Till Death Do We Part

He almost missed the funeral. He'd had every intention to attend, but when the time came, Mason lost the willpower to emerge from the embrace of blankets on his bed. They still smelled like her. The funeral home wouldn't smell like her.

Mason wondered if it were truly important for him to go. People might gossip about his absence, but it's not like he'd even been married to her. Such obligations should only fall upon husbands. As it was, he didn't know if he could call himself her fiance any more. How many ties could he claim to a dead woman? How many ties could he claim to a family that would never be his?

Safia's mother--his not-quite-mother-in-law--would scold him for his cowardice. But if he never went to the funeral, he'd probably never see her again anyway.

Mason knew he'd later regret staying home. He knew he'd be crushed by the guilt. But right now his crushing grief was the more immediate obstacle.

Grief that he'd never see Safia again. Grief that he'd lost the life they would have had together.

Grief that he'd almost missed their last kiss.

It hadn't been anything special. It had just been a quick "have a good day; see you after work" type of kiss. He'd barely woken up before she'd left that morning.

Part of him wished he'd slept in so their kiss would have been the sweet "good night" kiss they'd shared the night before.

Part of him hated that he regretted anything about the last time he saw her.

He hadn't seen her after she left that day. He hadn't been himself since receiving the worst phone call of his life. He hadn't gone to see her for the few minutes she lay dead in the hospital afterward--he couldn't bring himself to tarnish his last view of her.

He could imagine that she was just at work or running an errand as long as he stayed cocooned within the scent of her shampoo on the sheets. She was gone for the moment, but she'd be back soon. He'd hear the click of the lock and the squeak of her favorite sneakers sliding on the doormat that never stayed put. She'd toss her keys aside and join him under the covers to regale him with her newest grand ideas for the wedding.

She always had such grand ideas.

Sometimes Mason thought she lived in the future more than the present. Now she was confined to the past.

Mason forced himself to shed the comforter from his back. He sat in bed, staring at the black suit hanging outside the closet. It was the only formal outfit he owned. He'd never worn it. It was supposed to be his wedding suit, and now it was the only appropriate thing he could wear to her funeral.

It was the most inappropriate thing he could possibly wear to her funeral.

He knew Safia would have never allowed him to miss an event as important as this. "Home is for rest," she often said. "Outside is for the rest of your life." The irony of the memory was almost enough for Mason to lose his nerve all over again. Safia would rest forever, but she would never come home again. Her favorite phrase had turned against her.

Mason couldn't bring himself to take the suit from the hanger.

Instead he grabbed the two nearest socks. They didn't match, but he didn't care. He left the house wearing his nicest shoes and the star-patterned pajamas Safia had gifted him on his last birthday.

He didn't remember anything about the drive to the funeral home except for the blinding sun. Today didn't deserve to be so bright and cheery; today deserved to be the rain and shadows of his soul. The sun glared down on him and he glared back until he finally blinked the spots from his eyes and entered the funeral home.

The room was crowded with loved ones, but Mason's attention fixated on the casket against the far wall.

Someone said his name, but he didn't know who said it. Everyone looked the same through the blurred haze of unshed tears. Everyone sounded the same through the pounding of his heartbeat. Everyone faded to unimportance when contrasted with the importance of the only one there who mattered.

He heard his name more than once, but he didn't respond.

Instead he gazed at the casket from a distance. He didn't dare go closer. Once he saw her still figure, he could no longer pretend. He could no longer deny her death.

Because that's what had happened. Safia had . . .

Mason tried to remember which stage of grief came after denial. He'd never studied psychology, but he was pretty sure the rest of the stages were no better than denial. Maybe he ought to stay in denial a bit longer.

Against his wishes, Mason's feet carried him to the casket.

Safia was so . . . peaceful.

No.

This was wrong.

Safia was never peaceful. She was loud and energetic and wild and free. Even her sleep was filled with soft mumbling and sporadic movements.

"Mason."

He continued to ignore whomever sought to steal his attention away from her. Nothing in the world mattered more than Safia right now.

No sight could be more beautiful or more terrible than what he witnessed right now.

Safia was gone.

Safia's soul was gone, and soon her body would be gone, too--hidden beneath six feet of soil and a meaningless rock that could never encapsulate even a fraction of her character.

People gathered to share their thoughts about her. Mason was offered the chance to speak, but he declined. No words could bear the weight of his thoughts about Safia. Instead, he listened to her mother and her brother.

Every word was insufficient. Everything was less than she deserved.

She had deserved a better final kiss.

When the eulogies were ended, Mason wished he had spoken. Because when the eulogies were ended, the casket closed, and Mason knew he'd seen her for the final time.

Everyone proceeded to the cemetery to witness the burial. Mason watched as she lowered into the earth, never to emerge again.

