There are deep laugh lines around his eyes, because he's smiling ear to ear, his dark eyes glinting. He looks like a different person. Almost. He hasn't cut his hair; the dark waves still brush his shoulders. I take all this in no more than a fraction of a second, because then I lose myself in Tristan's kiss, and his arms as he hugs me. I can't stop my fingers from threading through his hair, nor can I get enough of his warmth and smell. They bring familiarity drop by drop into a world that now feels foreign.
"I love you so much, Aimee," he whispers between kisses, his hands caressing me. "I was so afraid I would lose you."
"I'm all right now. I'm fine," I whisper back. I push a strand of his hair behind his ear, revelling in the feeling of having him this close, unharmed. How wonderful it is not to fear that something might happen to snatch him away from me for good. "There are no more reasons to be afraid." Chuckling, I add, "Except opening windows. I thought I’d have a heart attack when I heard the noise outside."
Tristan smiles. "Don't worry, I felt the same way the first two days. Everything seems alien. But it gets better. I'll be right next to you to make it better."
"You will?"
"Yes. Always. We'll face everything the way we faced the rainforest. Together."
Ten years later
The last rays of sun tap through the window, their reflections creating a rainbow in my champagne glass. Today is a day for celebrating. One way or another, we celebrate every day. But today is special. I arrived home earlier from work to prepare a fancy meal. If I was still a lawyer, that wouldn't have been possible. I never even thought of going back to my old job. Something Tristan told me in the rainforest stuck with me. I can help in my own way. One person at a time. At age twenty-six I ditched what could have been a brilliant career as a lawyer and enrolled at college again—this time to study psychology. A number of friends criticized my decision, but I've learned not to care. It's never too late for a fresh start. Tristan followed suit and enrolled to study medicine. It turns out we both made the right choice, feeling fulfilled with our careers.
The college years, and the ones after, resembled our time in the rainforest in one aspect. It felt like it was just the two of us, making our way in a place we didn't belong. I wish we could be together at all times, like in the forest. Whenever we are apart for more than a day, somewhere deep inside me the irrational fear that something happened to him roars to life. It's normal—I’ve learned that in my studies. It's a feeling I will never lose, but I can live with it. And when Tristan's arms envelop me, and his lips feather on mine, like they do right now, I forget about it.
"Happy tenth unofficial anniversary," he murmurs against my lips, clinking the champagne glass he’s holding against mine. I admire my husband's beauty before answering. His black hair is now peppered with two white streaks I adore. His dark eyes haven't lost any of their glint.
"It's the official one for me." We had an official wedding a month after our return from the rainforest. We had gold wedding rings and everything. But each year, we celebrate our anniversary on the day we exchanged the thread rings in the forest. Today is our tenth. Every year on this day we take out the glass box where we keep those thread rings. The box is our little glass bubble, preserving the purity of the forest and the strength of our love.
The thread rings have been eroded by the years; they're fragile. We never remove them from the box, afraid we might damage them. We just look at them and clink champagne glasses over the box. We save wearing them for an unknown special occasion. Neither of us knows when that occasion will be, but we are certain we'll recognize it when it arrives. The tattoos we made in the forest faded over the years, but they are still readable. We thought about getting them re-done, this time in an actual tattoo parlor, but decided against it. It just wouldn't feel the same.
"Mom, Mom." The voice resounds from the little garden outside our house. It belongs to a five-year-old girl with Tristan's black hair and my green eyes. I glance at her through the open door of the kitchen. She's running from the entrance gate on the patio, taking both steps leading to our porch in one jump. When she arrives in the kitchen, she's out of breath, clutching a rectangular box wrapped in brown paper against her chest.
"Look what the mailman brought," she says proudly. "From Uncle Chris."
"How do you know it's from him?" Tristan asks, feigning suspicion. He's suppressing a smile.
"It says right here." She places her tiny finger on the envelope where the name of the sender is written. "I can read all the letters of the alphabet."
"You can, huh?" Tristan takes her in his lap, tickling her until she roars with laughter. It's contagious, and all three of us end up laughing with guffaws.
"I think it's another porcelain doll," she says after we calm down, her eyes brimming with hope. “For my collection.”
"Well, what are you waiting for? Open it," I beckon. She rips the brown paper, revealing indeed, a porcelain doll.
"When will he visit us again?" she asks.
"Let's call and ask him, shall we?" Tristan says, lifting Lynda in his arms. On a whim, I rise on my toes and give him a kiss. A light one, the way we always exchange kisses when Lynda can see us. Tris
tan winks at me as he steps out to the porch with Lynda to call Chris.
It took a long time for Chris and I to connect again. I sent an email to him with all my thoughts and apologies the day before I married Tristan. I never got an answer, but I didn't expect one. I didn't attempt to make any contact for a few years afterward. Not until I saw a picture of him in the news—he had received an award for business innovator of the year. On his arm was a beautiful, blonde woman. I thought it might be safe to write to him again. He was still in New York. We emailed back and forth for a few months and after she became his wife they visited us for the first time. I was enchanted with her, and they were both enchanted by Lynda. Gradually, I got my best friend back, Tristan gained a friend, and Lynda had someone to call Uncle. It went smoother than I expected. Smoother than many other things we had to fight for. My health, for example. Despite the doctor's best efforts (and mine during the recovery therapy), I'm left with a slight limp in my leg and a scar where I was bitten.
Some days my leg hurts, and I can do nothing more than curl up with a book. We have a library full of books. All kind of books. Novels of romance, adventures, and horror. Poems—cheerful ones and dark ones. When Lynda grows up, she can read about anything: pain and happiness, darkness and light. She must learn of everything, though as a mother, I hope she'll encounter only happiness. As for me, I don’t resent the fear and the pain I experienced in the rainforest. If I hadn't been through it all, I might not appreciate every day, every minute, the way I do.
Those terrifying months in the rainforest were, in a way, a gift. Maybe it's true what they say, that without darkness, you can never truly appreciate the light.
Watching Tristan and Lynda on the porch, laughing on the phone, I slump in my favorite place in whole house: a rocking chair. Maybe it's all those months we spent in the plane, but I feel more comfortable sleeping in the rocking chair than in our bed. I can sit for hours at a time in it, reading stories to Lynda, or waiting for Tristan to come home from the hospital on the nights when he must work late. Over the rocking chair I throw a cover I made by sewing together patches. Each patch has a photo of Tristan and me, or the three of us. Each year I add a few patches to the blanket with pictures from moments that stand out. Tristan says if I continue like this, when we're old the blanket will be large enough to cover the whole house. I hope it will be. You can never have enough good memories. A light pain shoots through my left ankle. It happens now and then. But I smile. No matter what hardships life throws at us, I meet them with a smile. Because I will always remember a time when all I could hope for was one more breath, one more heartbeat. Now I have plenty of them.
And I intend to celebrate every single one.
Many years later
"Dr. Spencer," the nurse calls, her head visible through the cracked door, "we need you on the second floor."
"I'll be with you in a minute."