Epilogue #5
God, I would love it if we could. But despite the desire to never move again, my brain reminds me that there are so many people downstairs, probably wondering where we’ve disappeared to, and it’s surely rude if we never show our faces again for the rest of the night.
“We should head back at some point…” I sigh against his hair, hating the suggestion even though I know it’s the responsible thing to do.
“Not yet.” Luke nuzzles closer. “They’ll survive a while longer without us.”
I chuckle. “Okay.”
For the next few minutes, we lie together and relish the silence. My fingers lazily trail across Luke’s skin, and I watch him play with the new ring adorning his finger, twisting it back and forth with interest. I can feel his happiness as if it were a tangible thing.
However, I sense a subtle downward shift in his mood, and I can tell when he loses himself in thought.
At first, this confuses me, and my mind immediately jumps to the worst. Does he regret saying yes to marrying me?
Is he second-guessing his feelings for me?
Did I do something wrong, and he doesn’t know how to tell me?
Then, Luke sits up with a heavy sigh, pulling his knees up to his chest, dropping his head. A clear sign that something’s actually wrong.
“What is it?” I ask, my heart jolting with my anxiety. But he doesn’t recoil from my touch as I delicately stroke his back—that’s promising, at least.
Luke is quiet for a bit, and I know he’s struggling to find the words—struggling with expressing what he’s feeling. His jaw works as he clenches his teeth, and his brow furrows.
“I started thinking about wedding planning…” He breathes deeply. There’s a very pregnant pause that does little to quell my nerves, but I wait patiently for him to finish. “And it made me think about my mom… How I’d always kind of wished she’d get to walk me down the aisle.”
Oh.
Of course. I should have thought about that.
Luke’s mom has been a touchy subject for as long as we’ve been together.
He hasn’t spoken to her since the trial, and what ‘speaking’ they did during it was mostly for appearances.
Since then, he’s remained radio-silent with her despite her best efforts to reconnect.
The birthday cards, letters, long-winded voicemails…
Even the flowers she sent for Luke’s first performance of Cabaret.
Lynette is nothing if not persistent. But Luke’s equally as stubborn.
My efforts to gently persuade him to respond to her numerous communication attempts have always seemed to fall on deaf ears—or, at the very least, have been noted with flippant disregard.
Even though I know he misses her terribly, his pride has kept him from doing anything about it.
Maybe now, this will be the impetus for him to be more receptive.
I sit up, pulling him back against my chest, and I wrap my arms around him. “It’s been two years. Do you think you might be ready to call her?”
Luke shakes his head slightly, almost unconsciously, like it’s a habitual response. But then he bites his lower lip and turns his head away, though not before I see the tears in his eyes.
“I know it’s hard,” I breathe the words against his shoulder, leaving a soft kiss on the side of his neck. He closes his eyes with the sensation but doesn’t pull away—a good sign he’s listening. “But I think it’s time.”
He shakes his head again, eyes still closed. “I don’t know how we’ll ever come back from what happened.”
“You never will if you don’t try.”
Luke scoffs. “You don’t know what it’s like being so thoroughly and utterly betrayed like that by your own mother.”
“No, I don’t. But I do know how hard keeping her away has been on you. I know you miss her. And from what I hear, it sounds like she’s done a lot of the work. She’s in a good place right now. I think it’s time you give her a chance to prove it to you.”
Luke turns his head back and opens his eyes to look at me.
It’s been no secret that Lynette and my mother struck up an unlikely friendship during Pete’s trial.
Just because Luke isn’t speaking with her—nor am I through solidarity—that doesn’t mean my mom was obligated to do the same.
There is no telling Elaine Carlson who she can and can’t talk to.
Deep down, I think Luke appreciated that my mother stepped up to support his mom while he couldn’t, especially since she didn’t have a support system to begin with, largely thanks to Pete’s controlling nature.
From what I’ve heard through my mother, Lynette was officially divorced from Pete last August. She sold her house and moved to Florida, at my mom’s insistence, so they could be neighbors.
Then, she got a job at a retail store, which she thoroughly enjoys, adopted a dog from a rescue, and has been going to therapy regularly.
The only thing missing is the reconciliation with her only son, which she has vowed to never give up on for as long as she lives.
“What if I can’t forgive her?” Luke asks.
“No one’s expecting you to get there all at once,” I reply softly. “You’re not going to fix everything in a single phone call. But it’s the only way to start.”
I watch the gears turning in his head, the seed I’ve planted starting to take root. Even the tiniest hope that the rift between them can heal seems to outweigh the fear of continued pain, and he goes pensive as he imagines what it could be like reconnecting with his mom.
For tonight, we put a pin in the idea—it’s too late for him to call her now, and we’re running dangerously over the threshold of tolerance before we’re missed downstairs.
But I know my advice has been taken as Luke kisses me, thanking me for my unwavering patience with him.
It’s the best I could have hoped for, and I’m positive that now the door has been cracked open, it’ll only get better from here.
As we get dressed to head back downstairs, I find myself imagining how our friends are going to react, seeing us return after our little sojourn…
mysteriously engaged. There’s no way they don’t pick up on what went down—especially since Luke has decided to change into a more comfortable, cozier outfit than the corset number from earlier.
They’re going to lose their freaking minds about it, turning it into a spectacle.
I can already hear the sly remarks, knowing the snickering and gleeful congratulations they’ll belt out, and my face blushes at the thought.
But as I watch Luke fastidiously primp himself, fixing his hair, and touching up the makeup that got a little smudged from our escapades, I can’t help but feel a bit of pride knowing that at the end of those joyful teases, I’m walking away with the prize of the century.
Luke catches my eye in the mirror and does a double-take. I don’t know what expression must have been on my face, but his lips twist into that devilish little half-smile, and a blush blooms across his cheeks. “What?”
I move closer and wrap my arms around him from behind, pressing my lips to his shoulder. He melts against me, holding me close, and I appreciate every place where we connect.
“I love you, Luke Shaw,” I say, though the words will never be enough to express the full depth of what I mean. Luke gives me such a fond, loving look through the mirror, making my heart sing with immeasurable joy, and I know he understands. That he feels it, too.
It’s all I’ll ever need.