Chapter 17 - Jason
JASON
Afew months later, I stood in the back office of the Lighthouse Diner, trying to wrestle a shirt collar into place.
The mirror didn’t offer much help. The light came in through the frosted window, and dust floated in the quiet.
My suit jacket hung on a hook beside the calendar we never updated. I wiped my palms on my pants.
Mike, Aunt Ophelia’s husband, stood behind me holding my tie like a man preparing for surgery.
“Breathe,” he said. “You look like you’re about to fight the shirt.”
“That’s because the shirt is winning,” I said.
He laughed and helped guide the tie around my neck.
“It suits you,” he said. “Pun absolutely intended.”
“You’ve been sitting on that one for a while.”
“Since Tuesday.” He stepped back, gave me a once-over, then nodded. “Your mom’s already crying, by the way. Told me not to tell you.”
“She cried over pancakes this morning.”
A knock came at the door. Aunt Ophelia peeked in.
“Mind if I steal him for a minute?” she asked.
Mike gave a small salute and slipped out, closing the door behind him.
Aunt Ophelia stepped inside, her eyes scanning me from head to toe.
“You look so handsome,” she said. “Just like your father.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I wish I remembered him.”
“I’m sorry you never got to meet him,” she said. “But he would’ve cried today. No question.”
I looked down at my hands. The knot in my chest didn’t loosen, but it shifted.
“Thank you,” I said. “For everything. For being there. For helping. For…”
“For cornering you into falling in love?” she said.
I smiled. “It worked.”
“That doesn’t mean I was right,” she said. She crossed her arms. “I didn’t ask. I pushed. I should’ve trusted you to figure it out on your own.”
“If you hadn’t pushed, I might never have reached out to Emily. I didn’t even know I still had a shot until she showed up at the diner. Then I realized I never stopped loving her.”
“I just wanted to see you full, Jason. Not alone.”
I met her eyes. “You didn’t make me fall for her. You just made sure I didn’t miss the chance.”
She stepped closer and adjusted my tie. Her hands shook a little.
“She’s good for you,” she said. “You’re calm. She’s sharp. You hold steady. She keeps you moving.”
“She makes the burnt toast taste better,” I said.
Aunt Ophelia let out a breath and laughed. Then she placed her hand on my chest.
“I’m proud of you. Not because you’re getting married, but because you showed up. You figured it out. You made a choice and followed it through.”
“Thank you. I’m ready,” I said.
She nodded. “Then go get married, sweetheart.”
She left the room without another word. I stood there for a second, staring at the door, then turned back to the mirror. I looked like myself. A little flushed, a little wrinkled, but ready.
I grabbed the boutonniere off the desk, pinned it in place, and walked out the door.