Wildflowers by Fleet Suki

I’ve ever known, and he makes me want to be a better person for him—he makes me want to be the person he deserves. Occasionally, when Sam goes into the hospital for dialysis, I’ll hire a car and go looking for our field.
    Today I think I’ve found it.
    I don’t quite know how. I got lost driving down snaky country lanes, took a few wrong turnings down narrow and narrower roads, until I saw the sea suddenly expanding in front of me as though I’d arrived at the end of the world. And here I am.
    There are boats out in the bay—tiny specks that glint and gleam in the whiteness of the September sun, alone and unsteady on the waves and yet completely free.
    Looking around, I take a few pictures on my phone. I try to send them to Sam, but there’s no phone signal out here so far from anywhere. Instead I lie back among a cluster of bloodred flowers and watch the clouds drift by. I don’t stay long.
    It starts to rain on the long drive back to my parents’ house, and I arrive late and far more on edge than I’d like to be. Even my elation at finding our field has dampened down.
    So I found a field. I don’t know who it belongs to or if it belongs to anyone, and even if I do find out, then what?
    The light is still on in the living room. I know Sam will have waited up. All I want to do is crawl inside, fall into his arms, and let him quietly drag me up to bed, to sleep.
    But there doesn’t seem to be anyone around when I open the door, and the big old house is whispery quiet. I put my coat on its hook and take off my shoes. Maybe the dialysis took a lot out of Sam today and he has already gone to bed. I try not to feel disappointed.
    When I look up, I’m startled half to death by the figure on the stairs. Neat, shorn black hair, hesitant smile, and the most heart-stopping, kohl-rimmed, Cleopatra eyes.
    Your mum took me to the hairdressers , Sam signs, walking hesitantly toward me. Do you like it?
    Mutely, I nod.
    We have been living here a month. Sam still sleeps a lot, but he’s so much stronger than he was. And in moments like this, he glows, shining as though a light burns brightly inside him.
    Too different? he asks, standing in front of me, biting his lip.
    I know he feels unsure of my reaction, but I can’t seem to open my mouth to form a coherent sentence. My knees feel weak. “No,” I somehow force out. I can’t take my eyes off him. “How was it at the hospital today?” I pause. “You look beautiful.” The words fall out of my mouth. I think I might be blushing.
    Sam smiles, blinking slowly—purposefully slowly.
    Fuck , that eyeliner.
    I take his hands—his fingers are cold. His fingers are always cold, his feet too. I love bringing them to my lips and warming them.
    For you , he signs. I thought you might like it.
    That is such an understatement.
    He drops his head to my shoulder. His breath is so warm, I feel it even through my shirt. In a state of wonderment, I trace the newly exposed skin of his neck—all those fine bones I could swallow whole.
    “That eyeliner makes my brain stop working,” I murmur. “Are my parents here?”
    He looks up. They’ve gone to dinner. They’ll be back late , he signs. Take me to bed.
    Squeezing my eyes shut, I pull him back into my arms, holding him close.
    “I found our field,” I whisper, my lips pressed against his ear. I know I shouldn’t say things like that before I even know there’s a possibility, but even if there isn’t, I still want to take him there. It’s still perfect. “I found the place we can lay on our backs among the grasses, the poppies swaying, the sun shining, where I can sing stupid songs for you at the top of my voice to the deep turquoise sky. Just like I said all those weeks ago.”
    I don’t even realize I’m crying until Sam steps back, rubs the pad of his thumb across the rough stubble of my cheek, and peers at me worriedly. His beautiful eyes make him look ethereal and far, far too perfect to be standing here with me in