"You're so cute," he leaves a soft kiss on my shoulder, "and beautiful," he buries his nose in my hair, planting another kiss against my neck, "and incredibly smart," he smiles against my skin, moving slightly to tilt my head, "and finally mine."
A...
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A R I A
"Shortcake, we're here," My eyes flutter open to meet with Miles' mischievous ones. He shoves the car keys into his pocket and smirks. "Had a nice nap, beautiful?"
I whack his forehead with the back of my hand and wipe the drool off my face, shooting him a glare. Jerk. I never made fun of him drooling in his sleep! Sure, maybe that's because I've never seen him drool while he was sleeping . . . but he doesn't have to know that.
Miles winces while rubbing his forehead. "Remind me to never say anything sweet to you the next time I'm trying to wake you up."
"Your definition of sweet is my definition of sarcasm," I roll my eyes at Miles playfully.
"Aw, come on, Shortcake. I was just teasing you," He grins, walking around the car to open my door and help me out.
My legs are still a bit limp, but they're much better than before. It's becoming easier to walk, and this time I don't need Miles to help support my entire weight. Instead, he slips his fingers through mine and lets me try walking on my own, with the occasional tug when I almost fall. When we get to the entrance, I leave Miles by the gates to purchase flowers.
The ride to the cemetery was longer than I thought. It's already five in the morning. It was half an hour's drive, and even though we aren't supposed to be outside at all, I had insisted we go. This is the first time I have enough courage to visit my parents since they died, and I'm not going to back down now. Especially since today is a very special day.
After retrieving two bouquets of blue tulips from the small flower shop on the other side of the street, I join Miles at the entrance of the graveyard.
"Tulips?"
I nod at him with a sad smile. "The blue ones were Mom's favourite."
Every single room in my old house had at least one bouquet of blue tulips. Dad would bring one home every Wednesday night, never failing to remind Mom about the first time they met. Now, in my current room back home, a vase packed with the flowers rests on my bedside table right beside a framed photo of the three of us.
"Not to ruin the moment or anything, but isn't tulip season in March? It's the end of December, practically everything is dead." Miles points out, examining the petals.
"Ever heard of global warming? It might as well be spring." I shrug and take hold of his hand to pull him towards where my parents rest.
The weather is perfect for today. It hasn't been snowing lately, but rather raining to give life to the dry vegetation. Clouds overhead turn dark grey and dominate the sky, blocking out all sunlight as they prepare to cry along with me. The crisp air of the winter season fills my lungs with each breath I take, accompanied by the scent of freshly cut grass and the slightest sounds of the crinkly, dead flowers rustling as the wind coos.
