The Way to Joe

by Hollis Shiloh

  He followed me, speaking in a calm and reasonable tone of voice. I hated his reasonable voice just now.

  "I don't want to hear it," I warned him. "We're not doing this."

  "No. We are." He caught me around the middle and held on, squeezing his arms around me and pressing his face against my neck. He rubbed his stubble there and sighed. It felt bristly against my neck, and I shivered a little inside, despite how upset I was feeling at him. Damn, the man could turn me on.

  "Joe," I protested, almost whining now. I hated that, too.

  "I don't want to die. I don't want you to feel guilty if I leave you things in my will. But more than anything I don't want you to have to deal with life without me and no buffer." He sighed again, and I felt it, and shivered. His hands ghosted lazily over my stomach, making my muscles tighten and my insides flutter.

  He said softly, "My kids aren't mellowing, Seth. I don't want them having any legal leg to stand on if they decide to give you trouble. I want you having a say in anything you need a say in. Most of all, I don't want you kicked out of our house. And if you need to grieve for me—someday, a long time from now—I don't want you to have to worry about the money. I want you to have enough that you can go on a year's surfing tour if you want. Properly, not hitchhiking around and taking rides from dangerous strangers, or sleeping on couches or benches near beaches. I just want you safe. Isn't that what you always want for me?"

  I held my breath, blinking. It was the same, wasn't it? In a way. He worried about me; I worried about him. Right now, we couldn't do anything differently. We were taking care of his health and sharing the days the best we could. He might live many more years.

  But it was causing him stress and pain to think of me on my own, lost and rudderless without him. If he had become so important to me I got so stressed at the mere thought of losing him, how would I survive a taste of real grief—the deep, long dregs of losing him?

  I still shied away from the thought, and I still thought I might go first. But there were warning bells inside me that told me it probably wasn't true. If I hadn't died yet, I probably wasn't going to for some time. I lived a lot more safely now than I once had.

  For instance, I hadn't gone surfing anywhere with shark risk in some time. I hadn't hitchhiked or trusted strangers easily or done anything even remotely dangerous. I even followed water safety rules on Joe's boat—our boat? No, it would always be his boat. Joe and boats went together. But I could be his crew; I knew I would always be welcome.

  "Please, baby," he said softly against my skin, his lips just touching.

  I trembled, my skin shivering. "I just…" I was weakening, and we both felt it. He caressed my stomach gingerly. The muscles felt hard under his competent, caring hands. I closed my eyes, tears behind my eyes, and tried not to take a jagged breath that would sound like I was crying. "I'm scared. Please don't leave me."

  "I won't. I'll stay as long as I can. I love you."

  "I l-love you, too."

  "I know." He kissed the side of my neck carefully. "Would you like to go to bed now?"

  Always the gentleman. When had I ever known how much I would love that? Never. I'd never, ever guessed. I'd thought free loving and casual relationships would be more my speed.

  But they weren't. Joe was my speed, because I loved him and he loved me.

  "Yes," I said softly, tearfully. "Yes, I will."

  "What?" He smiled, not understanding.

  I took a deep breath, and plunged into that ocean. "Yes, I'll marry you."

  "What?" He gave a startled half-laugh. "But I—"

  "That's what you want. And I only said no because I was scared. I didn't want to think about losing you. But I—I'd love to be your husband. To have some legal right to feel jealous when I do. And…and to protect you the best I can."

  He blinked hard and squeezed me a little tighter. "If you're sure," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I…I would like that very much."

  I turned around in his arms and hugged him and kissed him. "I mean it. I love you. I'll marry you."

  "Thank you," said Joe, looking all choked up, like he couldn't believe his luck. A little dazed, a little incredulous, and very, very happy. "I…I appreciate that very much."

  I couldn't help it; I laughed. "So formal," I teased. I caught his hands and pulled him towards the bedroom. "I do believe you'll make a fine husband."

  He grimaced. "Don't tease. I…this is…I never thought I would have this moment, and it wouldn't be a lie. Please don't change your mind." He looked a little anxiously at me.

  I sobered quickly. Of course; his last marriage, and probably the proposal, had been at least in some ways a lie. He'd known he was attracted to men rather than women, and was trying to hide that fact. I shook my head. "I…I'm not… I won't change my m-mind."

  He saw then that I was feeling as emotional as he was but just showing it in another way. He made a sound in his throat and pulled me into his arms again. He held me for a long time, petted my arms and back and made soothing sounds, and didn't tease me once for my wet eyes and shaking shoulders. He just held and comforted me, and made everything okay again, in the way that only he could.

  Epilogue

  I married Joe in the summer, on the beach, under a white canopy. Suzie held the rings, pinned on a pillow, our furry ring-bearer. Caden came all the way from Florida to join us, tanned and wearing very big, very dark sunglasses. His boyfriend was with him, and they both pretended not to get teary-eyed about the wedding.

  It was pretty great.

  We kept things low-key. His kids didn't want to attend, and then at the last minute they both hurriedly changed their minds. I saw them glancing at their phones during the ceremony, brief as it was, slouching and covering yawns and trying to pinch the scowls off their angry faces.

  They couldn't ruin it for me. Nothing could.

  I got to be Joe's husband now, and nothing could take that away from me. However long it lasted.

  After the ceremony, we danced. Just me and Joe, barefoot on the sand. The meal was good, and there was laughter and expensive wine, and the sunset on a summer day. Joe and I held hands under the table, even during the meal, as often as we could.

  I knew I'd never forget this day. Even if his kids disapproved vehemently and were only there because they were scared of being written out of his will. I just didn't care; they couldn't ruin the day. Nothing could.

  And yeah, I know nothing lasts forever. But sometimes life is like surfing, you know, and you're on that one perfect wave, and everything inside is still, and so is everything outside. The whole world is waiting, even though really, nothing's still at all, and you're moving, the world's moving, the ocean's moving fast and constant.

  But even if it only lasts a little while longer, it's so real and you'll never forget it, more real than anything in the world: that perfect blue, the moment you and the ocean are in synch. Nothing can quite beat that.

  Joe's my perfect wave, and I'm not holding out anymore. I'm all in.

  the end

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