Dean Gray removes his shoes and sets them beside the doorframe. He removes his belt from the loops of his jeans and tosses it aside before grabbing the hem of his tank top and pulling it over his head. He tosses it across the room where it lands on the rim of the hamper.

                                  In the dark of the room another figure enters. His fiancée, Terry. The woman he loves so deeply and fears just the same. She has returned after a hard day's work as a ranch hand. Terry removes her leather cowboy hat, sending her vermilion hair cascading down her back.

                                  Dean grabs his comb and begins to work it through his hair, watching her intently as she kicks her workboots off and slips her rust-colored jacket down her arms.

                                  "How was work today?" He asks to break up the silence.

                                  "Pretty good. Got some harvesting done and I managed to hurt my bad shoulder again." She replies with a slight grin. Dean just nods.

                                 "Want some ice?"

                                 "No, it's good." Says Terry, hanging her jacket on the bedpost and slipping her belt off. She plops down on the bed, neglecting the fact that her clothes are caked in dirt and field dust. Dean sets his comb down and pulls his jeans off, kicking them aside and swinging his legs up onto the mattress.

                                 His anxiety is running rampant beneath the surface. Everything here feels like a lie. Terry's hope chest at the end of the bed, the secondhand, mustard-yellow sheets Dean's mother was sure to supply.

                                 Here in their soon-to-be marital bed, he was in a place where he couldn't pretend. He couldn't lie to himself and that scared him. Terry reaches over and turns out the lamp on her bedside table. Dean knows he should do the same but he's not sure if he can.

                                 "Is something wrong?" Asks Terry. Dean draws in a shaky breath before replying.

                                "No." He lies. Of course something was wrong. There was something wrong with everything here tonight. Dean loved Terry more than anything else in the world, but it took him quite awhile to realize it. He had met her in his hometown of Seattle after she moved there from Richmond with her family. They had known each other most of their lives and they dated on-and-off for a good portion of that time.

                                  But it wasn't always smooth sailing. Dean had a tendency to chase other girls, fall in love with them even, and then make his way back to her when it all fell apart. It had become their repertoire.

                                  The last time it happened was a year ago. He had pursued a young woman who had a passion for surfing and made her way to the Evergreen State from California. For awhile, it was good. He wasn't gonna need Terry anymore.

                                 And Terry understood. There was little more than a goodbye peck on the cheek and they went their separate ways. She stepped aside and threw herself back into her work, keeping her distance all the while.

                                 A car passes down the road, its headlights casting a glare in their bedroom window. In the faint illumination he catches sight of a framed photo on a high shelf. The one day he'd spent on the farm with Terry. The black-and-white still reflected back the image of him squeezing her close, never more in love.

                               His surfer girl fantasy had ended rather quickly and Dean found himself alone in the neighborhood bar. A familiar young vaquera had been seated at the end of the counter, drinking scotch and keeping to herself. Dean knew what he had to do. He had gotten up from his seat and walked over to her.

                             "Terry. Good to see you again." Was all he needed to say. She looked up at him with kind eyes, something he hadn't seen in months. And from there, they'd spent the night drinking, throwing darts, and dancing beneath the neon green lights.

                             As the darkened sky faded away, replacing itself with the lavender cast of dawn, she was getting ready to leave. But he couldn't let her go this time. For the first time he looked at her and saw the one who waited for him. The one who would always wait for him.

                            "Where're you going?" He asked, tracing the back of her hand with his fingertips.

                           "Home." She replied.

                           "With me?" He asked, hoping there was still something in there for him. Terry didn't hesitate. She simply sighed and said,

                           "If we do this, this has to be the last time. I'm not gonna wait for you while you date other girls anymore." Dean understood where she was coming from. She wasn't telling him no. Instead, she was giving him a choice. And he didn't need any time to think. He slipped his hand into hers and they were gone.

                           In their bed, Terry rolls away from him and takes some of the blanket with her. Dean just moves closer. After allowing him back into her life for the third time, Dean needed to prove to Terry that she could trust him again. He had taken some time to consider her needs, her desires, and her dreams, and he lived up to them all.

                           She had done the same for him and she had been there for him whenever he needed her, this time as his girlfriend. At the end of the whirlwind year, one thing was clear. Terry was the one. Dean didn't need to search any further.

                           He squeezes his eyes shut tight for a moment, reopening them to look up at the fingernail-shaped sliver of moon hanging above the window.

                          Terry used to live in a ratty old apartment beside an oil refinery. It had been partially reconstructed after a fire and practically forsaken by the entire city. But it didn't matter anymore. He knew he was gonna buy a house for the two of them and make her his wife.

                          On a Saturday in June, he found the home where they would build their lives. This home. It had been a chance sighting on his way home from work. A two bedroom house, painted beige, with a wide-open green yard and a sign on the lawn that said, 'For Sale.'

                          Dean pulled over and did a walkthrough, imagining her sitting at the table in the light of the dining room after a long day of being thrown from a horse. Maybe he'd even bandage her bad shoulder, inevitably made worse with time, while they sat on the edge of the lime green tub.

                         He went into the bigger bedroom and before his eyes he envisioned the most beautiful sight of his life. Her in the bed, nestled beside him in the blankets, seemingly nothing beyond them or the moment.

                        Dean made his offer and bought their wedding house. When he left, he'd driven to that crappy tenement next to the refinery and climbed up the rickety exterior stairs to her door for the last time.

