Epilogue Staley
One Year Later
T he kettle’s faint screech from the kitchen awakens me from an early morning dream session. Groans escape my body because it’s when I’m asleep that my mind imagines the most provocative interactions with Theo. Naked interactions. We’ve lived together for six months now, and the transition has been the healthiest thing for my mental health. The decision wasn’t an easy one to make because leaving my dad was impossible. I was leaving part of my heart and soul—and responsibility—behind and for the most selfish reason known to man—love.
Theo’s patience has been crucial during this transition. Picture Jessie Spano chanting I’m so excited, I’m so excited , you know the scene—this is me typically, but Theo reminds me to breathe and that I can go home any time I want to.
Here’s how the year has gone:
Before moving in with Theo, I spent weekends overnight at his house. Did I call Leslie and Noah every hour on the hour the first few times? Yes.
Sleepovers with Gabby and Maeve are now part of my schedule. We stuff our faces with snacks and countless ’90s movies, and I tease the two of them about how painstakingly perfect they are for one another.
I’ve kept my job at Cuddle Like You Mean It because I love working there. The owners have taken me under their wing and are open to expanding mindfulness and mental health support services. I’m not in any hurry to figure out my life’s purpose because focusing on each day as it comes is enough for me.
The weight of the comforter is light and airy and filled with sex stories that would make a nun blush in church. Sleeping without curtains has been the biggest adjustment as I prefer darkness, but Theo insists that any extra speck of sunlight in his life reminds him of me. Now I’m one of those obnoxious people who wakes up smiling because the sun is shining. The kettle is at a full-blown scream, and I can only assume Theo is dead or on the phone with his mother, who makes the same sound while she speaks.
Theo sits in his favorite place—his desk chair—second only to my lap. Headphones cover his ears, explaining why he cannot hear the kettle. I’ll never tire of watching him write and record. I prepare his morning beverage, carefully slicing the lemons on a wooden cutting board, not the countertop, where they might slip from underneath the paring knife. See the scar on my left thumb for reasons I should never prepare Theo’s drink. The French press sits, filled with steeped coffee, next to a vanilla bean syrup Theo made.
The little things let me know how seen I am.
I walk Theo’s mug to him and admire his pen, scribbling wildly across the paper before him. If the notes are bad, he lets me read them but insists I throw them away after. I don’t have the heart to tell him I’ve saved every single one in a box under my side of the bed. I’ve not given myself away yet. I let him start his process because it makes my toes curl and my mouth water. A familiar voice greets my ears when Theo speaks into the microphone. This is just practice. He records in an actual studio now.
“You have such a kissable mouth. These lips remind me I am alive when I am with y-you.”
Finding out Theo was Luca was the biggest gotcha the universe had ever dropped in my horny lap. But to this day, the one where he expresses his love for me through allusion and simile, with his voice as it is today and every other day, is my favorite. This man is adept at the written word, with his ability to bring me to completion with his mouth and voice, but mostly when he is his most authentic self.
With a light tap on his shoulder, his chestnut curls spring into place as he pushes back his headphones. He smiles up at me like I parted the heavens and created poetry myself. I extend his drink to him and grin as he reads the mug and throws his head back in laughter.
“The Epic. The Comic. The Tragic. When did you s-sneak this m-mug in? Talk about a deep c-cut with Aristotle’s Poetics .”
My backside butts up against the edge of his desk as I hop up, legs slightly spread. We call this cuddle position the Writer’s Retreat—it works in the kitchen, the bathroom, and the library study tables. But Theo’s desk is my favorite place to practice this cuddle, a position I reserve strictly for him.
“Only the deepest cut for the most brilliant poet I’ve ever known.”
“I’m the only p-poet you’ve ever known, Staley. I’m not sure you should give m-me credit.”
My legs lock around the upper part of his chest and under his armpits and roll him toward me. His face nuzzles below my belly button, and the weight of my legs drops underneath his sigh. My fingers twist through his supple hair until I rest my left hand alongside his face, admiring how easy he is on the eyes. His cheek presses into my palm. The gesture is tender.
