Epilogue
JAMIE
By the time we pull up in front of my parents’ house, my stomach has turned itself inside out. How I’m supposed to handle dinner, I have no idea.
Logically, I know it won’t be too bad. Yes, the silence that followed after I told Mom that I’m in a relationship with—yes, with a man—was deafening, but it was her who said she’d like to meet him.
There are no surprises here. I’m not showing up unannounced.
And even if they don’t quite approve of my ‘lifestyle’, they’ll at least have to admit Tyler is nothing short of amazing.
Tyler kills the ignition, but doesn’t rush to get out. He sits back, watching me with a cute little line between his brows.
“Ready?” he asks.
I’m no more ready than when he asked me nine hours ago, when we left Seattle, but I nod anyway. Of course, he can see right through me. He reaches for my clenched hand, stroking it until my fingers uncurl.
“I’m here. If push comes to shove, we’ll take right off. Just say the word.”
“It’s not like that,” I assure him, feeling warmed by his fierce protectiveness anyway. “They’re not violent, or nasty. They just…”
“Make you feel like shit.”
“Yeah.” Silver lining—after today, meeting Tyler’s family will be a breeze in comparison. Although, I’m sure I’ll be a nervous wreck either way.
“Like I said…” He squeezes my hand. “Just say the word.” He lets go, but once we’re outside, heading down the narrow cobblestone pathway to the front door, he takes my hand again.
The house looks smaller than it did when I was leaving. Or maybe I’m bigger now. The paint on the porch railing is peeling in long, familiar strips. Mom’s potted plant—some kind of stubborn succulent—is still alive despite having been run over by our dog, Archie, more times than I could count.
I raise my hand to knock, but the door swings open before I can.
My mom stands there. I wonder if she’s been peeking through the curtains since she heard the sound of an engine. Her expression is torn between excited, sad and nervous. I imagine mine is doing something similar.
“Hi,” I croak out, my free hand twitching by my side, unsure what to do. It’s been almost four years, but it feels kind of strange to—
Mom throws her arms around me, pulling me into a crushing embrace.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” she says, sounding choked up. I feel her tremble slightly against me, and bring up my free arm to hug her back, stupefied. She smells the way I remember—some herbal shampoo, and cotton scented fabric softener she’d always buy in bulk when it was on sale.
My eyes start to sting and I blink rapidly.
She pulls back, strokes my dumbstruck face. Then her attention shifts to Tyler. She looks surprised, like she hadn’t noticed him standing there until now, which is ironic given the size of him.
“Oh. Hello.” Her gaze drops to our joined hands, a muscle in her cheek twitching.
“This is Tyler,” I say, desperate to fill the silence.
Tyler offers his hand, expression carefully neutral. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”
Mom studies his face, and after a few tense seconds shakes his hand. “Same to you. And please, call me Sharon.”
“Sharon. Got it.”
She smiles and lets go, then steps aside to let us in. Only then do I notice Dad, hovering in the middle of the foyer. Watching us with an unreadable expression.
I swallow. It’s not that I’m afraid of my dad, but he’s always been the broody one. I never knew where I stood with him. Still don’t.
“Hey, Dad.” I hope my voice isn’t shaking too much.
“Hey, kid,” he replies. “It’s been a while.”
“Yeah.” Eloquent, I know, but what else am I supposed to say?
“Jeff, this is Tyler.” Mom diplomatically cuts through the tension. “Tyler, this is Jeff. My husband,” she adds, redundantly.
Tyler nods. “Sir.” He doesn’t offer his hand this time, but I think it has more to do with the fact that my dad’s hands are shoved in his pockets and he gives no indication of being in a greeting mood.
He nods back. His gaze doesn’t move.
“Alright, come on in, you two. You must be tired from the drive.”
As we step inside, more familiar scents assault my nose.
Surface cleaner with that artificial lemon scent, garlic bread, and I swear I can even detect the faint musty scent of Archie, even though he’d passed away before I even moved out.
It hits me all at once. Not just the scents, but the bone-deep memory of being fifteen again, walking around the house, lost, unsure what version of myself I’m supposed to be today.
Tyler gently pulls me towards the kitchen with the confidence of someone who’s been here a hundred times. It instantly puts me at ease.
In the kitchen, Mom starts fussing about whether the food is still warm and the chicken cooked through, then about portion sizes.
Tyler steps in easily, taking plates when she hands them to him, following without being told, and I see the way that lands with her.
