8
Courtland
"Holy shit! It's still here,"
Buzz exclaims excitedly. We've waddled our way through the property after finishing the amazing feast—including dessert—Lola and her team spoiled us with. He jogs up to the still intact structure Grandpa Arnie built for us when we were kids.
It's more of a fort than a tree house really, propped up on four sturdy wooden legs, barely off the ground now that I look at it. But as kids, man, it felt like an adventure climbing up that short ladder and disappearing into our own little world.
Buzz pokes his head inside then looks at me, flashing that grin that never fails to hit me square in the chest. I used to think that was a normal reaction until I realized no other person made me feel that way when they smiled at me.
"Reckon we could still fit in there?" he asks.
"Think we might exceed the maximum weight limit. Especially after the lunch we just had."
"You calling me fat?"
I eye him up and down. He's wearing a warm charcoal sweater molded to his torso and dark chinos that cling to his thighs. There are many adjectives I could use to describe his body, but fat sure as hell ain't one of them.
"I'm calling us grown men,"
I say, sticking my head inside. The smell alone, a combination of mildew, old wood, and dry leaves, transports me back in time. I sometimes forget just how many countless hours we spent here…or what a completely different person I used to be when I was younger. Trusting. Unguarded. Hopeful.
"But what the hell? If we break it, we break it."
I wedge myself through the narrow opening. Buzz smacks my ass playfully before following suit. Inside, we can't stand up straight so we sit crossed-legged on the floor, surrounded by quiet and forest. The world beyond the windows dissolves away.
Buzz looks around, his lips parted slightly, then says to me.
"Look. It's still standing. We haven't broken it."
"Yet."
He grins.
"Just take the win, Court."
I chuckle and keep my mouth shut.
The bigger win here is Buzz's offer to get married so I can inherit this place. If I'm going to go through with this totally crazy thing, he really is the best person to do it with. The only person, really. I love Scooter and Cyrus, but they live out of town, and more importantly…they're not Buzz.
"What are you looking for?"
I ask when I notice him squinting at the wooden floor.
"I came in here by myself one day and inscribed our initials, but I can't for the life of me remember where. Can you see them?"
I join him in looking for them but come up with nothing.
"Maybe the wood warped or rotted?"
I suggest.
"Or maybe termites got to it."
"Yeah, you're probably right,"
he says, but he doesn't stop glancing around.
I can see it means a lot to him, he loves this sappy, sentimental stuff, so I keep looking for a few more minutes.
"It's not here,"
he finally concedes, dejected.
"I'm sorry,"
I say, rubbing my hands up and down my legs, wishing I could say or do something to make him feel better.
He squares his shoulder and smiles.
"It's okay. I'm just being silly. So, tell me, how was Africa?"
We messaged and video called while I was away, but the time difference made things tricky, and Buzz has been working some long-ass shifts, especially after he and Cameron broke up.
"I'm still wrapping my head around it, but it was…intense. Amazing, but intense."
I adjust how I'm sitting to get more comfortable.
"To be honest, I didn't like it at first. Everything was so different from what I knew—the language, the customs, even the food. But I worked with a great team who took me under their wing. I ended up seeing that most of the differences were only superficial, and that at the end of the day, people all want the same things. A place to live. Nice food. And good people to love."
"Sounds like a life-changing experience."
"It was. Had its challenging moments, to be sure."
"I bet."
Being a firefighter, he's seen things most people wouldn’t want to imagine, but I spare him the details of what I went through.
Being forced to do emergency procedures like C-sections or hysterectomies without adequate equipment.
Seeing women with life-threatening infections like sepsis from unsafe home births or botched abortions not have access to antibiotics.
Delivering a stillborn baby.
Watching a woman die from eclampsia shortly after childbirth due to lack of blood.
I'm barely able to process it all myself. It's way too much trauma to dump on someone else.
He places his hand on my knee, the warmth of his touch seeping through the denim to my skin.
"I'm sure you did an incredible job in circumstances I can only imagine were extremely difficult."
"It was tough, but ultimately worth it," I say.
"Really made me appreciate how good we have it here. And how precious life is."
"Being faced with death changes a person,"
he says, sounding like someone who's faced that very experience.
"I want to do things differently,"
I say, closing my eyes and trying not to let the horrific images—ones I know I’ll never fully shake—surface again.
"I want to live my life differently so I learn and grow from the bad shit I've seen."
"You will, Court, you will."
I open my eyes.
"I hope so."
He gives me a soft, reassuring smile.
"You will, because one, you're a strong person who can do anything he sets his mind to. And two, because you're looking at your future husband, and I'm going to support you in any way I can. We got this, okay?"
I place my hand over his. With every pounding beat of my heart, I know with absolute certainty—I am hopelessly in love with this man. "Okay."