Epilogue
Ruth
Five months later
If you ask most people their least favourite month, most people would say January.
For anyone paid monthly, it’s the month with the longest gap between paydays.
It’s dull and quiet in the wake of the flashing lights and joy of Christmas.
And in the northern hemisphere at least, the weather usually isn’t brilliant.
But January is my birthday month, and it’s the first month Everett—my husband—is officially living with me in London. To call it anything but my favourite would be a bare-faced lie.
It’s not actually my birthday today. It’s two days after my birthday, but it was the first day we could all be together.
My parents are here. Amie is here with Cam.
Katy and my brother are here together, with Pup snoozing at their feet.
Paloma is here too, with Annie. We extended invitations to Everett’s parents, his sister, and his two best friends, but none of them were able to make it this time.
His parents are happy for us. They were sad, at first, that they didn't get to see their son get married, but after seeing how happy he is, they came around quickly. Ashton, on the other hand, is making her brother work for forgiveness.
Edie, Derrick, and Ashton are flying out for Ashton’s birthday in March, though, and we’ll fly back to Austin with them.
That’s the deal we’ve made. We’ll be spending a few months in London, and a few in Austin—for the time being, at least. I’ve been working on setting up a consultancy, offering legal advice to artists and creative businesses.
Since I'm working for myself, I can do it from anywhere. It’s been hard work, with the kinds of long days I thought I’d left behind once I moved on from my first ‘real’ lawyering job, and it doesn’t pay nearly as well as Trenton Langley did, but it’s more fulfilling than anything I’ve ever done.
I have more than enough money put away for now, and with the ranch and Skillet Creek both doing well, neither of us are struggling.
Everett taps a spoon against the side of a whiskey tumbler and I try not to cringe—much.
I’m trying to be less attached to things—objects, ideas, concepts.
But it’s a crystal-cut glass, and it’s one of only two remaining from a set that used to belong to Granny Bevan.
Quiet falls over the room, and everyone looks at the two of us expectantly.
“A toast, everyone. To my beautiful wife, Ruth, on her birthday.” He turns to me, lifting my hand to his lips and kissing the back of it.
His stormy eyes catch mine. “You make it so easy to love you, baby girl. Now and forever, for our whole lives and whatever lies beyond, I choose you. Every day, in every way.”
My brother clears his throat.
“To Ruth,” he announces, raising his glass. “Happy birthday, Rooey.”
“Happy birthday, Roo!” A chorus of well-wishes and we-love-yous fill the room, but with Everett’s eyes on mine, everything else is background noise.
Back in that airport lounge bar in February, Everett was just a man I’d met. A dot on the map of my life, the briefest of pitstops on my journey. Neither of us knew it then—that we’d become so much more. That storms lurked on the horizon, menacing in the near distance.
In hindsight, this storm began brewing long before I met Everett.
It would’ve come to a head regardless of us falling in love, regardless of us marrying on a midnight whim.
But it’s his love that helped me up when I was battered by the winds, downtrodden and drowning in the deluge.
It’s his steadiness, his unwavering support that lifted me, put my back on my feet, returned my lost confidence.
He might be the one with the storm clouds in his eyes, but where I am the hurricane, he is the calm at my core.
We have weathered storms beyond my worst dreams, and in the clear sun of the morning after, we have nothing but the expanse of forever stretched out before us.
I know now that no matter how strong the storm or how dark the night, the sun will still rise come morning. The sun will rise, and so will I.