The Tattooed Flower

32. The Tattooed Flower

January 6th, eight months later...

Caleb-

In a hall. Draped and blanketed in soft, unflawed, white, a snow untouched by the day's heat, or dirt slicked underside of a boot. There are flowers on every table, beside me there is a woman, I met her when she was a girl. She's dressed from head to toe in an impossible ivory, the longs sleeves tangling down her arms into flowers and soft motifs. On her head is that same chestnut hair that had disappeared for those few months in the beginning. She is the only person in the world that I would want to share this table with.

"So, anyway, I wanted to say some stuff. And I have a lot to say so buckle up folks." Ruth sips from her glass of water and sets one hand on her round, pregnant belly. Apparently, John, her dancer friend, was a little bit more than flexible. He turned out to be husband material and the father of what will be Ruth's first legal child. He's blonde and tall and oddly shy for someone so accustomed to the spotlight and so in love with Ruth who is the furthest from soft-spoken. "I have known Caleb for- well longer than anyone should like to admit. Some of you may remember, may have even gotten an invitation... Caleb and I were engaged. Had a nice little shindig planned for some boring golf club about a mile down the road; however, clearly, that did not work out. Too many broken plates." She winks at me and I squeeze my wife's hand under the table. I glance over at her and find her stunning green eyes on mine.

"Broken plates?" She whispers.

"Just a few." I reply, brushing a kiss over her lips. Then we turn back to look at Ruth, one hand still on her stomach, the other gripping the microphone.

"I love Caleb, the same way I did when we were together. We loved each other very much, but I always knew that his heart belonged to someone else. He was never going to fall in love with me, and I was never meant for him... I remember when I first learned about Quinn; it was about six or seven years ago give or take a few months, I thought, 'May God have mercy on the girl because Caleb's sexual prowess will have none.'" Pause for laughter. "No... No... What I really thought was, 'Let her be the one.' Let her be it. Caleb had been alone for such a long time... Well, clearly not alone, I saw all you ladies crying and I'm certain it wasn't the beautiful ceremony." She pauses to look back at her notecards, then promptly throws them over her shoulder, earning a few laughs from the audience. "Anyway, the night I was supposed to come over for dinner was the night Quinn got arrested."

I feel my body stiffen and I shoot a dirty look at Ruth. She responds with a simple shrug of her shoulders and returns to her speech.

"Now Caleb is glaring at me... Apparently, I was supposed to pretend you all didn't watch the trials and didn't yell at your TV's when the courts put that sweet girl away for five years..." I relax and Quinn laughs at me and Ruth, quickly relieving the tension of the entire room. "Who could blame Caleb for falling so hard for her? Not me, not anyone." Quinn isn't laughing anymore. Her entire attention is placed on Ruth. "We all fell for her with a screen and murder charge between us... And... Quinn?"

Quinn looks at Ruth expectantly with tears in her eyes. "I am so grateful for you... You have made my best friend, the Godfather of my daughter, you have made him truly happy. And I didn't think anyone could do that... Thank you." Quinn stands up and meets Ruth and the two embrace, rocking back and forth in a happy sobbing mess. Quinn sits down next to me again, tucking and smoothening her long, white dress. Ruth raises her glass. "To the Bride and Groom." Then she sits down and leans her head on John's shoulder. Ruth and Quinn make an incredible pair. The two of them are so undeniably different, yet, somehow, they manage to make it work. Quinn has found a friend in Ruth and I don't think she's ever had many friends before.

The rest of the night is a blur of chaste kisses and dancing and joy. We are happy. We are together. We are permanent.

***

Once we get into our hotel in Bora Bora, a trip Quinn had argued was too expensive, I busy myself with the task of riding my wife of her clothes. She'd changed out of her dress for the plane ride and replaced it with a stretchy, green number that accentuates her body and let her be comfortable enough to cuddle into my shoulder and sleep for almost the entire flight. Needless to say, though the dress was beautiful, it had to go. The night is long and and even after hours and hours of sex, in the shower, the bed, the couch, the kitchen countertop, the floor... everywhere, neither of us are tired. We are together, drowning in satisfaction and bliss.

Later, when the sun is only a few hours away from rising again, and we are are helplessly, stranded in paradise we walk out to the porch, dawned in nothing but the pale light of the moon. We lay down on the white bed under the canopy and I let my fingers drift softly over her skin, lingering on the birds that fly across her stomach. "I understand these now... I didn't before... I don't know why not." I have her attention, her eyes are wide and her expression is nothing but contentment. "Freedom. They're free."

She nods slowly and smiles at me. "Now, I am too." I am lost in her eyes and I love her so much.

My hand is on her side, the soft skin of her stomach beneath my fingertips so breathtakingly familiar, yet so drastically dissimilar from anything else in the world. "You're so beautiful," I whisper, "a tattooed flower."