Torch

Epilogue

Clementine

Christmas Eve

Jennifer looks up and down the long table, biting her lip, looking very serious.

“I want the tiara,” she finally says.

“You can’t have the tiara,” Lucy says, her words just a little mushy-sounding. “It’s already been traded twice. I am the final owner of the tiara.”

Her face is perfectly straight as she places the tiara on her head, staring down Jennifer.

Jennifer sighs, her shoulders slumping. Her husband Carl pats her on the back.

“Okay, what’s actually available?” she asks for at least the third time.

“Not this,” Lucy says, pointing at her head.

“I know,” Jennifer says.

“Don’t confuse the situation any more than it’s already done been confused,” says Mike, who’s drunk enough to get folksy.

Since it’s nine o’clock the night before Christmas, the Rusty Beaver is empty except for us. Actually, I think they might have intended to close at eight, but the bartender and the single waitress seem like they’re enjoying this show.

We were supposed to have our office holiday party a week ago, but a black bear went rogue in the National Forest and we had to deal with it. The bear is fine, just relocated, and now we’re doing this on Christmas Eve.

“This is available,” Mandy says, holding up a twelve-pack of toilet paper. “It’s available. And useful.”

“It’s utilitarian as fuck,” I say.

“Jennifer,” Hunter says. “Jennifer. Jennifer.”

“What,” she says.

“Have you ever played with these,” he says, holding up a package of what looks like multi-colored pills. “When you put them in water, they turn into dinosaurs, and I’m not even kidding.”

Jennifer just rolls her eyes and keeps looking.

“This is all bullshit,” she says after a minute. “I want a new one.”

She reaches for the pile and grabs a hastily-wrapped present from the pile, as allowed by the somewhat-complicated rules of our annual workplace gift exchange.

There are two easy rules, though: one, the gift cannot cost more than ten dollars, and two, the exchange must take place at the Rusty Beaver.

She rips the paper off, revealing a metal sign, and starts laughing hysterically. We shout at her to turn it around, so the whole table can see.

There’s a moment of silence, and then we start laughing.

On the metal sign is a cartoon bear, skiing down a mountain, its front paws over its genital region, and the bear looks either sultry or embarrassed. It’s surprisingly hard to tell.

Across the bottom, the sign reads BEAR NAKED SKIING.

“But why?” Mandy gasps.

“It’s beautiful,” Mike says.

“Bears are always naked,” says Mandy. “Why’s it embarrassed?”

“Maybe it’s embarrassed that it’s skiing,” Lucy says, tiara still on her head.

I turn to Hunter, laughing so hard I can barely talk.

“Did you steal this from the ski resort gift store?” I ask.

“No, I bought it from the ski resort gift store with my employee discount, thank you very much,” he says.

“Hunter,” Jennifer says, pointing. “You’re my new favorite. Did I tell you guys about the dog door? Gertrude can get in and out but not the raccoons.”

“Babe, I’m right here,” Carl says dryly.

Jennifer kisses him quickly, and we all aww because of alcohol.

“Babe, I know you’re the father of my children, but you didn’t fix the dog door,” Jennifer explains.

“Good to know what the hierarchy is,” Carl says.

“Whose turn is it?” Mike asks.

Carl holds up his slip of paper with the number five on it.

“I’d take the sign but it’s coming home with me anyway,” he says.

Mandy holds up the toilet paper, and Hunter holds up the sponges that turn into dinosaurs. Carl considers them for a moment.

“I’ll take my chances with the pile,” he says.

An hour later, we all leave the Rusty Beaver. It’s not snowing now, but there’s a light dusting on the ground, and we’re all bundled up as we leave.

“You’re driving, right?” I call to the sober-seeming Carl as Jennifer looks at the bear sign again and laughs.

“Definitely,” Carl says, looking at her. “Don’t worry.”

“I’m not drunk, I’m tipsy and excitable,” Jennifer says.

Carl puts a hand on her back and they walk toward the only car on the street.

