I Trust You

    "What are you thinking about?"

    Muffled tv sounds make their way through the floor beneath me. A storm blows outside the window. My eyes wander up and down the wall in front of me.

    "Babe, what are you thinking about?"

    I sit up from my position on the cold, wood floor, and look straight into his eyes. He smiles and tucks a loose piece of hair back behind my ear.

    "Nothing interesting," I tell him, my eyes moving back to the wall. It's filled with photos, but three stick out the most.

    "Everything you think is interesting to me," he continues. 

    The first one is a simple one, a collaboration of four pictures of the same tree in Central Park, where we met. A picture during each season. He surprised me with the picture a year afterwards. I remember it perfectly. 

    "I don't get it," I'd said. "How would you have taken all of these if we only started dating a couple of months ago?"

    "I just had this feeling, you know?" he'd said.

    "You're so beautiful," he says quietly. I peel my eyes away from the photos and notice that he's staring at me. Light streams into the room from the windows on the opposite side and makes bars across his face.

    He's handsome, always has been. He's just that kind of guy. 

    There's some sort of smell in the air. I take a deep breath through my nose and recognize the smell of waffles. 

    "You made waffles." 

    He nods and I laugh slightly.

    The second photo is of me. I was suffering from a batch of horrible cramps and he came over for a movie marathon. Halfway through "Overboard" he brought out his camera. Unfortunately I hadn't seen it before he started taking the pictures. The picture hanging up is of me, smiling, my hand barely covering part of the lens in an attempt to get him to stop.

    "If you don't want to tell me what you're thinking, mind if I tell you what I'm thinking about?" he asks. I shrug, lying back down and staring at the ceiling fan. It spins slowly, barely moving at all. Time is slowing down, it seems, suspending me in this moment.

    The third one wasn't taken all that long ago. Both of us are in front of a stone staircase, leading to New York City's City Hall. I'm wearing a simple dress, he's wearing a purple bow tie. The light is too bright and the shutter of the camera wasn't quick enough. But it's us, together. Only us. I was smiling at the camera, but he was staring right at me.

    He follows my stare and smiles at some sort of distant thought.

    "I didn't understand what I ever could have done to deserve something so wonderful," he says, running a finger over my cheek. I close my eyes and lean my face into his palm.

    "I still don't," he continues. "But I'm not complaining."

    My mom had been so angry that I had gone and gotten married without her. She didn't talk to me for a month. But she didn't understand. It was supposed to be a symbol. That we only need each other. That's all we wanted, all we want. 

    "I'm scared." 

    As soon as the words are uttered, I feel awful. Worse than I thought humanly possible. When I sit back up to face him, he takes my hand in his and brings it to his mouth. His lips lightly brush over my fingertips, sending tingles down through my arm and to my shoulder. I shiver.

    "I am too," he admits. Below us, the sound of a fight scene starts. Rain pelts the windows and I now notice that the light that had just been streaming in has been replaced by gloominess. 

    He startles me when he lays a hand over my stomach, but I quickly relax.

    "Although, I think it'll end up fine," he says soothingly. "Besides, it would be selfish to keep all of our love just between the two of us." 

    I smile. Something about the way he speaks to me makes me feel better, no matter how I'm feeling before. 

    "Please join me, get up from the floor," he pleads. I look straight into his eyes and hold his stare for as long as I can. And then I start to push myself up. He jumps up and grabs my arm to help me.

    I stretch when I finally get up and I realize just how much you ache after lying on the floor for fourteen hours straight. 

    He grabs me again and pulls me into a warm embrace. I rest my head on his shoulder, taking in the way he smells, the way he always smells. A mix of cotton, laundry detergent, and soap. 

    "I love you," he says simply, kissing me on the forehead. 

    "I love you too," I tell him. I wonder if he knows just how much I mean that. Just how much he means to me. 

    "Everything is going to work out just fine." I grab his soft shirt tighter and feel the fabric between my fingers. My toes curl slightly, cold, and I break away from him. It's been almost a day since I've eaten and I'm starving.

    "I trust you," I say softly before rounding the corner to the kitchen.

    "With all my heart and all my soul," he returns. 

    And I finish it off with, "I trust you."