with love, mike

Allison waved as the last party guest drove away. She shut the door and turned around to face her living room. Plastic cups, paper plates and napkins covered every available surface. The table that held her mostly eaten birthday cake was full of discarded wrapping paper from when she opened her gifts from everyone. Balloons and streamers and confetti littered the floor, and the man responsible for arranging the mess was nowhere to be seen.

Smiling, Allison began gathering up the cups and stacking them one inside the other. It wasn’t a huge mess, but it was going to drive her nuts if she didn’t clean up a little.

“What are you doing?” Mike asked. He stood in the hallway entrance, two large boxes tucked under his arm. One was wrapped in blue tissue paper; the other wasn’t wrapped at all.

“Thanks for the party,” Allison said. She picked up two more cups. “I had no idea.”

“You’re a liar. You knew.”

“Okay, I knew. You’re not very good at keeping secrets.”

Mike strode over and took the cups from her hand and set them on the coffee table.

“Leave it,” he said.

“I can’t. It’ll just look worse in the morning.”

“It’s your birthday,” Mike said, kissing her hand. “The birthday girl should not have to clean up after her own party. I’ll take care of it, but first, come outside with me. I have to give you your present.”

Allison eyed the boxes. “But you did,” she said, holding up her wrist. A diamond tennis bracelet dangled from it, sparkling in the bright light.

“That was only part of it.”

“You got me something else? Mike, you’re too good to me.”

“Not as good as you deserve.”

Allison laced her fingers with Mike’s and snuggled against him. He guided her through the house and out the back door, flipping on the porch light. The night sky was blinking with stars as they sat down on the steps. Mike rested the boxes beside him.

“Before I give you your present, I have to explain something. Your gift comes with a story.”

“Okay,” Allison said. She folded her arms around her legs, resting her chin on her knees. She peered up at him with curious eyes, and Mike smiled.

He opened the unwrapped box first and pulled out an old photo album. The cover was brown leather, worn with age.

“When I was sixteen, I went to a flea market with my mom,” Mike said. “There was a guy there who was selling old photos and postcards. I flipped through them, not really looking for anything, when the guy pulled this out from under his table and showed it to me.” He tapped the photo album, then opened it to the first page. “During World War I, a young newly married soldier named Tim wrote and sent postcards to his wife Daphne from wherever he was. Daphne would receive them, read them and then place them in this book for safekeeping.”

Mike passed the album to Allison. She looked at the postcards, reading the words of love from Tim to Daphne, not understanding how this could relate to a birthday gift, but loving the sentimentality of the postcards.

Mike continued. “When Tim came home, Daphne showed him all the postcards. There are over 200 here, from all over Europe. When they celebrated their 50th anniversary, they traveled to Europe, to the countries where Tim sent the postcards from.”

“That’s beautiful,” Allison breathed. She stared in wonder at the book. “What made you buy this?”

Mike shrugged. “I guess deep down I’m a mushy romantic. I envied the love they had. But not anymore.”

He picked up the second box and placed it in Allison’s lap, taking back Tim and Daphne’s book.

“Happy birthday,” he said.

Curious and more confused than ever, Allison tore off the tissue paper and lifted the lid. Nestled inside was a photo album, similar in size and shape to Tim and Daphne’s.

Inside were protective plastic sheets that held two postcards each. The first page contained a postcard with a picture of Berlin on the front, the other of Madrid. She turned the page and was surprised to see writing, a stamp and postmark on the backs of them.

“Mike, what is this?” she asked, looking up at him.

“Just read,” he said.

Allison read the first one. In Mike’s familiar scrawl were the words, “Today you woke up and smiled at me. It was a brilliant smile, brighter than the sun, and I was warm all day. With love, Mike.” The second one read, “You painted a sky scene today, and even after you cleaned up, you still had a small streak of blue on your neck. I’ll kiss it later. With love, Mike.”

Allison blinked back tears as she examined more of the pages. Postcards from Denmark, Sweden, Italy, Poland, all with Mike’s writing on them.

“Today we shot scenes together. I kept flubbing up my lines because you kept smiling at me when I was supposed to be serious. I can’t wait to get you home later. With love, Mike.”

“Your mother called today while you were still sleeping. We chatted for a bit, and she told me how happy you are with me. I told her I was lucky to be with you. My life has meaning. With love, Mike.”

“How did you do this?” she whispered. “You didn’t really go to Europe just to mail these, did you? There’s no way. We’ve been so busy shooting the show!”

“I have a friend who travels through Europe for his job,” Mike said. “And he’s always sending me blank postcards from the countries he’s in. I kept in touch with him. I’d write one out, mail it to him in an envelope, and he’d drop it in the mail.”

“How long did this take?”

“A year.”

“What?” Allison blinked. “You’ve been working on this for a year?”

“Looks like I’m better at keeping secrets than you think,” Mike said, nudging her gently with his shoulder. “This took time to coordinate. I had to mail them to him, and he had to send them back. Snail mail runs awfully slow. Of course, I had them sent to my apartment’s address so you wouldn’t get them. There are only about 25 total, nowhere near Tim’s final count, but I’ve got time to catch up.”

“This is incredible.”

“You’re incredible. It’s been an amazing two years with you, Allie. I don’t envy Tim and Daphne anymore, because I found what they had. I found you.”

A tear slipped down Allison’s cheek and she swiped at it with the back of her hand. She reached the last page which didn’t hold a postcard, but an envelope with the word Paris scribbled across it.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“Take it out and see, silly.”

Her fingers were trembling as she removed the envelope and opened it. Inside were two first class plane tickets to Paris.

“I want to send a special postcard from there,” Mike said.

“Paris? Really? Oh my God.”

“You’ll go?”

“Of course I’ll go!”

She threw her arms around his neck.

“And when I propose to you at the top of the Eiffel Tower, will you say yes?” Mike asked, his lips brushing against her ear.

Allison hiccupped and pulled back.

“You’re asking me to say yes before you ask me to marry you?”

“Hey, a guy needs to be prepared.”

Allison burst into giggles and kissed him.

“Yes, yes! I’ll say yes!”

~*~*~

The postcard arrived from Paris, a beautiful picture of the Eiffel Tower on the front. On the back was written, “Today I asked you to become my wife. With the blue sky behind you and the city of love below, you said yes. You’ve completed my dream. With love, Mike.”

~end