2022 WATTYS SHORTLISTED || After being forced into a marriage by her devoutly religious parents, Aspen's husband is diagnosed with a life-limiting illness, and she must find her purpose as well as fight feelings for her husband's nurse. || Aspen Wat...
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I park Joel's wheelchair next to the bench I sit on in the hospital garden. The doctor gave him the okay to be put in the wheelchair so we could sit outside for a while, though against Joel's mood today. I told him the sun would do him some good, and he finally listened when I promised him we'd stop by the little shop on the way for his favourite sandwich.
The drip is hanging off a pole that sticks out the side of the wheelchair and it took Nicholas and the doctor about five minutes to wind it in such a way Joel wouldn't pull it out accidentally, nor would I clip it while pushing the chair.
The light reflects off the metal of the chair and into my eyes as I sit down beside him. There's a tiny ceramic birdbath filled with water in front of us, and a tiny bird is washing and drinking in it, and as I put my sunglasses over my eyes, Joel sighs.
"Do you remember when we went to Hampton Court Palace, like a year ago?" he asks.
I smile at the memory. "During the heatwave. We took the picnic stuff and I remember you moaning that all the food was too hot 'cause of the heat in the car."
He chuckles and sips his bottle of water. "And you took us down the wrong way in the maze! I told you it was left and not right!"
I gently push his arm. "Shut up! It was a fifty per cent chance, and I just was on the wrong half of it!"
A silent beat while we both digest that: fifty-fifty chance.
I ignore it and go with the moment, though. "We should go back there, near Christmas. It's meant to be magical."
We fall silent with the unspoken knowledge flying between us; if he makes it to December.
"I—Aspen—"
"Can we not discuss it? Just while we're out here. It's nice just pretending for an hour that it's not happening," I whisper.
He nods and rubs his stubble. It's moments like this that feel normal. No religious parents, no forced marriage, no illness, no adopted son hurting the very foundation of us.
"What about when we went to the funfair, like, six months ago? I think they're having another one soon. We should go and I can beat you on the bumper cars this time," he mumbles, but the light-heartedness is still there.
I try to keep up the momentum. "You can't navigate those things for toffee, Joel! I'd beat you every single time! When you can barely navigate a bumper car, I don't know how you can drive.
He laughs, and it's like a song to my ears. It's a genuine, happy, belly-laugh that I swear brightens the weather with it. We don't have many of these moments, but when they arise, they're like the sunshine after a storm.
