Epilogue
Albany
I barely notice the days shortening. Summer blended into fall as smoothly as the three of us began to integrate into a routine. Haze and Sal work long hours, and seeing them together has sometimes been a struggle, with most of my hours being at night and on the weekends.
As the days melded from fall into winter, I realized that our crazy schedules were indeed a blessing. Taking the plunge into a three-way relationship, at least for the three of us, needed to be done slowly.
I had dealt with my grief over the loss of Jake and the future I envisioned with the help of therapy and a loving family, but Haze had kept his heart on ice for years. He’d put his life in stasis and cocooned himself in misery and grief like suffering was his salvation. That kind of freeze doesn’t thaw overnight.
So, I took it day by day. The only way I could. Sal talked me through the rare occasions I had doubt. Sal was the first to crack the glacier Haze ensconced himself in, so I trusted him implicitly to guide me. My biggest concern was, and is, making sure Haze continues to thrive, to find joy in living again.
I haven’t had a single regret yet. I freely admit I’ve fallen head over heels in love with both of them. Someday, I’m going to say it to Haze. When the time is right. I want to see his eyes light up the same way Sal’s do. For Haze, that will be when I respond to his declaration.
I can wait. I’m the queen of delayed gratification. It puts a lot of money into my pocket. Waiting for Haze is the best kind of edging.
I can’t help the smile that touches my lips as I look back. Smiles come almost easily to Haze these days, and he laughs now. But with the holidays approaching, I can’t stem the thread of nervousness that winds through me.
How is Haze going to handle being happy during the holidays?
There’s no way to know, but I’m about to find out. It’s Christmas Eve, and the three of us are celebrating at Haze’s place. Well, Haze and Sal’s fifty percent of the time. For now, Sal has been content to live like a vagabond between my place and Haze’s. He gave up the guest house a few months ago and moved his stuff into my spare room.
I gave Sal a key to my house. He gave me a remote vibe for my panties. He gave a second remote to Haze. On the nights when Sal is at Haze’s, I have no idea who's pressing the button. Sal is the best at gifts that include the three of us, and I freely admit I’m beyond jealous of how good he is at manipulating time and finding activities for the three of us. Sal says he’s never been happier. And I agree with him. That happiness is different for Haze and me, mine tinged with the bittersweet memories of the loss of my first love and my first dreams of a real future, and Haze’s a veritable rebirth after losing everything. Fledgling and fragile, the happiness we’ve found is just a shoot, but its roots are growing strong in the carefully tended, nurturing environment we’ve created.
I look up at the wall of pictures over the mantle. There isn’t a centerpiece. They’re various sizes, and the frames are all different. Haze asked me to arrange them. One afternoon, after a nice dinner, the three of us sitting around the living room, Sal handed Haze two plain wrapped boxes. One held a framed shot of Sal pouring chocolate over my naked body on a chaise lounge. And the other was a family photo of Angie and Sydney, Jake and I, and in the space reserved for Haze to be photoshopped in, Sal had, with Martine’s help, had himself placed in the picture. Haze was stunned. My heart beat so hard it hurt as I watched him set the frames down carefully and then cover his face and sob.
Those two photos are in the middle. The rest are photos of Jake and Sydney. Of Angie. Of Sal, Haze, and I when we were children. There’s a picture of Piper and I because she’s family. I love sitting here and staring at them. Even the random bits of bare wall between that might seem odd to most fill me with a sense of peace. Those are the spaces I’ve reserved for the next round of pictures. For the three of us and our future.
Staring at the empty places steadies my pulse and dries the sweat on my hands. I don’t know what the pictures that will fill those bare spots will look like. But I know that they’ll eventually be taken. And I know the three of us will be smiling inside of the frames.
And that’s all I need to have the best fucking Christmas I’ve ever had.