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Erika’s heart was failing, and it was failing fast.
The physician urged Christine to have her “sister” take nitroglycerin pills twice a day to stave off another heart attack; but if Erika was anything, she was stubborn.
“Once a blasted day is enough,” Erika argued, refusing the tea she knew Christine had dissolved a capsule in. “Honestly, I think you’re hoping I explode at this point.”
“What I am hoping is you don’t have another attack,” Christine sighed. She set the tea beside Erika’s chair and returned to her own. “I want you around as long as possible.”
“You’ll have me for a while more,” Erika said, waving off the concern.
Christine cast her gaze to the carpet. A graying brown curl fell in front of her eyes, and she pushed it back into place. Would she? Would she have her for a while more? How...how long was ‘a while’? It didn’t feel long enough.
They had shared thirty-one years with one another...but it didn’t feel long enough.
“Do you know something?” Christine asked, when it had been too quiet for too long. “I don’t think our neighbors have ever believed that we’re sisters.”
Erika’s chapped lips parted in a smile. “You think not?” she asked with a chortle.
“Oh, I heard many whisperings that I chose to ignore,” Christine laughed. “Some believed we were sisters, but...well, they thought less of us than the ones who did not.”
“I suppose when you love a woman so much, it’s hard to hide how she makes you feel,” Erika said, pausing to cough. “At least I can die knowing I left some scandal in my wake.”
Christine balled her fists in her lap. “I thought you said I would have you a while more.”
Erika paused, reached over, and took up the medicated teacup. “My dear...I intend that to be the case.” She took a long, slow drink.
Christine felt her throat tightening, and she felt tears pricking her eyes. “Please make it so. It hasn’t been long enough. I...I’m turning sixty-three. I have some years left, and...”
She stopped when she saw Erika’s wrinkled, age-spotted hand cover her fists.
“Now, now,” Erika shushed. “No need to weep.”
From the corner of her vision, Christine saw Erika grip her chest briefly, before reaching for the teacup again. A tear fell onto her lover’s hand.
“Erika,” she squeaked, “I wish I could have married you.”
Her seventy-five-year-old partner didn’t answer until her teacup was empty. “Christine, my dearest girl...you did.”
Christine quirked an eyebrow at her lover. Erika’s fingertips played with the golden band on Christine’s hand, and she held up her matching band for comparison.
“But, we didn’t have a ceremony.”
“Ceremony or no, would it have made a difference?” Erika asked with a soft grin. “Would you have loved me any more if we had been accepted by a church? Any less?”
“No, of course not!”
“Then, it was an unnecessary step.”
Letting a few tears fall over her smiling lips, Christine raised Erika’s skeletal hand to her mouth. How much longer would she have this wonderful woman – her Erika, her wife – there with her? It wasn’t long enough. It would never feel long enough.