19
"Are you okay?" I look into Lincoln's eyes.
"No," he says, clutching his left chest with both hands, "I'm not okay at all, my heart hurts."
"I—I'll go get a doctor."
"Don't go." He reaches out and grabs my wrist. "Just hold me. If you hold me, I'll be fine."
I wrap my arms around Lincoln's waist and press my cheek against his chest, listening to his heartbeat.
Lincoln strokes my hair slowly.
"Your hair is so smooth, it feels great, better than sandwich's." He suddenly speaks.
"Hey!"
Did he just compare my hair to a dog's?
I look up and glare at him.
"My bad." Lincoln smiles.
"You messed up my hair!"
"I'll fix it for you."
I decide not to let him off so easily. "I want a braid."
"I don't know how."
"I'll teach you," I say, sitting on the sofa with a mirror in hand. Lincoln stands behind me, holding a comb.
"Divide it into three parts..."
"So again twist the strands to the right. And then cross the right strand over the left strand. So..."
When Lincoln ties off the end with elastics, I look in the mirror, a bit shocked. "You really don't know how to braid hair?"
"Mhm."
I shake my head, skeptical. "Maybe one of your ex-girlfriends wore this style often? Or, did you secretly have a daughter and braid her hair every day?"
After all, he's 30 years old this year.
Lincoln chuckles, "Ali, I think fashion design might be holding you back. With your imagination, you should be writing novels."
He keeps smiling, "You seem to forget your man is an architect. If my hands were too clumsy to braid hair, how could I be an architect?"
I spend the rest of the afternoon watching TV on my iPad with headphones on while Lincoln has a work meeting on his computer.
Then we have dinner together.
"Isn't the food to your liking today?" Lincoln asks.
"It's fine."
"But you barely ate."
I lower my head, "Do you think I can still be a fashion designer? It feels like I'll never make it."
"Don't say that, sweetheart. You have a long life ahead of you." Lincoln feeds me a bite of food, "The doctor said if you cooperate with treatment and rehab, you can fully recover."
After dinner, Lincoln gets up to clear the dishes. I offer to help, but he stops me with a commanding look, "just rest."
I go back to bed, leaning against a pile of pillows, watching Lincoln finish cleaning the dishes and then go to the sink to wash fruit.
The light outside, filtered through the window frame, only illuminates Lincoln's chin.
He rolls his sleeves up to his elbows, diligently washing strawberries for me.
I suddenly feel a bit more at peace.
Lincoln places the strawberries on the small table in front of me. "I've seen the fashion assignments you did inspired by architecture while you were at the old mansion. They were very well designed. So I took the liberty of entering you into the SKIN+BONES exhibition."
I've heard of it.
SKIN+BONES is a renowned exhibition project in the industry that combines architecture and fashion design.
It showcases works by architects and fashion designers, highlighting the interplay of structure, packaging, folding, and wrinkles, creating a fascinating collision of ideas.
Just like skin and bones, interdependent and growing together.
"But I'm still a student. How could I possibly get selected for such a formal exhibition..."
Lincoln smiles. "First, your designs are excellent."
"Second, I'm the curator of this exhibition."
My eyes widen, "You... can't rig it."
I rest my head on Lincoln's shoulder. "Better not. What if the audience sees my work and wonders how such trash got selected? What would I say?"
"Just tell them you have a great husband," Lincoln smiles and kisses me on the lips.
"Don't joke with me." I dodge away.
"I'm not joking." Lincoln suddenly kneels on one knee, takes out a small box from his pocket, and opens it. "Ali, will you marry me?"
The evening sunlight streams into the hospital room, making the excessively large diamond ring glitter.
It feels surreal. Legally, I'm not single, yet here I am being proposed to.
I thought I'd be stuck in the grave of marriage for a long time, and suddenly a man jumps out and says, "Come with me, Ali, I'll love you."
Happiness... I once thought this word would never apply to me.
A passing bird hops on the windowsill, and the twilight sun casts shadows into my eyes, making me feel like crying.
"But—but I'm not divorced yet." I sniffle.
"My brother is already drafting the divorce papers. Trust me, Ali," Lincoln says with a smile.
He slips the ring onto my left ring finger, and it fits perfectly.
"How did you know my size?" I ask, curious.
"When you were asleep, I did more than just steal kisses." Lincoln smiles.
He leans against the headboard, and I snuggle into his embrace, looking at my ring closely.
It still feels like a dream. I pinch my cheek in frustration, feeling the pain. Then I ask Lincoln again, "Do you really want to marry me?"
"Of course, I love you," Lincoln gently holds my hand.
