On Our Anniversary, He Called Her Name Chapter 08

On Our Anniversary, He Called Her Name Chapter 08

The strawberries were sweet.

I sat on the couch eating them, while Fate sat beside me scrolling through his phone.

The TV was on. I didn’t pay attention to what was playing. It was just background noise.

“The heat won’t last long,” he said.

“Mm.”

“She posted that she’ll never log into social media again.”

“Mm.”

He put his phone down and looked at me.

I felt his gaze but didn’t look up. I kept eating strawberries.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine.”

“Really?”

I looked up.

He looked at me, his eyes dark, with something in them I couldn’t understand.

“Really,” I said. “I’ve never been better.”

He nodded and said nothing.

An ad played on TV, loud and bright.

The elderly women’s music downstairs had stopped, replaced by the cry of a child.

I put the last strawberry into my mouth.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Then buy more next time.”

I stood to wash my hands, but as soon as I rose, he caught my wrist.

I looked down at him.

He was sitting, looking up at me, not letting go.

“What are you doing?”

He didn’t speak.

Two seconds later, he stood and faced me.

Very close.

I smelled strawberries on him, mixed with the clean scent of laundry detergent.

“Fate Dale.”

“Mm?”

“What are you trying to do?”

He looked into my eyes for a long time.

“Something I’ve wanted to do for three years.”

Then he lowered his head.

And kissed me.

Light.

Soft.

Sweet with strawberries.

He lifted his head and looked at me.

“Can I?”

I didn’t speak.

I reached out, grabbed his collar, pulled him down, and kissed him again.

This time, it lasted a long while.

When we parted, his forehead rested against mine. His breathing was a little unsteady.

“Three years,” he said.

“I know.”

“On your wedding day, I stood under that tree and wanted to run up and pull you away.”

“I know.”

“Every time I saw your posts after that, I wanted to ask if you were doing okay.”

“I know.”

“Then why didn’t you get divorced sooner?”

I thought about it.

“Because it wasn’t time yet.”

He paused.

“Time for what?”

“For him to say it with his own mouth,” I said. “For him to finish performing that ridiculous play himself. For me to be completely done.”

He looked into my eyes.

“And now?”

“Now.”

He kissed me again.

This time, deeper and longer.

The wind blew in through the window, carrying the scent of that crooked tree.

A long while later, he let me go and smiled.

“The strawberries were a waste.”

“Why?”

“I ate them all from you.”

I laughed too.

Outside, the child stopped crying, and the elderly women’s music started again.

This time, it was an old song with a cheerful tune.

He took my hand and led me to the window.

“Look,” he said. “That tree.”

The tree swayed in the wind like a drunk person.

“It’s ugly as hell,” I said.

“Mm,” he said. “Ugly as hell.”

Then he turned to look at me.

“But I’ve looked at it for more than twenty years. I’m used to it.”

I looked at him.

Sunlight came in through the window and fell across his face.

Suddenly, I remembered that I had looked at that tree for more than twenty years too.

From his family’s window, the same tree was visible.