Chapter 42 Nancy
FORTY-TWO
NANCY
Twenty-Two Years Later
“I can’t decide if I should get my hair done before the wedding,” I mumble, leaning closer to the mirror. “It’s easier to count the blonde hair than it is the gray at this point.”
Karl’s eyes catch mine in the mirror, a disapproving look clouding his expression as he brushes his teeth.
“I know, I know, you think I’m beautiful no matter what. But…” I sigh defeatedly, reaching for my toothbrush.
Karl spits and gives his mouth a quick rinse, then turns to me.
“You’ve earned every single one of those hairs,” he says quietly, sliding his calloused hands through the pieces that have come loose from my bun.
“And these”—his thumb brushes the corner of my eye where the crow's feet have deepened and multiplied exponentially over the last five years—“they tell a story of every smile you’ve smiled at me or Sophie. All our happy memories are mapped across this gorgeous face.”
My husband would pick the moment I’ve got a mouthful of toothpaste to say one of the most romantic things he’s ever uttered.
Which is saying something, as I happened to marry a walking encyclopedia of romantic sentiments.
He doesn’t mention the lines on my forehead, the ones that tell the story of frustration and loss.
Those lines remind me of how precious the happy ones are.
“Do you need to spit?” He grins.
I nod, turning and expelling the minty froth from my mouth.
“You have some timing,” I scoff, shaking my head and rising on my tiptoes to kiss him. Thirty-two years of marriage, and butterflies still invade my stomach whenever his lips meet my skin.
It probably doesn’t hurt that he has somehow gotten even more handsome with age.
His once dark brown hair more gray than brown at this point.
Those kind blue eyes framed with lines brought on by endless smiles.
The lines across his forehead deepened by the same sorrow as my own.
Our shared history is on full display, and yet, I’m only just seeing it now.
He takes my hand and leads me from the bathroom into our bedroom like he’s worried I’ll get lost on my way and he’ll have to sleep without me.
“I was just ensuring I’d be able to get it out without you arguing with me.” He winks over his shoulder at me.
“Mmmhmm,” I hum, tossing the duvet back and slipping into bed, watching as Karl settles next to me, propped up against his pillow holding a notebook and pen. “You going to write it down?”
“Just making a note to include the importance of wrinkles in my father-of-the-bride speech,” he says, scribbling down his thoughts in his flawless script.
I smile sleepily at him as my head sinks into my downy pillow. The scratch of his pen lulling me to sleep, where I’ll no doubt dream of dancing with my husband as our daughter starts a new life with hers.
As I'm drifting off, I'm ushered into dreamland by Karl's soft wish.
"Sweet dreams, dearest."