Dad watches from the counter, arms folded, silent and intent, while I hover at the edge of a space that used to be mine.
We plate up and carry everything to the table, silverware clinking a little too loud. Chairs scrape as everyone settles into slightly wrong positions. Conversation begins softly, skimming safe topics; the drive, the weather, whether the veggies are too salty—they are, but no one admits that.
Then the conversation steers towards me.
How I’m doing these days, how’s work and what it’s like living in the city.
I talk about passing my exams as a massage therapist, and how I started going to the gym with Tyler to build my strength before I start working (Mom lies and says she can see some muscles peeking through already).
As always, Tyler is a steady presence by my side, glancing at me here and there, squeezing my thigh when he notices I’m holding my breath. He’s my anchor, my knight in not-so-grumpy armor.
“You’ll be good at that,” Mom says. “You always worked wonders on my calves.”
I smile at the memory. “Guess I’m a natural.”
“You are,” Tyler says, a mischievous glint in his eyes that makes heat rise to my face. “Magic hands.”
Dear God, this is so not the time. At least my parents seem totally oblivious.
“So,” Mom says, the single word shifting the energy in the whole room. “How did you two meet?”
At least she’s starting off easy. “Tyler sees a chiropractor at the clinic I work at. And then we became roommates when I was looking for a new place.”
“Oh!” Mom looks at Tyler. “I had no idea you were the roommate Jamie mentioned.”
Tyler turns his gaze to me. “Wow, Jamie, I’m hurt. I thought you’d brag to your parents about me.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m thankful he’s trying to keep the tone light.
“Is the area safe where you are?” Mom asks. I stiffen, knowing well what she’s hinting at. I’ve been waiting for it.
“It is. Much safer than anywhere else.”
She frowns, lowering her gaze to her plate and cutting into her chicken. “If only it weren’t so far away.”
Here we go. “It’s better for me,” I say. “It’s more open. People don’t really care.”
“People care everywhere,” Dad chimes in, speaking for the first time since we sat down.
“Maybe,” I say. “But there are more people there who don’t. And finding a job is easier.”
“People in the city generally mind their own business,” Tyler backs me up. “They’re too busy to stick their noses anywhere else. You don’t feel like you’re being watched or judged all the time.”
Mom presses her lips together. “We just worry. Society isn’t always kind to…different lifestyles.”
“It’s getting there,” Tyler says calmly, though I know him well enough to notice when he’s getting ticked off. “And if someone has a problem, I’ll handle it.” He says the last part while looking at my dad, who indulges him in a strange staring match.
“So,” Mom says after a tense minute, setting the silverware down and resting her chin on her interlaced hands. “Have you thought about the future?”
I knew she was headed here, but it still makes me grit my teeth. “We’re not even thirty,” I remind her. “There’s plenty of time to think about the future.”
“These things require planning.”
“These things?” Tyler inquires.
“Family.” She looks at him, as if challenging him. “Children.”
I set my fork down, the same old argument threatening to send everything I’ve eaten back up. It’s not that I don’t want kids. I love them. I just never had the luxury of thinking in that direction.
“Kids aren’t something you get to tick a box.” Tyler speaks calmly. Matter-of-factly. “They’re not rewards or proof of anything. They’re people.”
My Mom blinks, taken aback. “I didn’t mean—”
“I know,” Tyler reassures her. “I just think people should only have them if they really want them. Not because it’s expected.” He holds her gaze. “Not because someone else wants grandchildren.”
Silence spreads across the table.
“I do want kids. Someday,” he adds after a moment.
He looks at me, smiling in the way that tells me he’s gently laying the fact down, for me to do with as I please.
Pick it up. Leave it where it is. Whatever I want.
“And if Jamie wants them too, there are ways. Lots of ways.” He turns back to my parents.
“I don’t care if they’re adopted, or come from a Petrie dish.
They could be all Jamie’s too.” He chuckles. “I bet they’d be all cute and sweet.”
My eyes well up. We never talked about this—not just about kids, but our future. For me, knowing that Tyler wants a real, exclusive relationship with me has been the pinnacle of my dreams. I never looked beyond that.
But now that we’re here, talking about it… It’s not even about kids. It’s about the realization that even if I haven’t, Tyler has been considering it. He’s been planning a whole life out, with me in it.
My heart thunders like it’s trying to burst through my sternum, making it hard to breathe. To speak.
I’m too busy staring at Tyler, no doubt with pulsating hearts in my eyes, to pay attention to my parents. Which is why my mom’s next words are like a cold shower.