“You’re right, you are the only poet I know, but the humble title of distinguished wordsmith was already taken. You can forgive me by kissing me right now.”
His mouth is warm as citrus blooms across my lips, waking my senses. The honey on his tongue melts against the heat of my mouth, and the rest of me is alive and eager to be naked, right here and right now. Taking things into his hands, Theo hikes the hem of my dress. It turns out Theo also has an affinity for things from the ’90s. When perusing some old pictures of me and my capped-sleeved babydoll dress phase, he insisted I bring the trend back. Theo slows the kiss, pulling me down to his lap and spinning us in his chair. I tug at the top of his pants, ready for him, as I know he is for me. Theo kisses me and gives affection to each of my freckles every time we have sex.
“Theo, it’s sweet when you do that. But I’m not in the mood for sweet, and we’re on a schedule.” I bite at his earlobe and replace it with a softer kiss below his ear. A weak spot for him, he shudders, swats my hands away, and removes his pants for me. And the more we get to know each other, the bossier he gets in bed or chairs.
“What are you waiting for, Staley? We’re on a schedule, remember.”
Following directions isn’t difficult to do when the assignment involves Theo’s dick. I slide over him and whine. He fills up every part of me.
“Theo, I think this is my favorite position.”
He drops his head to my chest, arms wrapped around both of my ass cheeks, massaging and holding on to me for dear life.
“The taste of your w-words in my mouth is my favorite thing in the world.” He grunts it out, stealing messy kisses from me. “I th-think I could record a thousand scripts about these lips alone.” More neck and chest kissing. I might even beg, but the sound is not coherent. “Such a b-beatific life I might have if I were a bee tucked within the petals of this mouth for the rest of t-time.”
Thanks to Theo, poetic compliments are my favorite thing. He thrusts into me, and I fall apart, letting all of me go because, with him, I can. I ride him out slowly, eager for his release. Teasing a little, I throw my hair into a ponytail while he’s distracted by my nipples. As soon as he hears the snap of the elastic on my hair, something feral in him breaks. Pushing harder, he shows how unafraid he is for me to listen to every noise his sweet mouth makes until he collapses beneath me.
We both pant, and I chuckle at our complete lack of respect for the schedule we lamented about.
“Buzz, buzz, Sullivan, we got a busy day ahead of us.” I hop up and sip my coffee at long last and let out a refreshing ahhh . He smacks at my ass, and I yelp, turning to him with approval.
Theo is mid-drink when he reads the front of my mug. One of his eyebrows quirks up when a mischievous grin explodes across his face.
“I Take Mine with Cream. Is that a suggestion or a d-directive?”
I waggle my brows and challenge him because it’s what I’m good at.
“Depends on how fast you are with the cream. We’ve got a fancy celebratory dinner to get to, and Maeve will not take any excuses for being late.”
Theo chases me down the hall as I squeal. I am a wild woman in love.
My childhood backyard is lined with hanging lights and fun-colored plastic Adirondack chairs. Cans of my dad’s favorite beers are stuffed into giant buckets filled with ice, and there are a few pitchers of lemonade sitting along the bar Noah helped my dad build one summer when I was twelve. Everywhere I look, I see a memory of my well-lived life, where my dad—the man who chose me—nourished my smart-mouthed soul with music, laughter, and countless pictures.
If it were any other day, I might cry at the melancholic notion that my children would not play in this backyard or be pushed on the swings by their grandfather. As if on cue, Noah finds me and stops my intrusive thinking, hugging me hard enough for him and my dad combined.
“Hey, Stay. You’re early. I wasn’t done setting up, and Maeve will have my ass if I don’t get the rest of the table decor out.”
I laugh because my friends spend as much time at my dad’s house as I do now. Gabby and Maeve buy my dad new records and visit with him so Noah can get the occasional respite, get a respectable haircut, and go to the gym. Alex has even taught Noah some calming techniques and works with my dad so innocently that I regret ever having a bad thought about him.
