Epilogue
Hayes Rosewood
Thanksgiving Day
Warm spices and savory garlic bathe my senses as I enter Aurora’s parents’ house behind her.
I draw in a deep breath and smile. I’ve never had a home-cooked meal on Thanksgiving before, so I’m looking forward to this.
And I know this dinner will ease a lot of Aurora’s worries, as much as she thinks otherwise.
We’ve been preparing for finals, which has had its fair share of stress.
With Aurora’s help I got my grade in Digital Logic up to a B, but I still want to finish strong in that class and others.
I’m sticking to my plan of getting my degree before taking on the company, but now I want to use this time to actually prepare myself instead of chasing distractions.
On top of finals and her rehearsals, after a few weeks of talking about it, Aurora decided to tell her parents—mainly her mom—that she doesn’t like the comments they make about her social life.
She decided it would be best if I was there for support, and this was the next time we were scheduled to see them.
Aurora pauses in the entryway, glancing up at me with trepidation in her blue eyes.
“It’s going to be okay,” I reassure her.
“What if she freaks out and starts crying?” Aurora asks, not for the first time. “Maybe I shouldn’t do this today. I could ruin Thanksgiving for everyone.”
“You’re waiting until after we eat, so you can’t ruin dinner. But if you’re not ready and want to wait until another day, that’s okay too.”
She shakes her head.
“No, I-I want to do this today. The longer I put things off, the more I’ll ruminate on it.”
“You’re right.” I tug her gently toward me, folding her within my arms. “And I’ll be by your side. I’m in your corner.”
“Look who’s here, my two favorite people!” Andrea calls out as she approaches with a wide smile. “I thought I heard the door open.”
I release Aurora to give Andrea a hug. She pulls away and pats me on the cheek.
“I’m glad you’re here, Hayes. I made three different pies, just for you.”
My eyes widen. “You didn’t need to do that.”
“Of course I did!” She swats my chest with the dish towel that was hanging over her shoulder. “This is your first real Thanksgiving.”
“Mom, you can’t say things like that,” Aurora sighs. “He’s had Thanksgivings, they’ve just been catered.”
Andrea’s nose wrinkles.
“That’s not a true Thanksgiving,” she says firmly. “Now you two come in here with the rest of the family. You can cuddle just as well in the living room as by the front door.”
Aurora’s face flames. I chuckle and grab her hand to pull her in the direction of the dining room.
Her brother, Eric, frowns as we pass through the kitchen, and it’s the most I’ve ever seen him look like Aurora. He’s standing near the kitchen island that’s covered in food with his arms crossed.
“If they’re your favorites, then who am I?” he asks his mom.
Andrea waves her hands.
“You’re all my favorites!” she exclaims before going to check on something in the oven.
“I don’t think she understands the definition of favorite,” Aurora murmurs dryly.
Eric smirks. “You know she’s got her own definitions.”
We all chuckle quietly. Aurora’s dad enters and winks at us before saying, “I thought I was your favorite, honey?”
Andrea huffs like we’re the most exasperating bunch of humans she’s ever encountered.
“You’re my husband—of course you’re my favorite. It’s a different kind of favorite.”
Eric raises his brows as if to say “See?” and we all start laughing again.
I look around at all the smiling faces and something within me settles, like a leaf floating to the ground.
Though I love my family, it’s not hard to point out the differences between the Rosewoods and the Driscolls.
There’s a warmth here that envelops you like a bear hug.
I think for the past few years I’ve really needed a hug, and the Driscolls have wrapped me up in one.
Aurora glances at me, curiosity in her gaze.
“Why are you so quiet, Prince Charming?”
I smile and kiss her temple.
“Just thinking of how much I love you and your family.”
Her tiny smirk grows into a beautiful grin that sends my heart skipping.
“I love you so much.”
—
Aurora Driscoll
I suck in a deep breath and squeeze Hayes’s hand in an attempt to keep mine from shaking.
We’re sitting on the couch after stuffing ourselves to the brim with carbs.
My mom and dad are curled up in his recliner, while Eric retreated upstairs to nap off dinner.
It’s the perfect time to bring up what I’ve been needing to talk about. All I have to do is say it.
My mind grasps at reasons to tell them and reasons not to, alternating between green and red like a street light.
What if I upset them?
I need to tell them before I go to the intensive next month, or I never will.
They only do it to show they love you.
I can’t keep pretending it’s okay.
Hayes lifts our joined hands up to his mouth and presses a kiss to the back of my hand. The gesture gives me the boost I need to clear my throat and speak up.
“Mom, Dad, I need to talk to you about something,” I say, and hope I sound less awkward than I think I do.
Their gazes turn toward me, wide-eyed and intrigued. I can tell my mom wants to ask me a bunch of questions already, but thankfully, she doesn’t.
“I know you mean well when you try to help me with my social life, but it’s been a source of stress for me for a long time.
” I say a version of the words I’ve been rehearsing in my head and aloud to Hayes for the last week.
“I like my life. I like nights in and having just a handful of friends. I enjoy focusing on ballet and school. I do appreciate how you want me to live a full life, but I think my life is abundant and full without making new friends and going on blind dates and attending a bunch of parties.”
Once all the words are out, I suck in another shaky breath. My heart is beating so hard it feels like it’s a battering ram against my chest.
My mom’s eyes well up with tears, and I internally brace for whatever storm of emotions is coming. I never handle this sort of thing well. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. It would have been easier to just let them keep going. They were happy. I was tolerating it just fine.
“Sweetheart, I’m so sorry if we hurt you. We really were just trying to help.” She glances at my dad and gives him a sad smile. “Your father warned me that I was pushing too much as of late, but I didn’t listen. I feel awful.”
“You shouldn’t feel bad,” I reply. “I just wanted you to know that I’m really and truly happy. I don’t feel like I’m missing anything.”
“Good. That’s so good,” Mom says through the tears now streaming down her face.
“We won’t bother you about parties or anything like that going forward,” Dad adds when Mom can’t seem to get more words out. “I’m glad you told us.”
“Thank you,” I respond, my throat feeling tight.
“I’m so proud of you for speaking up,” my mom says, wiping beneath her eyes with the sleeves of her burgundy sweater. “So proud.”
I press my lips together and blink a few times to keep my own tears at bay. This went so much better than I thought it would. I wish I would have had the courage to do it sooner, but at least I did today.
Hayes bends down and whispers in my ear, “I’m proud of you, too. I know that wasn’t easy.”
“Yeah, emotions suck,” I say as a tear escapes.
He laughs, as do my parents. Their laughter sparks my own, and the weight of all that I was carrying seems to lift with the noise of our joy.
It wasn’t easy to have this conversation, but it was worth it, and maybe these emotional interactions will get easier with practice.
I’ll look forward to the day it does, and in the meantime, I’ll rest in the knowledge that my family and friends love me just as I am.
—