Chapter 44 EVE
Chapter forty-four
EVE
After a wonderful Christmas lunch with my family topped with laughter and delicious food, my grandparents, Adam and I are in Sandwich Bay's quaint glassblowing studio.
Adam’s students are coming over in four hours.
So, we still have a bit of time. The owner is a friend of my grandparents who’s been lonely for years and he’s showing us how to create glass ornaments with a smile on his face.
The studio is toasty warm despite the December chill outside.
Christmas music plays softly in the background, and tiny white lights twinkle around the workbenches.
My grandfather moves with surprising agility for eighty-four, his arthritic hands steadier than they've been in years as he guides us through the process.
"Now, just like that, Adam. Gentle but confident," Papet instructs, his eyes twinkling behind his safety glasses. "Glass responds to intention. Hesitate, and it knows."
Adam nods, concentrating with the same focus he gives difficult patients (or me sometimes). His sleeves are rolled up, forearms flexing as he carefully turns the blowpipe, the molten glass glowing orange at its end.
"You're a natural," Papet tells him, and the pride in Adam's eyes makes my heart do that fluttery thing I'm almost accustomed to by now.
"He's got good hands," I say, my cheeks flushing when Mamet, my grandmother, chuckles knowingly.
"So I've heard," she stage-whispers, making Papet snort and Adam drag a hand over his face.
A year has passed since I took the school nurse position, and I've made actual progress in establishing partnerships between healthcare and veterinarians with a focus (for now) on cancer patients.
It's enough that I'm writing grants now.
And I'm working with Landon to build a pipeline for students to do paid internships with us, giving them a wage that enables them to live.
When I was looking for my first jobs, I ended up dependent on Chuck and I don't want that for them.
No one should have to choose between a foot in the door and paying rent.
A year of laughter. Of small arguments over whether the best holiday movie is The Holiday or While You Were Sleeping (why make anyone choose?
And yes, While You Were Sleeping may have some issues, but as someone who didn’t tell the whole truth, I guess I get it).
Of late-night discussions that somehow circle back to whether Dorothy is actually part gremlin.
A year of iZombie rewatches, because that's still our thing. Of me crocheting an emotional support pickle family and Adam crocheting a couple more to go with them. (They still look like testicles. He insists they're brains. We’ve agreed to disagree.)
Of bigger arguments that we work through, because we both work on ourselves and at showing up for one another.
Because us getting together didn't erase the anxiety that sometimes runs through me or the fear that makes me snappier and less patient. Or the need for him to prove himself useful that sometimes drives me wild.
Of falling asleep together. His hands on mine. His mouth. His... everything.
"Now for the tricky part," Papet says, guiding Adam to the bench. "We're going to shape it."
Together, they work the glass, Adam following my grandfather's instructions with careful precision. I watch as the glowing mass slowly transforms, taking shape under their four hands, Papet's weathered ones and Adam's steady, capable ones.
"A heart," Mamet whispers to me. "He wanted to make a heart."
My throat tightens as I remember my grandfather's original heart ornament. The one that shattered last Christmas, the one Chuck tried to use as a weapon against me. The one that survived everything until that night.
"Eve, come help," Papet calls, and I move closer, the heat from the glass warming my face and sweat dripping down my back. "This is the part where we add the details."
With tools I can barely name, we work together—my grandparents, Adam, and me—adding swirls and patterns to the heart.
One hour later, we stand back and admire our creation. The heart is beautiful. Deep red with swirls of gold and clear glass. The light catches it differently from every angle, revealing new details each time it turns.
"It's perfect," I breathe.
"Almost," Papet says, taking it carefully with the rod. "It still needs to rest. It will still change. Transforms. And be even more beautiful."
As he settles it down, my phone buzzes with a text. I glance down to see Claire's name.
Claire
So, my sources in Chicago are telling me that Jennie has been promoted and has been making a difference. Chuck may actually testify against his father. Still no therapy for him, though. And he still hasn’t been reinstated.
I show the message to Adam, who reads it without comment but gives my hand a squeeze. We’ve both learned that Chuck’s journey is his own—and more importantly, no longer my responsibility.
“There,” Papet announces, holding up our finished creation. “Perfect.”
The heart ornament sparkles in the studio light, stronger and more beautiful than its predecessor. Like me, I think. Like us.
