1
Peyton
My college diploma sits on top of the mantle. I don’t know how long I’ve sat here, staring at it, or how many times I stood in front of it so my fingers could rub over the embossed letters in my name. I’m not sure it’s sunk in yet, the fact that I’ve graduated or the idea that I have job offers waiting to be accepted. It’s also one of the last things I have yet to pack for my move to Portland. It’s not that I don’t want to move, it’s that I’m afraid if I box this tangible piece of victory up, the feeling will go away. I achieved another milestone, another win, when doctors all but gave up on me after the accident.
My soon-to-be husband, my lover, my best friend, walks into the living room, carrying two tumblers. Even without tasting the amber colored liquid I know it’s my favorite maple crème liqueur from a winery we found while driving through Vermont. The trip to the Northeast was a surprise during spring break. Somehow, Noah knew I needed to get away, that I needed a reprieve from everything that was coming toward me. Finals, graduation, job offers, and the wedding. I smile as he hands me the glass and bring it to my lips. Before taking a sip, I inhale, letting the sweet smell wash over me. Finally, I tip the glass back and close my eyes, letting the flavor bask over my tongue.
“Still gets you every time?” he asks, sitting down next to me.
“I was never a fan of maple until we found that little winery.”
“Me neither.” Noah reaches for my hand, locking our fingers together. We’re never close enough, and yet sometimes we’re worlds apart, even when we’re sitting right next to each other. Big decisions are weighing heavily on me, on us. Even though he’s proposed a Christmas Day wedding, if I take any one of the jobs offered, I’ll be asked to work. Being the newbie means I’m one of the lowest employees on the totem pole. They’re not going to understand how a quarterback and his sideline reporting fiancée are getting married in the winter. Most of the time I don’t understand it, but it’s what I want. It’s the wedding I envisioned.
We sit in silence, sipping our drinks, while I continue to stare at my degree, and Noah… well, he’s just present. Always my constant, my biggest cheerleader, my confidante. He’s my reason for being, and deep down I know I came back from the brink of death because of him.
I’ve never asked what he said to me, but I know he spoke. That much I remember. I tried telling my therapist about my experience, telling her I saw my dad, my grandma and watched my family weep over my body as it lay there, dying. I told her I felt Noah. I felt it every time he touched my leg, my arm or ran his fingers over my bruised cheek. I was there when he cried, when he begged me to stay.
She hasn’t come out and told me that I’m making it up or that what I’m describing is only a figment of my imagination, but I sense that’s what she thinks. I understand. Death is an unknown. You don’t die and come back, at least not often. And those who do, often keep their thoughts to themselves because it’s such an odd and unexplainable experience.
The support group I’m in, for people like me, they get it though, and they’re helping me come to terms with the memories I have. They’ve experienced something similar, and most say they altered their path because of it. I didn’t, and sometimes I question if I should’ve. If I had, I wouldn’t have to work so hard to avoid the elephant following me around on a daily basis. The amount of pressure I feel to follow my dreams; to be a wife, to become a mother, to be the best friend who helps her guy battle on-the-field demons, wouldn’t be weighing me down so much that I want to give up. I wouldn’t want to throw my career away before it even starts just so I could be on the sidelines and watch Noah play because I’m so afraid of missing something. Right now, that’s the dream I have. To be his constant, his best friend, and his cheerleader. To stand there and cheer my man on. The day I’m asked to critique his game… well, I don’t know if I’m going to be able to. Noah expects it. He doesn’t want any mercy, and deep down, I don’t think I’d show him any but what kind of wife will that make me? What will people say about our relationship? The fact that someone will judge me, judge us by what I say, is bothersome.
Noah nuzzles my neck and I lean into him, sighing. He makes everything better, and yet, more complicated. He knows about my memories from when I was in a coma. We spoke at length about me seeing my father and how I wanted to give up. How I wanted to spend just a little more time with him. In my father’s world, there is no pain, and in that moment, I was suffering.
“I love you,” he whispers against the curve of my neck. Does he know I’m struggling? Can he sense my hesitation? Of course, he can. He’s always been in tune with my feelings.
“Am I making a mistake?”
Noah sits up, taking the glass away from my grasp and sets mine and his on the table. Just like that, his mood has changed. He angles himself on the sofa so he can look at me. Brushing my hair behind my ear, his fingers touch one of my scars. It tingles, almost to the point of hurting me. I have dead zones all over, spots where the nerves never reconnected to my system, making them useless and annoying. It’s the worst when we’re together and I flinch because the man I love touched my side. It scares Noah, breaks his heart. I can see it in his eyes when it happens. He’s sorry, and sometimes he’s afraid. And I hate it.
“Babe, that’s a loaded question. Are you making a mistake by moving to Portland? Getting married? Wanting to start a family? Taking a job? What’s on your mind?” he asks, cupping my cheek. “Talk to me. I can’t help if you keep it bottled up.”
When he’s like this, it’s hard. I’m so in love with him, I just want to curl up and let him take away all my pain, but he’s too strong-willed for that. He wants me, no, he demands that I stand on my own two feet, that I be independent, that I strive for greatness. Noah refuses to hold me back, and because of that, I love him unconditionally.
“Marrying you will never be a mistake, Noah Westbury.”
He smiles softly. “Thank God because I was starting to worry.”
It’s me who’s now touching his face, running my fingers over his stubble. “You’re the love of my life,” I tell him, even though he already knows this.
>
“Doesn’t mean getting married is the right thing to do.”
His words shock me. I lean back and look at him questioningly. Is he having second thoughts? Is there doubt in his mind that we’re making a mistake? I know I’m young, but I’m ready.
Noah reaches for me, pulling me to his lap, wrapping me in his arms in such a way that I have no choice but to look into his eyes. “I can see the gears spinning, the thoughts cranking away. I know you, Peyton, so I want you to stop. Don’t ever question my love for you or look for a hidden message in my words. Your parents aren’t married, it works for them. Our wedding date is months away, and we’ve yet to decide on the simplest things, like a color theme or the flowers. I’m hoping you’re doing that with your mom, with Elle, and maybe with my mom and Paige, but if you’re not, and this date doesn’t work for us, tell me. I’ll marry you right now, tomorrow, next year, the year after that, if that’s what you want.”
“What did I do to deserve a man like you?”
“I ask myself the same question every day about you because you are the love of my life, and I hate that we wasted so many years.”
“We needed to grow up.”