Epilogue Ruby
“We should’ve taken the train.”
Ben smirks up at me from where he’s kneeling on the ground. “And miss another chance to argue with each other on the side of the highway?”
“I’m not arguing,” I insist. “I’m just sharing my opinion. Trains don’t get flat tires, after all.”
“Well, luckily, Greg taught me how to change a tire this past summer.”
“You actually remember his name?”
He grunts quietly as he rolls the jack underneath the vehicle, then tosses me a sideways glance as he replies, “Of course I remember his name. I remember everyone I’ve ever met down to the last detail. That’s one of my best character traits—my flawless memory.”
I can’t help laughing at that. We both know it isn’t true. I can’t fault him for it, though, and I’m certainly not spiteful of it anymore. It’s not like he chose to have a careless nanny when he was child, who didn’t pay enough attention in time to catch him before he took a dangerous tumble down the stairs. He’s lucky his memory was the only thing affected.
Ben continues working. It’s kind of cute, really, the way he’s oh-so-carefully using his brand new tire-changing kit, which he apparently bought the day after we arrived back in New York after the June storm fiasco.
In spite of the traffic rushing by on the highway lanes nearby, I can’t help smiling to myself as he concentrates on his task with the utmost devotion.
I like him so much. I like him so much that I’m pretty sure I love him.
Not that I’ve admitted that out loud to him yet.
Still, this trip we’re on is an important step for us. It’s been five months since he showed up outside my apartment with a bouquet of lilacs and kissed me until I was dizzy. That was our second kiss, since our first kiss already happened a year before that.
And that second kiss was very quickly followed by a third, then a fourth and a fifth, and so on and so forth until now, this moment in time, when Ben has officially been my boyfriend for a little over four months. It still seems crazy to me, even though I don’t think I’ve ever been happier in my entire life.
It’s even crazier that, a few months after the seaside wedding that started it all, I’m bringing Ben back to Mermaid Shores with me for Thanksgiving. Eva has already teased me about it relentlessly, but I know that’s nothing compared to what I’m sure will be the endearingly obnoxious I told you so look on Gram’s face when we arrive.
“Anyway,” Ben says, as if continuing a conversation that I’m pretty sure was over. “I prefer driving to taking the train. I like to be in control.”
“Yes, yes. Rich boy is too good for public transportation. Tale as old as time.”
He laughs loudly, then carefully lifts the new wheel onto the vehicle. How we even managed to get a flat tire a mere hour away from our destination is beyond me. I suppose fate just has a sense of humor and felt like reminding us of our most chaotic shared memories.
I shove my hands into the pockets of my parka and shiver, shuffling my feet on the pavement in an attempt to get some warmth back into them. It’s a bitterly cold day, even for late November in New England. It’ll definitely get below freezing tonight.
Ben notices my discomfort and frowns up at me in concern. “I’m almost done, I promise.”
“I’m fine.”
“No, I can’t have my ballerina freezing.”
I roll my eyes, but how can I possibly resist blushing at that. He used to call me a ballerina, despite the inaccuracy of the term, but now I’m his ballerina.
And he is my poet.
After the summer intensive he took part in this summer, Ben knew without a doubt that writing was his calling. He enrolled immediately in some basic poetry courses at CUNY and, if all goes well with his MFA application, he’ll be transferring to NYU in the spring. He gets all bashful about it whenever someone asks, and I can tell that means he’s truly proud of himself for the first time in his life. At last, he’s found his calling.
I suppose we’re both doing extremely well in our respective artistic endeavors. As soon as Thanksgiving is over and we return to the city, it’s officially Nutcracker season. For the first time in my career, I’ve been offered a principal role—the Sugar Plum Fairy. If it goes well, I’ll be promoted to principal dancer permanently.
“Got it!” Ben exclaims, tightening the last bolt with a satisfied grin.
He lowers the car back down and then slides the jack out. He stands to his full height and plants his hands on his hips, admiring his handiwork. I get a little weak in the knees at the sight of him, and I also can’t help giggling. He looks like the complete opposite of a car mechanic in his tailored wool trousers and Burberry peacoat.
“What are you laughing at?” he asks with a pout.
“You.”
“Because I’m so very cute and charming?”
“Something like that.”
He winks at me, then picks up his tools to place them back in the trunk. I practically leap back into his fancy Porsche, grateful to finally be out of the frigid autumnal wind. When he slides into the driver's seat and turns on the engine, I notice a streak of dirt on his cheek.
“Ben, you’ve got dirt on your face.”
He shrugs, glancing over his shoulder to check that it’s clear before he pulls back into the breakdown lane to pick up speed.
