Page 156 of The Cost of Forgetting You

I place a bundle of white carnations at the base of Mama’s headstone. They stand out in stark contrast against the dark granite. I always consider bringing more elaborate, expensive flowers, but these remind me of my mother. And of Delilah. Fragile at first glance, with delicately carved petals, but they can endure almost anything.

It’s why I had them tattooed on my ribs, as close to my heart as possible.

“Hey, Mama, do you know what today is?”

I picture her standing in front of me, replacing her solemn stone. She tucks her blonde hair back, smiling brightly at me. “What day is it, Tru?”

“My wedding day.” Tears prick my eyes. I’d swipe at them, try to hide them the way my dad taught me to, but Mama said it was good to cry. To let it out. So I do. “I wish you could be here.”

Her voice travels through the years, from a night when I was at sleepaway camp and called to tell her something similar. She sighs and whispers, “I am, baby.”

“She’s going to be so beautiful. I can’t believe I get to marry Delilah. I’m so lucky, Mama. Did you ever think I’d get so lucky?”

A bird calls overhead, and I like to believe it means she’s listening. That she is somewhere nearby, just through the trees, dressed in her finest clothes. That she’ll be watching when I make my vows to my wife. When I take her in my arms and promise to never let go.

“You be good to her,” Mama whispered, the day she closed her eyes for the last time. “Whoever you marry, you promise me that you will treat her with kindness and respect. That you’ll give her space when she needs, and pull her close when she doesn’t. That you’ll love her the way I’ve loved you, and then some. And if it’s Delilah?—”

“It won’t be Delilah, Mom,” I’d chastised, because I couldn’t let myself hope for such a thing.

“If it is,” she repeated, ignoring me, “you give her an extra hug from me when you get the chance, okay? And tell her I love her. And I’m proud of her.”

And so I did. The day I got down on one knee, with the ring Mama passed down to me, I told Delilah that I love her. That Mama loved her. And that she’d be honored to know we found our way back to each other, back to something beautiful, in the midst of so much ugliness.

“She’s wearing your ring, Mama. And it looks beautiful on her.”

Not the ring my mother wore when she married my father, but the ring she chose for herself from her grandmother’s jewelry case after the divorce was finalized. Her freedom ring, as she called it. Now forever a part of my love story.

“Are you ready, Tru?”

I turn to glance over my shoulder. Delilah’s hair cascades in soft curls over her shoulders. A braid holds her bangs back, and it’s threaded through with wildflowers. She’s wearing a white lace dress that billows in the early summer breeze, brushing the grass at her feet as it dances. There are no secrets between us, not even this one. She dressed in front of me this morning. Asked me to zip her up. Then we went to Edgewood to get her father.

These days his speech is mostly unintelligible, so he tends to remain quiet. But his eyes light up when he sees us, letting us know he still recognizes Delilah and me. I know the day is coming when we will lose even that, but for now I’m grateful.

I cast one last glance at Mama’s stone, whisper, “I love you,” and blow a kiss her way. Wherever she is, I hope she catches it. Tucks it in her pocket for safekeeping.

“Ready,” I say, holding out my hand for my bride. The love of not just this life, but every single one I’ll be given. My forever in an existence that promises nothing except this singular moment, and is all the more precious for it.

She takes my hand and squeals as I spin her in, covering her mouth with mine. She is everything soft and warm in this world. My home incarnate. I’ll never stop marveling at the fact that she’s here and she’s mine. That she loves me, despite every reason I’ve given her not to. That this woman who never stops caring for others, lets herself be cared for by me.

I am the luckiest man alive. I feel it in my soul.

“Everyone’s here. They’re waiting for us to get started.” She smiles against my lips. Nips my bottom one and pulls back. “What do you say we go make an honest woman out of me, huh?”

“But it’s been fun knowing we’re being bad, don’t you think?”

She slaps my chest playfully, her laughter bubbling over.

We’ve been living together for a few months now. Sold her dad’s house to a young family whose kids love to come play in the pasture. The money will help make sure his care continues for as long as needed. That he’ll want for nothing for the rest of his life.

And what’s left will be donated to research, so that hopefully there comes a day when no one has to suffer like he and his mother did.

We walk hand in hand toward the ceremony site. It’s simple enough: a couple rows of chairs in front of an arch I built from a live oak on our property. Everyone’s sitting there, waiting for us. As we approach, Roberta helps Henry to his feet. His hair is combed back, the gray so finely woven with the brown that you can barely tell where one ends and the other begins. He’s wearing a tweed suit that’s slightly too big, with a loosely bound boutonniere of honeysuckle pinned to his lapel.

“Sweet… Pea…” he mumbles, reaching for Delilah. He lets out a bright, happy vocalization and then mutters something that sounds like, “Beautiful.”

I don’t know who starts crying first, but when I glance at Delilah through tears, her gaze is equally glossed over.

The walk down the aisle is short. As quickly as we part, we are reunited, to the sound of Phil Collins playing on somebody’s cell phone. We asked Roberta to marry us, and she was happy to get ordained online for the occasion. She takes us through the traditional vows with careful precision. We are declared husband and wife before the people we love most in the world, and invited to seal the deal. It’s the most important moment of my life, and it’s over in four and a half minutes.

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