“Oh! I just remembered,” Mamet suddenly exclaims with the worst fake surprise I’ve ever witnessed. “We promised to meet your parents at the beach for that... thing.”
“Thing?” I repeat.
“You know, the... Christmas... beach... thing,” she elaborates with all the subtlety of Dorothy trying to steal socks.
Adam suppresses a smile. “Right. The Christmas beach thing.”
“It will take about forty-eight hours to be ready” the studio owner says, carefully placing our creation in a different oven. “It needs to cool completely before you hang it.”
Outside, the December air hits with a bracing freshness that makes me tug Adam’s scarf higher around my neck. He’s wearing the one I crocheted for him last month, green with tiny pickles that only look vaguely inappropriate if you squint.
“We’ll meet you young folks there. Mamet and I need to... get something from the car.”
“Subtle,” I murmur to Adam as my grandparents shuffle away with suspicious speed.
“No idea what you’re talking about,” he says innocently, tugging me toward the stairs.
The steps down to the shore are dusted with snow, but someone has cleared a path. At the bottom, tiny lanterns mark a trail across the sand, and I can see more lights ahead.
“Did you—”
“I did nothing,” Adam insists, though his eyes tell a different story.
As we follow the lantern path, I can make out figures in the distance.
The beach opens up before us, and my heart catches at what I see: my parents standing with what appears to be our entire dog and cat family and our friends: Mike, Claire, and Jamie; Poppy; Tristan; Julie and Landon; Jack and Harper; Kellan and Zoe; Wes, Noelle, and Megan.
Blanche is wearing a ridiculous doggy Santa hat, Dorothy has a red bow around her neck, LoverBoy has antlers, and even Mama Bear Sophia (who generally refuses any form of accessory) is tolerating what looks like a tiny cape in one of those carry-on bags she loves.
“How did they—” I start, but Adam squeezes my hand.
“Surprise!” Mom calls out. “We thought we’d have a little Christmas beach gathering.”
“With the whole family,” Dad adds, as Dorothy spots us and starts doing her excited spin-dance.
I take in the scene. Our loved ones. The sound of waves crashing against the shore, and Christmas lights twinkling on boats in the distance. It’s perfect. So perfect I should be suspicious, but I’m too busy feeling everything all at once.
I kneel to greet our furry family, and they swarm around me.
“Did you guys know about this?” I whisper to Blanche, who gives me a look that clearly says, “Of course we did.”
When I stand up, Adam isn’t beside me anymore.
He’s on one knee in the sand.
And somehow, our entire dog pack sits perfectly still while Mama Bear meows in approval, like they’ve been in on this the whole time.
I freeze.
Not because I’m shocked. Not because I need to think.
But because every part of me already knows.
Adam looks up at me, blue eyes steady, certain, and smiles that crooked, just-for-me smile.
“Eve Foster.” His voice is rough, thick with emotion, but steady as ever.
“I love you. I love the student who fell asleep on our video calls and the nurse who fights for her patients and every version of you I haven’t even met yet.
I love how you feel everything so deeply, even when you try to explain it away with medical terms. I love how you taught me that being strong doesn’t mean being alone. That I can just... be.”
He clears his throat. “I love how fucking funny you are and that you cry at romance novels but call it ‘an emotional regulation mechanism.’ That you show up at my clinic at dawn not because you have to, but because you want to. That you understand why I check on anxious kittens at midnight and instead of telling me to stop, you bring me coffee and help me make their charts.”
Tears I once thought were weakness roll down my cheeks but I don’t even bother wiping them away as the man I love continues to warm me from the inside out with his words, his love, his care.
Adam rasps out, “You make me real, Foster. You let me be uncertain and tired and completely in love with you. You see all of me and somehow love me more for it. I love the person you are, the one you were, the one you will be. And I love us. Together.”
His thumb traces patterns on my palm, like he’s memorizing me, like he already knows the answer.
“I’m so fucking glad I went online to talk about iZombie and we decided to try that new app after,” he says softly.
“I want to spend the rest of my life being that safe place for you, where you don’t have to choose between being professional and being passionate, between caring for others and letting yourself be cared for.
Where three-word sentences and romance novel references are all perfectly okay. ”