Epilogue - Rook
At the last minute, we decided to host one big Christmas in Chicago for both families. On Christmas Eve, we blended the food traditions of both families. The chowder had been ready for forty-five minutes, and I was the only person in the house who seemed to think that mattered.
My mother had claimed half the kitchen. Varga’s mother had claimed the other half. Between the two of them, they’d buried every surface in food. The dining room table had vanished entirely under bowls, bread, serving spoons, and wine glasses.
Varga sat next to his father, translating.
His father could have managed in English.
He just preferred Hungarian, and Varga had been translating for him since he was ten years old.
He turned his father’s Hungarian and my father’s English into the other without putting down his bread.
At the same time, he was losing an argument with his sister.
My sister sat beside her, enjoying the verbal volley.
He turned to look at me across the table. He smiled—not the smile for the media or the one he gave kids in the hallway. It was the real one. My chest tightened, and I thought, God, I love him. It was a thought that kept coming back.
“Why are you staring?” he asked.
“I like looking at you.”
“I’m busy translating.”
“You’ve been translating for an hour.”
“I am a bridge between nations.”
“You’re distracting.”
“I can be two things.”
His mother pointed a wooden spoon at him and then at me. “You are both family.”
His sister grinned. “Aw, Luki blushed.”
“Don’t you start,” he said.
“It’s adorable,” she said.
I nodded. “She’s right.”
“I hate all of you,” he said.
The ring box had been in my pocket since morning. I’d carried it through breakfast and the drive to O’Hare and back, waiting to feel ready. I set my beer down on the counter.
Varga realized something was up. “Rook?”
I crossed to the table and set the box down between us. The room went quiet. My mother put her hand over her mouth. Varga’s father looked at the box, then at me, and then at his son. He nodded slowly.
Varga didn’t open the box. He just looked at it.
“Luki, I’ve spent a long time waiting for the right moment to do this.”
“Am I in danger?” he asked.
I said, “Perhaps,” and both of our sisters snickered.
“I kept thinking there would be a perfect moment. Then it occurred to me that I’ve spent five years building a life with you, and I don’t need a better moment than right now.”
He wiped at his eyes.
“Marry me, Luki,” I said.
He shut his eyes for a second. When he opened them, tears rolled down his cheeks, and his voice cracked. “Jesus, Rook. Obviously, I will.”
The room erupted. His sister yelled. Both mothers cried. Varga stood so fast his chair nearly went over backward. He grabbed my face with both hands and kissed me hard.
When he came up for air, he said, “I had a whole speech.”
“You did?”
“I’ve had one for five years.”
I picked up the box, took out the ring, and slid it onto his finger. It fit perfectly.
“Okay,” he said.
“What?”
“I win.”
“You win?”
“I got center ice and a proposal.”
Everyone groaned. I kissed him again anyway, and somewhere behind us my mother reminded everyone that the chowder was getting cold.
***