                        He knocked and she answered. A metaphor for their entire relationship.

                         "What're you doing here?" She asked with a grin.

                         "I bought a house, Terry. Our house." He replied breathlessly.

                        Within the month, Dean found himself walking through the door with an arm full of boxes, some marked D and some marked T. His entire family had stepped in to help them move. Dean remembers standing by the door, as his mother gave them a housewarming gift. The ugliest yellow sheets he'd ever seen in his life. He figured he'd probably never use them anyway.

                        "Seventy five cents, Dean. Can you believe that?" His mother had said.

                        "I can," He replied honestly. She gave him a knowing smile.

                        "Take care of Terry. She loves you."

                        "I'll be sure to, Ma." He said.

                          That same evening he found himself on the side of the house, working on the HVAC system with his dad.

                         He handed his father a wrench and the old man spoke. "You know son, that little cowgirl you got in there right now, she's very good to you. A real woman. Not like that surfing teenybopper you had before."

                         "I know, Dad. I made alot of mistakes, but for the first time, I think I got it right." Dean replied.

                       "You sure did. That one in there's the one you should marry." His old man smiled at him for the first time in ages and Dean knew he was right.

                       Tonight he looks down at his engagement ring, the words burning in his mind. That one in there's the one you should marry. Dean sits up and pulls the blanket off gently, heading for the bathroom. He flips the switch on and stands before the sink, turning it on.

                       He splashes his face with the icy tap water, looking up at the mirror. Dean no longer likes what he sees. He still sees himself, he still sees the doubt, the fear, and the diluted resentment he approaches Terry with. Dean had hoped and prayed hard for these feelings to disappear, but they never did.

                      The day he proposed is the next memory to play out in his mind. He and Terry had lived together for six months and it was unexpected, even to him. They had been drinking, their plastic lawn chairs pointed toward the back fence of the yard. As the sun set it enveloped the two of them in its burnished October glow.

                     With this ranch hand by his side, this house, maybe someday a dog, and even a kid or three, his life would be complete. This moment, right here, felt like forever. Dean had never previously given thought to marrying Terry, and he didn't have a ring to give her, but the time would never be more perfect. He swallowed hard and reached over, tapping her shoulder.

                   "Hm?" She asked, turning to look at him. He looked deep into those sparkling eyes and for a second, couldn't even remember his name.

                      "Terry, I-I-will you marry me?"

                       "Of course." She said, taking a sip from her beer can and turning back to the horizon, this time with a grin evident on her face.

                       Dean takes a deep breath and fingers the ring he's wearing. It doesn't feel like an engagement ring anymore. He slips it halfway up his knuckle before quickly pushing it back down where it belongs and leaving the bathroom.

                       Terry bought the rings, both of them. She had made a detour after work, and came home with a tiny jewelry bag. When he'd asked what was in the bag, she didn't reply. She'd just pulled something out and slipped it onto his finger. A silver band. And it felt right then. Everything felt right.

                       That was only months ago, but it feels like forever. Dean slowly opens the door and returns to the darkness of their bedroom. The place where they were prisoners of the night. He walks to his side of the bed and once again peels his blanket back, getting in. Dean pulls the blanket up to his neck and rolls onto his side.

                       Terry turns toward him and nestles Dean's head onto her chest. He puts his arm over her, his fingers crunching the stiff sheets. These damn sheets. He felt like he was burning in the bed. Everyone had been so excited to hear about Dean's proposal. His mother and sisters spoke of making sure Terry had a nice dress, and he and his fiancée had spent most of their days shopping for things like floral arrangements and wedding rings.

                       Dean looks out to the darkened closet, where indeed a white dress hangs in plastic wrap. Before it hangs the suit he'll never wear. An image flashes in his mind of calling his parents, of Terry having to tell her friends. He imagines cancelling the venue, and most importantly of this house being empty. He would probably be the one to leave, and he knows that if he did, Terry would never keep the place herself. She was happier in an apartment, anyway.

                       The day their relationship had changed was the day they took engagement photos for their save-the-date cards. The photographer had given them a copy of the photos to keep, and when they got home, he looked them over by himself. In the pictures, where Terry had embraced him from the side, one hand on the side of his face, he felt that wandering feeling again. Terry truly cared about him, and that terrified him.

                       He had built up the image in his mind of not living up to his original promises. What if he wasn't enough for her? What if she wasn't enough for him? That night he had come to bed, to lay awake all night and feel that burning sensation he was feeling again. Terry was the only one who could look into his eyes and see his soul. She was the only one who could see through his every façade.

                       And this would be his life, their lives forever. He knew her on the most intimate level, just as she knew him. How they fared now rested entirely upon their shoulders, and he no longer felt like he could handle the weight. When the morning came, he'd lay it down. And he would give Terry permission to lay hers down. Dean would walk away this time, and he'd leave alot of hurt and confusion in his wake.

                     Yesterday, Terry and Dean mailed those Save-The-Date cards and only he knew. As far as his dear parents, his friends, and his bride-to-be knew, there was still a wedding and only he knew the truth. Tonight Dean closed his eyes and didn't sleep. He'd watched the first pink rays of the sun slowly come up to take the night away.

                     Once again alone with Terry under the lavender cast of dawn, he knew what he had to do. When she woke up, she got out of bed and smiled at him. "We gotta book transportation today, come on." She said a bit giddily. Dean hesitated for a moment as she stepped out of the room, presumably on her way to the bathroom.

                    "Terry, wait." He called.