will i see you again

“Good afternoon! Were you looking for anything in particular?”

The florist seemingly materializes next to you out of thin air, breaking the trance that the pretty flowers on the shelf have put you in. 

“Ah, I was just looking at—” You gesture vaguely with your hands, chuckling sheepishly. “I don’t actually know what these are called. But they’re the same color as the kind my wife likes, so they caught my eye.”

The florist reaches for the pot, straightening out the big white label in front of it for your convenience. It’s impossible to miss, really.

Daisies.

Visibly amused, she stifles a laugh as you wince in embarrassment.

“Well,” The florist turns to another shelf, wiping her hands on her apron. “Do you happen to know what kind she likes? Or at least what they look like?”

“They, uh,” you trail off, rub the back of your head. “They’re these yellow ones that grow in our front yard? They turn white though, blow away in the wind and stuff.”

The florist blinks. 

“Dandelions. Your wife’s favorite flowers are weeds.”

“I—They are? I had no idea.” If you were embarrassed before, now you want to melt into a puddle on the floor.

She walks around you and takes the daisies you’d been admiring before. “Just come to the front.”

With the newly wrapped flowers tucked in your elbow, you drift through a maze of stalls and pop-up shops set up in a park nearby. You hadn’t planned your day off like this, but with one gift for your wife secured, you figured you might as well.

You peruse the many vendors on the street, looking for something that she might like, and smiling apologetically each time you walk away empty-handed. You should come here with her sometime, you think, if the market is still here in the park later in the year. It’d be more fun to trail behind her, watching her ooh and ahh at the different odds and ends for sale. You imagine her running excitedly ahead of you, putting on some silly hat and turning to you for your opinion.

Yeah. You should come back with her. Soon.

Only one table catches your eye in the market. The stall is littered with simple, colorful accessories—necklaces, bracelets, rings and the like. They’re not of high quality by any means, but you know your wife.

She would love these.

There’s a small, handmade bracelet with pearl-colored beads and heart-shaped beads on both ends. Even before you pick it up and try it on yourself, you know it’s perfect. You can’t contain your grin as the kind-eyed vendor packages it safely for you.

Yeah. She’d love this one.

With the package and flowers in hand, and the sun looking about ready to set, you decide to head back. You smile fondly, imagining how she’d react when you show her the gifts you bought for her. Her face as she listens to you recount the events of your day for her.

You can’t wait.

You open the door to her room quietly, careful not to disturb her in her sleep.

Even with the setting sun, you decide to keep the daisies on the small table next to the window. You remove the last, wilted bundle of flowers from the vase, replace the water, put the new ones in the vase and inspect your handiwork with satisfaction. They’ll be vibrant and healthy, coming alive in the sunlight by the time she wakes up.

Your smile wavers, just a little.

You settle into the chair next to the bed, and watch your wife as she sleeps. Even in her slumber her face looks so peaceful, the cares and worries of everyday life melted away from the lines in her skin, on her brow. You trace those lines with your fingertips as you brush the hair out of her eyes. She’s just as beautiful as she was the day you first met her.

“I’m back, honey,” you murmur softly before pressing a chaste kiss to her forehead. She doesn’t stir. “I went out earlier. Had the day off, so I did a little exploring.”

The golden sunset filtering through the window makes her look angelic. You have to look away.

“First, I went to this flower shop downtown, the one a block away from the metro station. You know the one, right?” Your wife still sleeps, unperturbed as you take her hand in your own, trying to dispel the cold from your fingers. “I kind of just went inside on a whim. I wasn’t really planning on buying anything this week.”

You lift her knuckles to your lips, and leave another kiss there.

“God, it was a little embarrassing, actually. You know I don’t know a thing about flowers, but there were these really pretty ones that I just knew you would like, and—” You break off in a little chuckle. “The florist, bless her heart, she really tried to help me find the ones that you like. But I didn’t know that your favorites were weeds, of all things.”

You watch your wife’s chest rise and fall with a gentle rhythm, but still she doesn’t stir.

“I ended up just getting the ones that I saw. But they’re pretty, I promise. You’d—you’ll like them. I know you will.”

Your eyes fall to the gentle curve of her wrist, sandwiched between your hands.

“Ah, I almost forgot.” You take the package out of your coat pocket, and retrieve the bracelet from within. “After I bought the flowers, I went to the park, and they had this whole market set up, with all the tents and tables and stuff. All sorts of people selling handmade trinkets and whatnot. But then I saw this bracelet—”

You take the bracelet and gently put her hand through it, tightening it around her wrist. Still, your wife does not stir.

“It’s got these pearl-colored beads, and some heart-shaped ones too. It reminded me of that one date. Do you remember?” 

Your head rests on the bed next to her hand, and you play with the bracelet aimlessly as you fill the silence of the hospital room. 

“It was so long ago. You brought home these materials and told me you wanted us to make bracelets for each other. I wore mine for over a year before it broke. And then we were both so sad. I never got to make a new one. But this one reminded me of it, so I knew you’d like it.”

You look at your wife’s hand, motionless in yours, and then at the steady, unchanging movement of her chest with each breath. You hear the soft sounds of the machine that breathes for her, and you see the mask over her mouth fog up with each exhale. And still, she does not stir.

“I just—I figured, maybe if I kept bringing you these things that I know you’d like, maybe you’d come back to me,” you choke out, your voice cracking. You don’t have the strength to keep putting on that brave smile, to hold back the tears. “You like them, right? Yuri?”

Your wife’s face looks so calm. So at ease. And still, she does not stir.

Your head tips forward, tears staining her blanket, and your clammy hands holding onto her own limp one like it’s a life raft, and you’re stranded at sea. And you’re sinking, and sinking, and you can’t breathe, and your chest feels like it’s caved in, and you can’t breathe, and—

“Yuri—Baby, please,” you whisper to her, praying that she’ll hear you. That she’ll heed your call. “Please, come back to me.”