a different table. Beth looked doubtfully at her crowded table, then gathered her books up in her arms.

“Don’t bother,” she sighed. “I can just go with you.”

They made their way to the table. Beth took a seat as she spread the draft of his speech in front of her.

“Sorry you were just thrown into this,” he said quietly as he took the seat next to her. “That wasn’t fair of her to ask you in front of me.”

Beth’s eyes snapped up, her mood lightening instantly. “God, I’m glad I’m not the only one who thinks that.”

Zane laughed. “Trust me, not the only one. So if you don’t want to do this, I’ll tell them I was embarrassed. It’s cool.”

“No, no,” Beth said quickly, awed by how easily he had shifted her mood. “It’s okay, I’m happy to help.”

But as she began to review his paper, she started having second thoughts.

“I wasn’t kidding,” Zane said, watching her confused face. “I can’t write.”

“No, it’s really not that ba--”

“Oh, don’t sugarcoat it,” he said good-naturedly. “It’s terrible, I know. Words don’t make any sense. I wouldn’t have made it into college if my other scores weren’t so good. Math. Math is what I’m good at.”

Beth read a little further, frowning as she did.

For a few moments after, she sat stewing over the best way to break the news.

Then gave up.

“You’re right,” she relented. “You’re a terrible writer. You must be incredible at math, because your application must have been a mess.”

Zane grinned. “It was. And I am.”

She couldn’t help but return the smile.

“Look, I think… just think you’ve got a really good idea here. But it’s buried in a load of crap,” she said. “You don’t write the way you speak, which is essential for a speech. You need to read through it out loud, so you get a sense for where it’s awkward.”

“The whole thing’s awkward,” he sighed, looking at it. “I probably just ought to rewrite it.”

“That would be good,” Beth agreed.

“The issue is I’m not going to write it any better the second time,” Zane admitted. “I don’t understand how it works. Sentences. They work when I say them, for some reason. But not on paper.”

After a moment of hesitation, Beth said, “Maybe I can help you.”

They were equally surprised to hear the words out of her mouth.

But they spent the rest of the evening, and the next morning rewriting the speech. And then the remaining hours in the following day editing and practicing the delivery.

Beth had been correct; Zane had some brilliant ideas. And he had been right, too; he simply didn’t know how to put it down into words.

So he dictated, as she translated his ideas into coherent sentences. Then, they spent the majority of the time editing and picking apart her words, helping Zane understand what she had written and why she had written it.

“I ought to sign your name on here,” he said, after they finished. “This is… this is incredible.”

Beth laughed self-consciously. “You changed half of it after I had written it first. So maybe you ought to put my first name and your last.”

They both paused, realizing the implications of her words. Blushing furiously, Beth gathered her supplies and stood from the table. “Your delivery is perfect, really. I don’t see how you don’t get a good grade.”

Zane screwed up his face. “Hopefully not too good.”

“Why not?”

“Because the three speeches he likes best are going to a contest,” Zane groaned. “God, I didn’t think about that. I had better flub the delivery, just in case.”

Beth whipped around, her eyes wide. “After all the work we put into this?”

“O-Oh, well--”

“You had better not mess it up on purpose,” she said fiercely. 

“I won’t,” he said quickly. “But I’m counting on the fact that it’ll happen regardless.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“I mean, my delivery will be perfect,” he amended quickly.

Her glower fell into a smile, and he returned it rather sheepishly. “I was only kidding. I won’t mess it up.”

“I know,” she said.

Three weeks later, Zane presented her with the bronze trophy at lunch. It was a small gold silhouette of a monarch standing at a podium. 

“I won,” he said, offering the trophy with a small smile.

He used the fifty dollars prize money to take her out to dinner for the first time.

The sun was edging closer to the horizon, the trophy reflecting the slanted light.

Beth wasn’t finished yet.

The oven dinged, and she rushed to remove the small chicken-pot-pie. Differing in almost everything else, they shared the same favorite meal.

“It’s comfort food,” Beth explained. “It makes me feel at home.”

“I like chicken, and I like pie,” Zane laughed. “That’s all it is for me.”

But after years of marriage, and years of chicken-pot-pies, Beth refused to believe that it wasn’t yet comfort food for him, as well.

For the last several years, it was tradition to take the first sip of champagne at sundown.

“My father wouldn’t drink until sundown,” Zane told her once. “So whenever he had something to celebrate, he would take the first sip just as the sun disappeared.”

They both loved traditions.

Beth poured the champagne into each glass with a shaking hand. Wiping her hand across her brow, she finally sank into the seat opposite the window.

Meeting Zane’s bright blue eyes across the table brought a small smile to her face. She tapped her glass against his in a silent toast, lifting the beverage to her lips just in time.

The sun was gone.

Now that the urgency was past, the deadline had been met, Beth set her drink down as she was overwhelmed with emotion.

Trembling slightly, she reached across the table to take the framed wedding photo and cradle it against her chest. A single tear slipped down her face as she smiled at Zane’s happy, handsome face. She was much younger in the photo, her skin unwrinkled and eyes unshadowed.

Silent sobs wracked her body.

“Happy anniversary, honey,” she whispered. “I miss you.”