And then there’s Theo, the man who has picked up my heart where my dad left off because he can no longer intentionally cradle it anymore. Theo asks my dad about “Baby Staley” every time we visit. He gave my father a doll to help with his increasing agitation. I never thought I’d see a look of pride on my dad’s face again, especially after the sell-my-kidney-expensive medication was not doing a thing to improve his state. But it’s been Noah and my friends who have made things even better and more manageable.
“Noah! I knew I could count on you. Look at this backyard. Wait, where are the mini Polaroid cameras?”
Noah gives me an I told you so look as Maeve walks into the backyard.
“Kitchen table. I had to hug my girl first.”
Maeve bypasses me and futzes with the tablecloths and spins the flower arrangements around until they meet her liking. Gabby and Alex pass through the sliding glass door with platters of sliced fruits and vegetables when the sound of a beer can cracking open hits my ears. Leslie is in what she calls her “civilian clothes,” relaxing with an iced beverage.
Everyone is here to celebrate Noah’s commitment to my dad. I find Dad and Theo seated next to one another on the couch in the living room, where my dad sits in the late afternoons. I don’t want to interrupt whatever conversation might be happening, so I tuck myself behind the entryway.
“Russell, did anyone ever t-tell you how cute baby St-staley is?”
The doll lies cradled in my dad’s arms, just as I imagined he might’ve held me as a little girl. Dad looks down at the baby in his arms and back up at Theo with a smile that only a new dad could have.
“Beautiful.” His response is short, but it cuts right into my heart.
“Do you th-think Staley might get married one day?” Theo asks because, of course, he does. He’s all in. I should excuse myself because I know a private conversation when I hear one.
“Does he love her?” Dad remarks with such innocence.
Theo leans in and wraps one arm around the back of my dad in a half hug.
“He does, and he will always.”
Crying will only blow my cover, so I scooch out to the back and wipe my eyes with the sides of my hands, careful not to smudge what’s left of my mascara. Theo walks my dad to a chair under one of the umbrellaed tables next to the fragrant flower garden. His eyes find mine with concern. This man knows when I’ve been crying, and I can’t hide from him.
Gabby clinks her beer can with a knife to start a toast.
“I couldn’t think of a better group of people to celebrate today. I want to think we were all players in what has come to be, but I want to say how much love I feel amongst all of you today. Noah and Russell, I hope I have a forever kind of love one day.”
She waves her arm around, her wild and bright bracelets clanking together. Maeve stands beside her, gripping Gabby’s free hand with fingers interlocked. Their relationship is the sweetest thing, a genuine love rooted in friendship and soul connection.
Maeve speaks. “Y’all lived most of your lives thinking there was nothing special about you, and now look where you are—coming together, piecing together the odds and ends of your hardships, and building it all into something meaningful. Do you know how many lives you’re going to change? Because you have changed mine.”
“So many.” Alex launches his confidence across the small but meaningful crowd. Theo clears his throat and looks at all the love beaming back at us.
“My l-life looks a lot different than I thought it would. Friends and a f-family—it’s a wild ride, one I’m happy to be on with all of y-you. Cheers to Noah and Russell.”
Everyone drinks to Theo’s toast, and when I think he’s done—and I have crammed half a hoagie bite into my mouth—he pulls me back by my arm to the side.
“Thank y-you for everything, Staley.”
“Don’t thank me. Noah made the food, and Maeve decorated the place.”
“No, thank you for l-loving me, stutter and all.”
“I should thank you, Theo. For showing me how.”
He kisses the top of my head, and we take in the abundance of goodness we’re surrounded by. Then I spot my dad with his baby tucked into one arm. His other arm is linked with Noah’s, and it’s enough to let me know everything will be alright. It might be hard and scary, but I can get through anything as long as I have Theo and all these other amazing people by my side.
“Every time I hear your voice, Theo, I feel damn lucky to be alive.”
“I l-love you, Staley Monroe. The extra ‘l’ is proof of how much.”
Theo’s mossy eyes meet mine, and I know that he does and that he will.