Entry #85

The Toast
by Tara Watson


I stared into the half empty glass. Sunlight filtered through the crystal goblet, a red glow lit the concrete wall behind it. Beams of light reflected off the pool, projecting rainbows above the red. I dropped my chin into my hands, unable to bring myself to lift the glass or break my gaze.

It was his favorite. And he was never coming back.

Wetness blurred the rainbows so that they danced on top of the red illumination. A dull ache weaved its way through my skull. The wine would drown my feelings. I glanced to the pool as a shadow fell across the water and a tear rolled down one cheek. I dabbed at my eyes.

His strong arms circled round my body, pulling me close. A familiar kiss on the top of my head quelled the ache. Comfort drifted in from the bottom, slowly working its way up.

“I promised him I would take care of his little girl,” he said. “And I meant it.” A small, open black box appeared on the table. I nodded as more tears escaped.

Warmth made its way back in as he slid the ring onto my finger. “I’ll miss him so much.”

“So will I,” he whispered, his voice thick. He raised his glass. “To the man who taught me what it meant to be one.”

I picked up half full glass in front of me. “To the man who taught me to accept nothing less.”