“Merry Christmas!” Jennifer calls over her shoulder.

“Us or him?” Lucy asks.

“You make it sound so dire,” I say.

“Choose wisely,” Lucy says.

“That’s from Lord of Rings, right?” Hunter says.

I put one hand on his arm.

“That’s from Indiana Jones,” I say, petting his arm. “You tried.”

He sticks his tongue out at me.

“Lucy, she’s not gonna pick us,” Mandy says.

“It’s okay, we’ve got Trout to give us kisses,” Lucy says.

“Sorry, guys,” I say, laughing. “Merry Christmas?”

We all hug, then I put my hand in Hunter’s and we head off in the opposite direction from Lucy and Mandy.

“I like them,” he says.

“Which ones?”

“All of them,” he says. “Even Mandy, once she stopped being afraid to talk to me.”

I laugh.

“I should go with them and pack for visiting your parents,” I say.

“It’s one night. Pack in the morning,” Hunter says.

Lodgepole is quiet, and even though it’s not that late, even the streetlights are off and everything is lit by the moon. The whole town has an old western feel already, made older-feeling by the night.

“There’s no one around,” I say.

“It’s Christmas Eve,” Hunter says.

“It’s still weird,” I say.

He pulls me into the middle of the street and we walk down the dotted yellow line, looking into dark store windows. It’s only a couple of blocks to his apartment, where we hang layers and layers of cold weather gear in his entryway before we walk inside.

I walk into the kitchen, grab a glass of water, and lean against the counter. Hunter does the same, standing next to me, and I lean against him.

“I haven’t packed at all,” I say, and sigh. “Every time I go on a trip I promise myself I’m gonna pack ahead of time, and then I never do.”

“Make sure you take your Minion of Satan t-shirt,” he says.

“Not funny,” I say. “They’re either gonna eat me alive or not speak to me at all.”

“I think they’re getting better,” Hunter says, slowly. “And if it’s really awful, we don’t have to spend the night.”

“I know,” I say. “I just hate feeling like I’m coming between you and your parents.”

We saw my parents for Thanksgiving: my dad and his brother the day of, and then we went to my mom’s house a week later. I’ve still never told my mom that I know what really happened, but she’s finally started talking about something besides my dad.

The thing she’s really into now is birdwatching, but my God, I’ll take anything.

“As long as you’re coming,” he teases, his voice low and slow.

“Ew,” I say.

He puts his arm around my waist, and I lean my head into his shoulder.

“There’s something I should tell you,” he says.

“They’ve converted to Wicca,” I guess.

“I told them we were engaged to kind of smooth things over,” he says.

I drink some water and consider this for a moment.

“Did they buy it?” I ask.

To my surprise, I’m not even a little nervous that his parents think we’re gonna get married. The two of us have talked about it and agreed that we like the idea of marriage sometime in the future, but this is the first time we’ve mentioned it to anyone else.

I guess that’s a thing now, I think.

“I couldn’t tell,” he says. “They seemed skeptical.”

“Should I talk incessantly about what wedding flowers I want?” I ask, my head still against his shoulder.

“Nah, then they’ll know it’s fake,” he says. “But hold on, I had an idea about that.”

He leaves the kitchen and walks into his bedroom, the only other room in the apartment.

“About wedding flowers?” I call.

That’s kind of putting the cart before the horse, I think. I hear a drawer open and close, and I yawn.

“About them believing us,” he says, walking back into the kitchen and putting his arm around me again. “Wear this, it’ll be more convincing.”

He holds up a small black box with a diamond ring in it.

I freeze, my water glass halfway to my mouth, and stare at it. For a second I think he even got fake jewelry to lie to his parents with, but then I look at his face.

“Marry me?” he says.

“Wait, what?” I ask, because I’m just astonished.

He starts laughing.

“Is this for real?” I ask.

I’m trying not to laugh, but I can’t help it.

