Epilogue
GEORGIE
On Christmas Day, the whole family gathers at Susan and Michael's home for dinner.
They extend the invitation to my mother and Franny.
It feels really surreal being back here after the last time.
I never went into their house that time, so I don't know what I was expecting it to look like, but the moment I step inside...
this is not it. Its exterior is a lavish cottage-style home with grey rock siding and a black shingle roof.
With all the illustrious landscaping and lighting, it looks a lot more extravagant in coupling with the backyard and the pool and the overall tone of the exterior.
But inside tells a different story. This place is a home.
All soft white walls with coffered ceilings, the living room directly left of the front foyer that has cream-coloured couches and a matching chair with a large TV mounted to the wall.
Paintings line the walls in precise measurements that were no doubt done by a professional installer.
The main hallway leading to their kitchen is a photo mural of the years of Noah and Sienna, from infants to photos that look like they were taken as early as last year.
They continue to show us through their home, their wide-open concept kitchen with white marble, the sunroom that doubles as a heated enclosed porch in the winter.
The dining room with the kitchen table made for a magazine, decorated for Christmas dinner like that of a Hallmark movie.
And I realize while this is insanely over the top for someone like me who has never had a place or a dinner this decked out in her life, this has become normal for Sienna, or Noah, maybe even Ricardo and his parents, to see this kind of spread.
So while I can see how this place has the homey feel, and isn’t as over the top as I once thought it to be, there are still some elements like this that bring me back to reality and help me see why Noah may be the way he is.
He tries to be perfect, achieve perfection in everything he does, and is effortlessly perfect from many years of practice.
He has had to perfect this persona of the perfect son for his parents, and seeing this here and now makes me feel bad that I ever called him out on something without knowing the full picture.
Sure, his parents were nice enough now that I could see him relax around them more, laugh and joke and carry on without worry, especially when I am there to ground him and keep his focus on something tangible and real.
But trauma can weave its tricky webs into every corner of a person’s being without them ever realizing it.
It becomes a part of them, carrying over into everything they are, and everything they do.
This makes so much more sense than it ever had before.
When the tour of the house is over, everyone disperses.
Susan and Michael take up the kitchen to continue cooking the meal.
I thought maybe they had the meal professionally cooked for them, but then I peek my head in the doorway to see Susan stirring something on the stove, and Michael chopping more vegetables.
The two work in harmony, their hands meticulous, precise.
I leave them be, walking back to where everyone has congregated, passing the photo wall along the hallway lining the full wall to my right, the half wall the underside of the stairs leading upstairs to their five bedrooms. Five.
I stop to take in the photos, touching the delicate frames surrounding them.
Noah looks handsome in every photo, in every sports game he played in high school, even his prom photo doesn't look terrible.
I can see the years where Noah shifted from that happy young boy, where he starts to feel pressure from his family towards the tail end of high school leading into college.
This would have been the time that they were pressuring him to go to school to be a doctor, and around the time that Sienna was entering culinary school.
His smile was less bright then. More pinched expressions, like the black and white photo of his father at his age hanging nearby.
"You know, we always want the best for our children..." the voice of Susan speaks softly beside me, causing me to jump. She touches my arm. "Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."
"It's okay." Giving her a small smile, I hope she'll continue her thought.
She looks on at the photo of Noah at his high school graduation, his smile that never quite reaches his eyes to create his smile lines, the way the light doesn't shine in them.
"Noah was always very bright. He was good at everything.
It was infuriating for Sienna." She laughs at the memory.
"I always thought he would make a fine surgeon, or doctor.
We wanted the best for him. But we pushed too far.
He went behind our backs and applied to business school instead of medicine.
He graduated but never went on to work in a business field.
That infuriated me, in the beginning, to see his education and talent go to waste. "
She wells up, looking away for a moment, emotions clear on her face, in the tremble of her hand, "But all I want is for my children to be happy. For my son to be happy. I think you make him happy."
"He makes me happy every day, Susan." I turn to her and notice that she's looking at the photo on my home screen of my phone in my hand lighting up.
Franny took it one night when the three of us were playing board games, and Noah and I were laughing at some joke only we knew about and found funny.
Noah's laugh is contagious, and his face goes pink when he gets giggling.
It's my favourite thing about him, the way his emotions are always on display, worn on his sleeve like a badge of honour.
"Your son is kind, sweet, and caring. He's gentle and proud and strong.
He is a perfectionist, he is annoying sometimes…
" We both chuckle. "But he is one of the best people I have ever met in my life.
And I, of all people, know that Noah can be very forgiving.
I think Noah could benefit from hearing you say these words to him directly. I think they both would."
We both look over to the scene playing out in the entranceway of the living room, where Sienna stands, bouncing Aelia on her hip and singing a song about sharks.
Noah is performing an interpretive dance to the song, and Ricardo is recording the whole thing with a grin on his face.
When I glance at Susan, there's a twinge at the corner of her pressed lips, like the hint of a smile peeking through.
Her hand squeezes mine as she looks on at her children, and her grandchild develops a core memory as we witness the very first laugh from Aelia.
Sienna stills, shock on her face, and Ricardo sits forward on the couch. Noah points, "Did she just—"
"She just had her first laugh!" Sienna says with joy, tears streaming down her face as she holds her baby close and kisses her chubby little face.
"I think you should go celebrate this little victory with them."
"They don't want me there."
"I think they do. They just don't know how to show that. Go to them." I nudge her with a smile.
Susan hesitates for only a moment to look back at me and gives a nod. "You know, you're exactly what this family needs, Georgie.”
With that, she heads into the living room with her children, grandchildren, repairing the cracks she never intentionally tried to create, one moment at a time.
I don't know how to take Susan's words. Does she really mean it?
That I fit into the family, that I am what they need?
I can't dwell on it too much, I simply slip past their family moment to find my mom, Franny, and Ricardo's parents.
Dinner is five courses. I wish I was joking.
I have never been so grateful that I decided to wear a flowy dress instead of pants because if I had, the button would not close after this meal.
The dress is one of my favourites, and I only get to wear it one month out of the year so I go all out.
It's a black top, long sleeves with a scalloped neckline that dips just low enough to show off the girls modestly and the faded pink scars I no longer worry about people seeing.
It fits tight and cinches my waist just enough, but not enough that it will dig in after I eat all the food I am about to devour.
The skirt is A-line, bright Christmas red with little embroidered Christmas lights looping all around.
I curled my hair and did my makeup just to make myself feel good, and when I exited my bathroom this morning, Noah whispered 'it's perfect' as he kissed me, so I take that as a good sign.
First up in the never-ending dinner: salad.
Really fancy salads with homemade dressings and croutons and a variety of fresh veggies.
Following salad is soup, a choice of either garlic tomato or French onion, made overnight in slow cookers to develop maximum flavours.
I opt for the onion soup, knowing tomato is a trigger for me, and my HS has been relatively decent lately.
The medications can take up to 6 months before seeing any progress, and maybe it's placebo, but in the days following the monthly injections, I feel really good.
There are only flares toward the tail end of the fourth week, and they're manageable.
I know I can't count on this forever, but this reprieve has been what I needed.
I glimpse into a new normal for however long I can have it.