Epilogue
“Are you certain you don’t want me to eat your mother-in-law?”
Josie smiled and thanked Bert for the umpteenth time for offering to get rid of Gloria, and for the umpteenth time, she declined.
“If you ate her, who would babysit Amos for Pax and me?” she said instead.
“I would look after him if I were two hundred years younger,” Bert assured her. “He has a staggering amount of energy, that boy.”
“I suppose he does,” Josie agreed. She said good night and climbed the stairs to apartment 3C. There was a wreath on the door made of red, green, and silver crystals and a welcome mat with a picture of a snowman below it.
She came inside and walked past a closet full of winter coats, past her photographs beautifully framed in copper and gold, and went into the living room.
A baby grand piano stood in the corner of the room with a plastic red-and-blue bench in front of it.
Both she and Pax had tried to open the cover, but it wouldn’t budge.
Pax theorized it waited for Amos to be interested before it would let them play it.
Josie had doubts they would ever see those keys.
“I take it Gloria did not want to come upstairs again this week?” Pax came out of the kitchen, a Wolverine apron slung around his narrow hips, drying the last of the dishes with a Buzz Lightyear dish towel.
“On the one hand, telling her this building was rent controlled for retired circus performers was a stroke of genius,” Josie said.
Amos could tell his grandparents the most fantastical stories and they wouldn’t bat an eye now.
“On the other hand, Gloria gets to use rude observations about carneys and trained seals as her excuse not to interact with you. It galls her that you and Al get along.”
Upon learning they were dating, Al had taken Josie aside and confided that Dan would have approved of Pax. The unexpected admission had touched her deeply.
“The lobby looked presentable?” Pax asked.
“The sixth-floor mailboxes still rattle when you walk by, but nothing else has changed,” she assured him.
He sighed and flipped the dish towel over his shoulder, joining her in the living room on the green couch.
Like he often did, Pax let his fingers comb through her hair, touched her cheeks, her arms, her cheeks again as though assuring himself she was truly there in front of him. That she was going to stay.
“I checked the needle this morning,” he said. “It’s still stuck at ten percent and none of us have any idea how much fuel the ±T???￥? needs before Number Five can start up again.”
Josie rested her head on his shoulder knowing she would never get enough of the comfort and security flooding her veins during the in-between times, in between the fervent kisses and existential crises, in between the boundary drawing and the Sunday morning bliss.
Pax, focused on twisting a lock of her hair around his finger, suddenly stopped.
“What if you and Amos aren’t enough?”
Before Josie could answer that awkward question, Pax spoke again.
“That was such an awkward question.” He let go of her hair, leaned over, and kissed her an apology. “What I meant is, what if it takes more than our love to fill Number Five’s tank?”
“I’d say love grows, and the longer we are together, the more we can fill her tank,” Josie answered. “But that kind of growth happens over years. Can Number Five wait that long?”
“Denis had an idea…I know, he’s a soulless jerk, but he’s motivated to help in this matter.”
Josie bit her lip and sighed. She would never forgive Denis for advocating for her and Amos’s sacrifice, and Pax didn’t blame her.
The Wayside Oath still held, however, and killing the little asshole was off the table.
“I can’t imagine what Denis could come up with to try and fill Number Five’s tank with love,” Josie said.
Pax took her fingers in his, and as he kissed her knuckles, the candles on the sideboard lit and cabbage rose petals fell from above.
“What do you know about speed dating?” he asked.