Lukas #2
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about this sooner, Mags.
It wasn’t ever my intention to keep this from you.
But when it started, I had no idea if I’d ever hear from you again, let alone get to a place where we are now.
And I think…” I trail off, tilting my head back and looking up at the ceiling tiles.
This is the only room in the house where I had custom tiles installed.
I didn’t plan it, initially, but when I saw these white ones that had this diamond floral pattern, it reminded me of something Mags would have danced under while in Paris.
I had hoped that maybe she’d be here in the future, practicing in this room, and when she looked upward, it’d make her smile.
“I think if I told you I was remodeling our house, I was mostly worried about two things. For one, I was worried you wouldn’t care, that it wouldn’t make a difference to you, and that all the memories we have here were for naught.
My other fear, which surpassed any other thought, was that I was worried it’d make you homesick.
I was worried you’d sacrifice your future, your career, out of guilt, or nostalgia, or something. ”
I hear her sniffle once, and I reach to grasp her shoulders, twisting her to face me. Hot, fresh tears are falling, staining her cheeks, and I pull her to me, pressing her face to my chest.
“Can I tell you my vision for this room?”
She nods against my chest, pulling back, but not before she uses the fabric of my sweatshirt to swipe her face dry.
Once she’s done, I turn to the corner, where a rickety lawn chair sits.
“I imagined this as your space, your private room. You could dance in here, read, just have quiet time if you needed.” I sit on the old lawn chair in the corner.
“I imagined a big oversized comfortable chair right here. You could sit on it with a blanket and a cup of coffee, or I could sit on it and watch you stretch and dance.” She finally cracks a smile at that, and my heart sings.
I stand, the lawn chair folding and collapsing under my abrupt movement.
“We could put anything you want on this wall. Bookshelves, pictures of Paris, your family, I’ll buy you a fancy painting, whatever you want.
Or we could line it with mirrors and add specialty lighting.
And over here…” I move to the opposite corner, but before I can show her that it would be the perfect spot for a plant, she gasps, rushing over to the barre to run her hand over the end of it.
The L + M that I carved in the outside railing eleven summers ago was still visible.
Most of the railings were rotted, but not that one.
I was able to salvage it, sand it down, and brush a few layers of poly over the letters to solidify them forever.
The railing became the perfect size and length for her barre.
I installed that barre with so much hope flooding my chest. I installed it before we saw each other that day at the rehab center.
She was still mad at me, and we were still rocky.
I held so much goddamn hope that one day I'd have her back, and one day she would see it.
Those initials began to serve almost as inspiration—no, motivation.
Maybe to not give up on trying, to not give up on us.
She runs her hand over the letters, just like she ran her thumb over them that day when they were first fresh.
“I wanted to leave it as exposed as possible.
But I was worried that if I didn't cover it with something, the letters would get worn away.” Once Ivy starts walking more, it would be the perfect railing for her to hold on to as she practices her steps.
I was worried what her little hands would do if curiosity got the best of her, and she started to wonder what the L + M meant.
It kept me up at night thinking of her little fingers picking away the letters.
If anything happened to that carving, it might have broken me more than anything else I’ve experienced.
A full body shudder racks Magnolia’s frame, and a sob escapes. She tries to clamp a hand over her mouth to catch it but fails.
I rush to her, my hands reaching for her shoulder to spin her around to face me.
“Baby.” I pull her into my arms, holding her as she sobs.
“You’ve got to talk to me, sweetheart. Say something, anything.
Tell me you love it. Tell me what you hate.
Tell me what you want to add. Hell, even if you’re pissed off at me for keeping it a secret, tell me. I’d take any words from you right now.”
She forces out her best watery laugh. “I'm not mad about anything, Lukas.”
A wave of relief washes over me, and I press a kiss to the top of her hair. When she tilts her head up, I grab her cheeks with my palms, kissing her hard as her hands circle around my waist.