“Yeah, and I fucked it up,” Hunter says, grinning. “Stay there, I’m gonna try again.”

He walks out of the kitchen. I put my water glass on the counter, head still spinning.

I definitely wasn’t expecting this, and that’s a fucking understatement. I figured we’d move in together in a couple months, and maybe get engaged six months after that.

But I like this, too. I want to marry Hunter and spend the rest of my life with him. Hell, I was planning on doing that anyway, whether we got engaged now or never.

In the next room, I can hear him clear his throat, and I sort of want to shout hurry up and get back in here already but I manage to stay quiet.

The floor creaks a little. Hunter appears in the doorway, his face very serious. He walks up to me and gets down on one knee, holding up the ring.

I start giggling, not because it’s funny, but from sheer giddiness.

“Clementine,” he says, cracking a smile.

I start laughing harder, and now Hunter’s trying not to laugh.

“Quit it, I’m trying to propose,” he says.

“Sorry,” I say, and bite my lip so I stop.

“I love you and I think I’m always going to love you, so will you marry me?” he says.

He looks up at me, his eyes deep pools in his dark kitchen, and something about it takes my breath away.

I nod.

“Yes,” I finally manage to whisper. “Yes, fucking of course.”

Then I’m on my knees too, his face in my hands as I kiss him and laugh at the same time and so does he. We get tangled up and nearly fall over, still on the floor, until he’s sitting with his back against the cabinets, both arms around me.

“Give me your hand,” he says.

I hold up my right hand.

“Seriously?” he teases.

Duh, Clementine.

I laugh and give him my left hand.

“Shut up,” I say and lean against his chest.

He slides the ring onto my finger, and for a moment, we both just look at it, sparkling dimly in the light coming from his kitchen window.

“I love you too,” I finally say, and he pulls me closer. “And I’m glad I found you again.”

“Sorry for botching the proposal,” he says, lacing his fingers through mine, still looking at the ring on my finger. “I picked it up from the jeweler yesterday, and I meant to wait and take you on a picnic or something, but I got too excited.”

I nuzzle my nose against his cheek, grinning.

“You got impatient?” I tease.

“This was an impulse,” he says. There’s a gentle tug on my scalp as he plays with my hair. “As you can tell by our romantic surroundings.”

“I am surprised,” I say.

“Well, you said the words every man’s hoping to hear when he proposes,” he says. “‘Wait, what?’”

“That was your own fault,” I say.

He kisses me again.

“I got it the second try,” he says.

“Thanks for not waiting eight years to give it another shot,” I say.

“Clem, I couldn’t wait twenty-four hours to propose the first time,” he says. “I almost drove to your office so I could propose in your cubicle.”

“Thanks for not doing that either,” I say, and kiss him again, longer and harder. Our tongues twine together and he moves his hand down my back, then under my shirt. “And I think I’ll always love you too.”

We kiss again, and now I’m sliding one hand up his thigh and he’s grabbing my ass, pulling me toward him until I’m straddling him, one hand gripping the waistband of his jeans and the other on his chest.

“Engagement sex right here, or...?” he says, grinning.

“This floor is freezing,” I say, and nuzzle his ear. “Carry me to your bed?”

“Just toss you over my shoulder?” he teases.

“Carry me romantically,” I say, and he squeezes my ass.

Hunter stands, pulls me up, and then grabs me. I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him, trying not to kick anything in his kitchen.

Then he walks me into his bedroom, tosses me onto his bed, and crawls on top of me.

“I’d love you even if you weren’t amazing at sex,” he murmurs into my ear, and I laugh.

“I’d love you anyway, too,” I say, and pull him harder against me, wrapping my legs around his hips.

We kiss slowly, and I pull his shirt off, his skin warm against me.

“Let’s do this for another fifty years,” I say.

“Only fifty?”

“Fifty’s a good start,” I say.

Hunter kisses me again and I hold him as close as I can, just the two of us together in the dark of his tiny apartment.

“It’s a start,” he says.

The End