My Last Gift Was Their Wedding

Josephine turned and shoved away Joseph, who was holding her up. She limped over and threw her arms out in front of me. "What is wrong with you, Joseph? Why are you yelling at Bess?"

I looked at her trembling arms, at the ear that would never hear sound again.

All at once I remembered the countless times before when she had stood in front of me just like this.

In grade school, when a dog chased us, Josephine spread her arms to shield me.

In middle school, when the school bully tried to force me to be her girlfriend, Josephine stepped in front of me.

That time with Uncle Gerald, it was her too, standing in front of me.

Something stung behind my nose. I forced down the hurt rising in my chest. "I'm sorry. I won't act out like that anymore."

At my words, Joseph's body shuddered.

He opened his mouth, as if to say something.

But I took Josephine's hand and turned to go upstairs, playing with her fingers, leaning into her like a child.

I started preparing the fourth wedding gift for them.

I asked, as if it didn't matter, "Is your ring finger still a size twelve?"

"Mm."

Josephine answered me absently.

Then she smiled and asked, "You're getting me a present?"

"Yeah. You're going to love it."

"How would you know what I want?"

I looked at her gently. "Then tell me. What do you want?"

Josephine tapped the tip of my nose softly. "I want you healthy. I want you to live to a hundred."

I smiled and said, "Okay."

But inside I sighed. I'm sorry, Josie. That's the one thing I can't give you.

I returned the wedding rings and swapped them for the brand Josephine liked.

The woman's band, in her size, sat far too loose on my hand.

Only then did it hit me—the illness had worn me down to nothing but bone, and neither Josephine nor Joseph had noticed.

There was a time when, if I lost even a single pound, the two of them would fly into a fury, each accusing the other of not taking care of me.

Now my cheeks were hollow, my wrists thin enough to frighten anyone who looked, and not one of them saw it.

I placed the rings back in their original box, so that on the wedding day they could use them right away.

When it was all done, I realized I didn't even have the strength left to lift my wrist.

I drew in a deep breath, the pain in my stomach sharp enough to kill me where I stood.

I forced myself out to the garden. I wanted to see the flower bed my mother had left me.

I had already willed this villa to Josephine. I thought that if they lived mostly at the wedding house later, and if they didn't mind the bad luck of it, I hoped my ashes could be buried beneath this bed of white roses.

As if I were lying back in my mother's arms again.

But the sight in the garden made my eyes burn, the pain so fierce I could barely breathe.

The white roses that had filled the bed had been ripped out and trampled underfoot.

I shouted at the workers. "What are you doing?"

The gardener in charge of this section looked confused. "Mr. Henson told me to change them. He said with the wedding coming up, white roses are unlucky. He wanted champagne roses instead, something more festive."

My body swayed. Hurt and a quiet, creeping resentment climbed into my chest.

Even if he didn't love me anymore, he could have told me.

Why destroy the only thing my mother had left me.

I made everyone stop and ordered them to put the flower bed back the way it was.

My eyes red, I ran to the study. I had to make it clear to Joseph.

I would tell him everything. I'm dying soon. Stop hurting me.

Be with Josephine, with a clear heart. I don't blame either of you. Call it me repaying my debt to you both.

I pushed open the study door. He looked up at me, eyes bloodshot, both hands clenched tight around a few sheets of paper.

I looked closer and realized those pages were my cancer report.