[IN PROGRESS]
Martha and James are soulmates trapped together in a never-ending reincarnation loop. Not a bad way to spend eternity, but they wanted more. They wanted a child. Serafina is born and Martha and James are elated to love and raise her a...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The 20th of September, 2025, My First Life
Sunlight filtered through the dense green canopy and down upon a massive fallen tree covered in oyster mushrooms and emerald moss. I took my mother's hand.
She let out a deep breath, then said, "I promise I won't."
"Won't what?"
"Cry." She rolled her eyes in embarrassment.
"Mesdames Quinn?" came a voice behind her.
"Yes?" we said to the event coordinator standing down the stone walkway.
"Everyone is seated," she said with a smile stretched across her face and a clipboard in hand. "Five minutes until showtime."
"Thank you, Anahita," my mother said and Anahita gave us back our privacy.
"You can cry, mom," I said.
"I know. You're right. I know. But you... you've been through so much and you deserve this... you really... really deserve this." The corner of her mouth twitched as she held back emotion. Her makeup was impeccable because she'd done it herself – nearly invisible while enhancing the best of her natural features. But life – and motherhood especially – had weathered her face with the wrinkles, bags, and sunspots of a woman pushing fifty.
I smiled and said, "So do you."
She covered her mouth with her free hand as her eyebrows trembled. The implication was clear – though it was my day, guiding me here as best she could, through ups and downs, warts and all, meant the day was hers as well. We both deserved happiness. We both deserved our day in the sun – or at least as much as the redwoods would grant. A whistling thrush broke the silence. My mother blinked and a tear escaped down her right cheek, a black line of mascara cutting through her perfection.
"Damnit," she whispered as she reached into her purse for a solution.
"Mom," I said and grabbed her hand again, then blinked out a tear I'd been saving, letting it run to my chin.
She regarded my matching black line then nodded a clenched smile. "Perfect."
A ukelele began playing the Beatles' "Two of Us," reverberating through the forest and signaling our cue. My mother and I linked arms before starting down the stone walkway leading to the ceremony.
Tasha and I had flipped a coin to decide who would walk first. Neither of us were the man in the relationship, so an arbitrary determination felt appropriate. While I'd never been a plan my wedding down to the last detail type of girl, I admit to daydreaming a time or two about my father walking me down the aisle. But as soon as the coin had settled, having my mother at my side just felt right.
