Epilogue
Sylvie had forgotten just how hot Central Texas could get in the middle of summer.
She’d only wanted to see her immediate family on this trip, but of course, her mother insisted on inviting all their relatives and half her knitting circle to a picnic to stare at Sylvie and her strange boyfriend from Los Angeles.
They waited in line for the buffet table while Jason Aldean played over somebody’s speaker system.
Sylvie introduced Dominic to all the local delicacies.
“That’s my aunt Rita’s Frito pie. She adds green onions.
And cornbread casserole, that’s going to be good.
But skip that mess—Janice’s turkey tetrazzini.
Bleh. Oh! Hold on.” She added a scoop of seven-layer dip to his plate.
“Can’t miss that. For the tortilla chips. ”
He grinned at her and grabbed a fork.
By the time Sylvie had finished with her own plate, several of her cousins had cornered Nic by the kiddie pool. The women were slack-jawed, gazing at him as if hypnotized. Sylvie could sympathize with the feeling.
“What’s a photography curator?” one cousin was asking, eyes narrowed under his camo hat. “Sounds made up.”
“It’s an L.A. thing, don’t worry about it,” Sylvie said, taking her boyfriend’s elbow and steering him away.
Before she’d agreed to visit, she’d waited until her sister Trina invited Ethan as well. But Sylvie’s cousin had politely declined, offering instead to host anyone at their place in West Oaks. Trina was already planning a beach trip with her kids.
Nobody had asked about Faith, which was for the best. It wasn’t Sylvie’s place to say anything about Faith’s decision to leave Jon. And thankfully, neither Jon nor Faith’s family were here today.
“You’re being very patient,” she whispered to Dominic. In her head, sometimes he was “Nic,” and sometimes “Dominic.” With her, he happily answered to both.
“It’s not so bad. This food’s good. And I like the music.”
“Of course you like the music. Jason Aldean rocks. I have so many amazing country artists to introduce you to.”
She’d almost brought her violin—a gift from Dominic that he’d saved from his house in West Oaks. He’d insisted she didn’t have to play for him, that it was a gift for her. But of course, she loved seeing him smile as he listened.
“I just wish I could’ve skipped the cousins who think Los Angeles is Satan’s playground,” she said.
“My uncle had you kidnapped and tried to turn you over to Russian mobsters. I can handle a few impolite comments from your extended family.”
True. But she was tiring of her mom’s friends remarking how “interesting” her clothing choices were. She certainly wasn’t the only cousin with tattoos, though. And plenty of people had welcomed her back warmly, as if she’d never left.
Her parents were still awkward, but they were trying.
Her mom had hugged her, and cried, and professed to have no memory of how they were ever separated.
Sylvie figured it was the best she could hope for, at least for now.
She wanted to have a more candid conversation with them, but it was one step at a time.
She could love her family and disagree with them.
And Nic was here beside her to laugh at all her snarky comments. He cuddled with her when tears threatened, too. He was sweet like that.
She’d been remembering all the things she loved about home, and she was sharing those with him as well. The limestone of the hills, the smell of mesquite on the air, and the wind blowing through the trees.
Thank god Trina had offered to let them stay in her guestroom. That meant Nic could be spared the ancient couch at her parents’ house, and she could avoid her childhood twin bed.
Trina’s two boys were seven and nine, and Sylvie had enjoyed seeing Nic roughhouse with them. It was a side of him she’d never witnessed before. She loved seeing him laugh so easily, and he was patient with them, too. It made her wonder about their future in a way that made her chest swell.
She and Dominic, having a family of their own. A family they’d love unconditionally, with open hearts, without fear.
She wasn’t ready for that yet, and neither was he. But it was nice to think about.
Sadly, Trina’s guestroom mattress was squeaky, so they couldn’t get too frisky at night. But Sylvie was planning to borrow one of her brothers’ pickups to reenact the countless country songs about truck beds in the moonlight.
Nic set down his plate on a nearby tree stump. “I love every part of you. Even the parts you don’t love.”
She hooked an arm around his neck. “It’s a good thing you’re so attractive. It makes up for how mean you are.”
“Can’t help it. I’m a bad boy.” He dipped down to kiss her. Sylvie could feel people staring, and she didn’t care.
“Such a bad boy.”
“But you like that.”
“I love that. And I love you.”
She spent the rest of the picnic teaching him to two-step as the sun went down.