Epilogue
ERIC
It’s Labor Day weekend, and we’re still doing the annual summer cabin retreat.
I’m watching Amanda and Beckett from a distance.
He is toddling around, chasing after a butterfly in the sand, shouting words no one understands.
He’ll be two in November, and somehow, it still feels like we just brought him home.
Amanda is sitting on the sand, legs stretched out, while the lake laps at her ankles.
Every time Beckett gets close enough, she tickles his legs and belly.
The rays of the setting sun fall on them, making them seem straight out of a dream. My dream.
I never thought that raising a child that’s not my blood could be healing.
And yet, every time I look at my kid, my love for him grows, and I know there’s nothing wrong with him.
There was nothing wrong with me. There are a thousand things wrong with my father, and any man who just chooses not to love a child.
Any child. In every hug, kiss, or inside joke, I’m reminded that I’m deserving and worthy. I am because he is.
A pat follows a squeeze on my shoulder. “You gonna go to her or are you too chicken shit?” Diego’s question breaks me away from gazing at my family.
“Shut the fuck up,” I tell him, taking the drink he offers.
“Is Uncle Sandro cool with this?” He’s standing close to me.
In so many ways, I’d not be here without him. Amanda’s the love of my life, but Diego’s optimism, crass humor, and unconditional trust literally carried me through the darkest year of my life. So today he’s my accomplice.
“He’s annoyed I took so long.”
“She can’t know you asked, or you’ll never hear the end of it.” He tips my glass with his beer. “Salud.”
“No, man,” I counter. “I’d have asked sooner, but she’s so not in a rush.”
We talk about everything to exhaustion, except I never get sick of talking to her. I love it.
“You have a good woman,” Diego says.
“I have the best woman,” I volley back.
He laughs. “I disagree, but that’s nothing on Amanda.” He pats my back again. “You got the girl, Eric.”
I swallow and shake my head. “I didn’t.” Diego frowns, and I add, “I failed the girl, but I deserve the woman.”
Diego’s face breaks into a smile before tipping his chin up. “You cut it real close for a minute.”
I place my palm on his back and tap once.
“I don’t think I’ve ever said it, but—” I lick my lips.
“You’ve been exactly the friend I’ve needed my whole life.
” I shove my hands in my pockets and feel the velvet pouch, curling my fingers around it.
“I deserve the woman, the family, and everything I ever hoped for, in no small part, because of you.”
His breath hitches, and part of me regrets saying anything when he lunges at me and wraps his arms around my chest, clapping my shoulder three times before pulling away. Swiping the corners of his eyes, he adds. “Credit where credit is due, man. It was really all you.”
I tip my head down and smile. I don’t believe that’s true of the past, but today, day after day… It is all me.
I walk to the shore, leaving Diego behind.
When I’m a few feet away, Beckett sees me and runs up to me.
I lift him up, throwing him, catching him, laughing with him.
Amanda watches us with the brightest smile, her signature purple highlights flying in the wind.
I sit down next to her and kiss her. Firm. Slow. Deep. Until Beckett smacks me.
“No kwiss, Mama,” he says. Amanda loves it. He loves me, but he adores her.
We sit for a few minutes, just not in silence these days.
I curve my palm around her stomach. She’s thirty-two weeks, five days.
She’s the size of a papaya. Beckett pats his hand on it, too, and the girl kicks.
He talks and mumbles, the baby responding with her own choreography.
That’s about as long as Beckett can handle sitting, so he goes back to butterfly chasing and insect terrorizing.
Amanda rests her weight on my side, my arm coming around and pulling her closer. Her smile brightens.
“So,” she says, “is Diego okay?”
“He’ll be fine,” I reply, tracing my finger on the exposed skin of her arm. “I don’t want to talk about Diego.”
“Oh?” Her hand turns to face me. “What would you want to talk about?”
I clear my throat, holding her close. Her hands rest on my knee and thigh, softly drawing patterns.
“For most of my life, I was your friend. I imagined being the person you loved, resigned, you’d always be everything but mine.
” I kiss her. She smiles softly against my lips, stopping me from going deeper.
“I thought I knew what it’d be like, being with you.
Friends, just better. Nothing could have prepared me for what it feels like to be loved by you.
” She’s watching me, grinning from ear to ear.
“You helped me see myself in ways I didn’t think were possible.
Even if I had to learn to see it, too.” I shift slightly, my voice steady but low.
“So, I have a question that’s long overdue. Will you be with me as my wife?”
She’s crying now, silently, nodding before she even speaks.
“Try to stop me.”
She throws herself into my arms, and I barely manage to slide the ring, a Hercules knot with a small emerald, onto her finger. Lips crashing, tongue and teeth and soul.
“Hey, Eric!” Sandro’s deep voice carries from the fire pit by the cabins. “What’d she say?”
“I said yes!” Amanda calls back, grinning.
Soon, we feel little arms wrap around us, joining the family hug. Amanda kisses Beckett, and I kiss her stomach.
After a lifetime of history, she’s finally everything and mine.