The Rose That Withered in the Desert

My husband, Patrick Walker, was a desert expedition leader.

Every time a trip ended, he brought me back a rose quartz rose, the kind that only grows out at Devil's Flats.

Three years of marriage, and he'd brought me eighty-nine of them in all.

I told him, smiling, Once we've saved up ninety-nine, let's have a baby.

I never expected that on his ninetieth expedition, he'd come home empty-handed.

Patrick explained, "The terrain at Devil's Flats has shifted. Harvesting the roses is too dangerous now."

I nodded, telling him I understood. Romance meant nothing to me next to his life.

But then, on his hundredth expedition, I saw one of his regulars post on social media:

"Captain Walker said only the purest rose quartz roses in the desert are good enough for me, so he braved the danger to gather a full hundred for me."

I stood there staring at those dreamy, beautiful roses. Then I opened my box and found that mine had long since been swapped out for cheap plastic ones.

The tears dropped. I lifted my hand and wiped them away.

If love had gone bad, then I would cut it loose.

...

"I was only joking when I said I wanted a hundred-something rose quartz roses. I never thought Captain Walker would take it to heart. He went looking even with his leg hurt, worked himself to the bone to make up the count."

Diana Mason had posted another update.

The tone was complaining. The attitude was showing off.

The comments underneath were all envy:

"So spoiled! I'm so jealous of you, Didi."

"Too dreamy. If a man put a gift like that in front of me, I'd marry him without a second thought."

"Is this the official announcement? Captain Walker chased you for five years, and he's finally won over his goddess."

...

My eyes locked on those two words, "five years," and it felt like something sharp had dragged across my heart, cutting deep enough to bleed and never stop.

Patrick and I met on a desert expedition. I'd fought with my family back then and gone off alone to clear my head.

Patrick saw I was down, and the whole way he found ways to cheer me up.

When we passed Devil's Flats, he went out into a storm just to find a rose quartz rose for me.

All because I'd said, offhand, that I wanted to see one.

That was the moment the door to my heart came open.

I thought, a man who would risk his life for me like that had to be steady and sincere.

When the trip ended, I was the one who proposed. We held a desert wedding, and under a sky full of stars, with the shifting sands as our witness, we became husband and wife.

To take care of him, I moved into the little town on the edge of the desert.

Even though the climate never agreed with me, even though I got sick every few days, I never once wavered.

Because I was certain Patrick loved me. The rose quartz roses he brought back after every trip were the proof.

I never imagined I was only Patrick's practice run at winning the woman he really wanted.

Something for him to rehearse his romance on.

I moved my stiff fingers, and after a good few dozen seconds, I left a comment under Diana Mason's post: "Congratulations."

The moment I sent it, Patrick's call came through, urgent.

He'd barely connected before he was snapping at me. "Luna Chavez, what are you playing at? Miss Mason and I are just ordinary acquaintances. Delete that comment right now!"

Quietly swapping out the roses meant for me, gathering a full hundred to give to her, and that counted as ordinary acquaintances?

The tears kept falling, but I couldn't stop myself from tipping my head back and laughing, a hollow, empty sound.

"Bring every one of those roses back to me and I'll believe you."

"Luna, are you ever going to let this go? You're getting worked up over a few rocks? Haven't I given you enough? Delete the comment and apologize to Miss Mason publicly on your feed, or else"

"Or else what?"

"We only held a ceremony. We never registered. If you don't do it, you can forget about ever getting that marriage certificate as long as you live!"

Something in me went cold.

After the wedding I'd pushed him more than once to go register. He always put it off with one excuse or another.

Later I couldn't stand it and threatened to leave if he wouldn't. Patrick held me and said, "Luna, a piece of paper doesn't prove anything. As long as my heart never changes, we'll always be husband and wife."

I still wouldn't agree, and only then did he plead with me. "All right, all right, just give me a few more years of work. I don't want you marrying me with nothing to your name. That's not fair to you. Let me save up more, buy the jewelry, buy a house. Whatever other brides get, I'll arrange all of it for you."