Safia was gone.

Gone. Gone. Gone.

People lingered. People left. Mason's eyes never left the grave, even when Safia's mom gave her a hug.

"Safia Maclair

Adventure - Imagination - Ambition

Beloved by All"

Had Safia not wanted to wait for a fall wedding, she'd be buried under the name Safia Throne. Now Mason felt as though she'd been buried under the wrong name. It was as if he had been erased from her existence.

Eventually the treacherous sun sunk, painting his surroundings a deep orange. Mason was alone at the grave.

Yet, still, he heard his name.

"Mason."

Finally he let fall the tears that had threatened to come all day. Everyone was gone, and the voice which called to him was hers. The numbness that had encased him for days shattered with the warmth that trickled down his cheeks.

"I don't know how to go on without you," he told the stone that bore her name but not her personality. "It should have been me. You would've been fine without me."

"Mason."

He pressed his palms into his face as if he could shield himself from the horrible truth if only he didn't see it. "I wish I could talk to you one last time."

"Mason." A firm hand squeezed his shoulder.

Mason flinched, tearing his hands from his face.

Safia stood before him. She caressed his hand with gentleness she'd never displayed before. Her form blurred around the edges, and Mason couldn't even blame his watery eyes when she was the only figure warped by this distortion.

"Safia," Mason said reverently, as if that one word was the most fragile and precious thing in existence. "How are you here?"

"I've been with you all day." Safia's voice was ethereal. "But sunset is easier for ghosts."

"Ghosts?"

Safia nodded. Her hand passed through his, but she was quick to bring it back. Her gentle touch was akin to a breeze across his skin. "It's hard to stay present like this, so I can't stay long, but I'll stay as long as I can."

"Safia, what do I do? We had so many ideas for the future, but none of them work without you."

Safia leaned into him, her arm falling into the same physical space as his. "You'll be alright, Mason. You'll get your degree and make a life for yourself without me. I'm excited to see what you'll accomplish."

"We didn't even get to have our wedding," Mason lamented. How could he accomplish anything else when he couldn't accomplish that?

Safia sat up straighter, a familiar glint in her eyes--the way she always looked when bursting with ideas she had to share. "Right! I have one more idea for our wedding. Do you want to hear it? It's going to make it the best wedding ever!"

For a fraction of a second, her tone and her words were so familiar that Mason almost forgot she had died. For a fraction of a second, he hated her for sparking his grief anew. For a fraction of a second, he hated himself for daring to hate her.

Mason responded to her query as he always did. "Let's hear it."

"Let's be spontaneous and get married right now!" she said with grin as bright as the setting sun.

"Right now?" Mason asked in alarm. "I'm wearing pajamas!"

Suddenly he wished he had managed to wear his suit.

"And I'm wearing the hospital gown I died in," Safia countered.

Suddenly Mason was glad he didn't wear the suit.

Safia smiled up at him. "Come on, it'll be fun! I'll say some vows; you'll say some vows; we'll kiss, and we'll be married! It won't be official, but we'll know it's real."

Mason swallowed. He wiped his eyes, but the gesture was useless when his eyes wouldn't stop flooding. "I always cry at weddings," he joked.

"Everyone cries at their own wedding," Safia retorted.

Mason was too choked up to speak for a second, but when he could manage sounds, all he said was "You can go first." He was referring to their vows, but he thought he might also be referring to her passing. He was giving her permission to move on without him.

Safia met his gaze. "Mason Throne, I loved you from the moment you caught me pickpocketing you. You've always noticed the small details while I get lost in the big picture. We balance each other perfectly, and I couldn't ask for a better man to be my husband. So do you vow to be my wedded husband through all the adventures this existence has to offer?"

"I do," Mason said.

Now Safia's cheeks were wet with tears. Apparently even ghosts could cry. "Your turn," she said.

Mason took a steadying breath. "Safia Maclair, there is nobody like you in this life or the next. You've been the best support I could ask for since the moment we met, and you've shown me more of the world than I ever imagined. I couldn't ask for a better woman to be my wife. So do you vow to be my wedded wife?"

"I do," Safia said. "You may now kiss the bride."

Mason hesitated. "This will be our last kiss, won't it."

"We better make it a good one," Safia agreed.

Mason held her tenderly as his lips met hers. None of their previous kisses had been so passionate yet so gentle; so fiery yet so chaste; so amazing yet so bittersweet. Her lips were cold and soft and didn't hold the taste of her usual lip balm, but Mason cherished it anyway. He kissed her until he felt her disappear from his arms.

He kept his eyes closed for another moment, willing every detail of this spontaneous, terrible, miraculous wedding to be etched permanently into his memory.

Finally he opened his eyes, still feeling the phantom sensation of his final kiss.

"Till death do we part."