While I'm in the hospital, my mother is also preparing for a kidney transplant.
On the day of her surgery, Lincoln and I wait outside the operating room.
It's a half-day-long major surgery. The doctor will make a 10-centimeter incision in the patient's lower abdomen, remove the non-functioning kidney, and implant a new one from a donor.
Lincoln conforts me that the living donor's blood and tissue types are very compatible with my mother's, and the surgeon is a top expert with extensive experience.
When the operating room doors finally open and the doctor walks out, his face shows exhaustion as he removes his mask.
My voice trembles, "How did it go?"
"The surgery was very successful," the doctor smiles. "If the patient is well taken of after surgery, she could live at least another ten years."
I widen my eyes and turn to Lincoln. "Did you hear that? Did you hear what the doctor said?"
Lincoln hugs me.
"Not just ten years. Your mother will live fifteen, twenty years, and you'll be together for a long time."
I smile, and then tears suddenly flow.
Because my right hand hasn't recovered yet, I took a leave of absence from school. Now, I spend my days at the nrsing home with my mother and return to Lincoln's house at night.
Lincoln, however, is very busy. Future Corporation received a project to build the capital's sports arena. The government places great importance on it, intending to make it a landmark building.
I know this project can establish Future Corporation's position in the UK and Lincoln's reputation in Europe, so I stay quiet at home, only playing with Sandwich, rarely disturbing Lincoln.
As soon as I step through the door today, I smell the aroma of my favorite Paella, with Sangria on the table.
"Welcome home," Lincoln calls from the kitchen.
"Mr. Lincoln, you've worked hard." I walk over and hug him from behind.
"Where's your ring?" Lincoln suddenly asks.
I look down and realize my ring finger is bare.
"It's in my pocket." I smile, taking it out and quickly putting it on. "It's too flashy to wear outside. I'm afraid it might get stolen, so I hide it."
Lincoln gives me a silent look.
Then we go to the dining table to eat.
During dinner, his phone keeps ringing, and he goes to the balcony to take the calls.
I still overhear snippets about the government project. Some are from employees needing him to review designs, others from government staff working overtime.
Lincoln returns from the balcony and sits back at the table.
"Is everything going smoothly?" I ask.
"Yes."
We continue eating.
"Let's go see your mother together tomorrow," Lincoln suddenly suggests.
The fork in my hand clatters onto the table.
I pick it up and smile. "Aren't you very busy?"
"I can still find time to meet my future mother-in-law."
"I thought I heard you say you're about to sign a contract?"
"It's just a formality. We've already discussed the details."
I swallow.
Lincoln sets down his knife and fork, looking at me. "Do I embarrass you? Am I ugly?"
I shake my head. "No."
"Is my job inadequate, unable to support you?"
I shake my head again. "No."
He crosses his arms and leans back in his chair. "Then is it because of my relationship with my brother? But Ali, if we're going to move forward and build a family, we have to take this step sooner or later."
He points at my ring finger. "I don't like that you take off the ring when you go to the nursing home. I don't like being hidden."
"I—" My brain starts racing. "It's not like that. I'm not divorced yet."
"True." Lincoln nods, gets up to fetch his briefcase from the coat rack, and takes out a document, placing it on the table. "Divorce papers. My brother sent them today. Just sign, and it'll take effect immediately."
"Any other reasons?" He pauses, then continues.
I grit my teeth and smile, "No more."
I have a sleepless night, and the next morning I go to the nursing home with dark circles under my eyes. Lincoln drives me.
He is in a surprisingly good mood, humming along the way, even generously giving me ten minutes to explain the situation to my mother before he joins us.
Walking down the long hallway to my mother's room, I feel like I'm marching to the gallows.
I stop to knock on the door.
"Come in," my mother says.
I take a deep breath, push the door open, and smile. "Mom, you're up early today."
"I'm always up at this time." She is painting. "Please give me some advice. Should I use Naples yellow here?"
She is painting daisies. Spring has arrived, and the garden downstairs is full of blooming flowers.
"Mom." I swallow.
"What's wrong?" She looks up at me. "Didn't you sleep well last night? Your dark circles are heavy."
I indeed didn't sleep well.
Lincoln made love to me endlessly last night, from the bedroom to the bathroom and even the living room, in front of Sandwich— it was hard for me not to associate it with punishment.
All because I was reluctant to bring him to meet my mother.
I take a deep breath and muster up the courage. "Mom, I'm in a relationship with my professor."
"What?" My mother didn't catch it, I spoke too fast.
"I'm in a relationship with my professor," I repeat.