He seemed so sincere that I gave in.

I never thought that not registering would become his reason to look down on me.

The tears came harder, until I could barely stay on my feet. I gripped the phone tight and said, "Thank you for the reminder."

The phone slipped from my hand. I didn't reach for it, didn't answer Patrick's frantic "hello, hello, hello." I turned and started packing my things.

Before Patrick got married, his life was simple.

A tent, a backpack that held all his toiletries and two changes of clothes.

After we married, with all my fussing and arranging, we had a home.

The cream-colored walls, I painted them myself, section by section, in the blazing heat.

A wooden table someone had thrown out, I sanded and lacquered it by hand into a pretty blue-green.

The wardrobe, the couch, the desk, the bed, even the pots and pans in the kitchen, I gathered all of it piece by piece, like an ant hauling its home together.

Did any of this belong to Patrick?

No.

It belonged to me.

But I couldn't take pieces this big with me when I left.

So I dragged everything I could move out to the front door and put it up for sale, dirt cheap.

A neighbor came over, testing the waters, and picked up my favorite handmade clay vase.

"Five bucks."

I said it calmly.

"Luna, you're really selling it? All of this, all of it, you don't want any of it?"

The neighbors were desert locals. Patrick never wanted me mixing with them, but I loved hearing their stories about the desert, so whenever he was out leading an expedition I'd go looking for their company.

That vase, this neighbor had asked me for it more than once, offering to trade me meat for it.

But I'd molded it with my own hands for Patrick, and I could never bear to part with it, no matter the price.

Now, though, the feeling behind it was gone, and it was worth five dollars.

She dropped five dollars, scooped up the vase, and walked off.

When she'd gotten a good distance away and saw I wasn't chasing her or changing my mind, she set the vase down and called over every friend and relative she knew.

They crowded in front of my door, picking through everything.

Patrick came home while I was selling the big double bed.

That bed had been a real ordeal to make, board by board saved up and then pieced together by a carpenter.

Big and solid. Patrick had patted it once, satisfied, and said, "Luna, we're going to have three kids someday. The little ones sleep on this side, and I'll sleep on the edge."

"Who said I'd ever have your kids." I muttered it, but I couldn't stop the sweetness swelling in my chest.

Who would have guessed how much would change while the things stayed the same.

The tears came again before I could help it.

A relative the neighbor had brought was picking at flaws, getting ready to haggle me down. When he saw the tears, he flung the cash into my arms and called his brothers over to haul the bed away.

"We agreed you'd sell it, Luna. No backing out now."

I wiped my eyes and was about to shake my head when I saw Patrick standing a little way off, staring at the front of the house, stunned.

When his eyes met mine, he was furious.

"Luna, you really have let me down!"

"It's just a few rose quartz roses. It's not like you don't have any. And here you are throwing a fit, chucking things out."

"You think this will make me back down? No. This makes me sick of you!"

"A woman crying, carrying on, threatening to hang herself. When someone else does it, it's cute. When you do it, it's just cheap!"

One line after another came out of Patrick's mouth, each one cutting.

I listened, numb, and only when he'd finished did I say, "This isn't a fit."

"I've decided to leave you."

"Hah." Patrick sneered. "Luna, I've been too good to you all these years. Spoiled you into acting like some princess."

"Diana's birthday is tonight. You trashed her name on social media, so tonight you'll go there, grovel, and apologize. If Diana forgives you, I'll keep living with you. Otherwise"

Patrick didn't finish, but the threat was clear enough. Otherwise, he'd dump me.

He left me there and went inside, and before long he shouted, "Luna!"

The neighbor and her friends and relatives were craning their necks to watch the show. I didn't want to become anyone's gossip, so I went in.

Patrick looked put out. "Where's the cash we keep in the house?"

"It's Diana's birthday, and she wants a necklace. I went and looked. It's twenty-five thousand at the counter. Hurry up and get the money out. Any later and someone else will have it reserved!"