“Yes, I think I’ll keep it there to make a good impression on your family. They’ll think I’m a rugged, sturdy, dependable sort of man.”
“Darling, you’re wearing Ralph Lauren.”
He snorts. “Yeah, fair enough.”
When he reaches up to wipe it off, I bat away his hand and reach for a napkin from the glove box.
“Just focus on the road,” I tell him. “I’ll get you all cleaned up, Mr. Mechanic.”
I lean forward and carefully wipe the dirt away, then give him a soft peck on the cheek before settling back in the passenger seat.
“I think we need to pull over again,” Ben says after a moment.
“What? Why?”
“Because I really need to kiss you right now.”
I smack his arm. “Don’t you dare. I’m starving and all I can think about is Gram’s vegan baked ziti. She always makes it for lunch the day before Thanksgiving.”
“Well, I’m starving, too, and all I can think about is the taste of your lips, my sweet ballerina.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“I’m a poet. I have to be.”
I take his hand and press a kiss to his knuckles. “Will that tide you over until we get there?”
He lets out a mournful sigh. “I suppose it will have to.”
We drive on, finally reaching Cape Cod and curving up the coast toward Mermaid Shores. I can already feel the tingle of magic in the air, though we’re still about twenty miles away. My hometown calls to me like the sirens it was named for.
“Gram is looking forward to meeting you properly,” I say.
Ben smiles. “I’m looking forward to it, too. I can’t wait to show her that I’ve been carrying around the tiny raw ruby in my pocket every single day since she snuck it in there.”
My heart swells with affection—with love, I fear—for this sentimental, ridiculous man.
“Are you nervous to meet my parents?”
Ben shrugs. “A little.”
Usually, my parents only fly out for Christmas but, as soon as they learned that I was bringing Ben to Gram’s for Thanksgiving, they booked a last minute flight. They are, as my mom said, very eager to meet him. I just know they’re so shocked at the reality that I’m actually dating someone that they had to come and see it for themselves.
“They’ll like you. They like everyone. They’re very nice, easygoing people.”
He nods thoughtfully.
I haven’t met Ben’s father yet, but I did meet his older sister Rebecca over lunch last month. She was nice, if not a bit brisk and businesslike. It’s what I expected from one of his siblings, given all he’s told me about them, so I considered it a success. Ben’s brothers and father will be attending one of the performances of the Nutcracker in the Hawthorne’s reserved box at some point in December, so I suppose I’ll meet them then.
And Ben has already met Amy and her now fiancé Liam, who came to the city for a weekend back in August. Ben and Liam really hit it off and Amy made a completely unhinged comment to me about how that was a good thing, since they might be related someday.
“Brothers in law? Is that what they’d be? If you’ll be Liam’s sister in law, and Ben will be your…”
I told her to stop getting ahead of herself and have been trying very hard not to think too much about it since then. Ben and I are still technically in the early days of our relationship, even if we have been dancing around each other since that first time we met at the Strand. Never mind that I’m falling harder for him every single day.
“This is it, right?” Ben asks as we pull up in front of a white house with yellow shutters surrounded by a bright purple gate cluttered with charms.
“It certainly is.”
He pulls into the driveway right behind a rental car that must belong to my parents. Amy and Liam probably walked here since they live so close, so we’re the last to arrive.
I don’t miss the way that Ben takes a deep breath before we walk up the path to the front door. This is a different sort of thing for him, he told me a few weeks ago when I asked him if he wanted to come with me. It’s not that his family is unhappy, but they also never had the sort of wholesome get-togethers during the holidays that the average happy family enjoys. Once he opened up to me about that, I knew there was absolutely no way I was letting him stay behind in the city.
I murmur something to him about how we can collect our bags from the car later, then lace my fingers with his and pull him toward the door.
Gram, who was probably already told of our arrival by the wind before we even turned onto the street, throws open the screen door of her porch and grins at us. She’s in her usual draping layers of fabric, but this time with a thick shawl wrapped around her shoulders to protect her from the November chill.
“Welcome back to Mermaid Shores, Mr. Hawthorne,” she says to Ben, her wise, dark eyes twinkling with humor.
“Thank you, Miss Maisie.”
“Is that Ruby?” I hear my sister call out from inside the house behind Gram.
I see a flash of my twin’s blonde hair, followed by the ever-so-slightly darker golden hair that flows from our mother’s head.
Gram steps aside to let us in. I squeeze Ben’s hand and coax him over the threshold.
What follows is a whirlwind of colors and smiles and laughter. My mother’s hands affectionately pat Ben’s cheeks, which are rosy from the cold. My father shakes his hand, a faux look of sternness on his face that quickly melts into a warm grin. Liam claps him on the shoulder and gives him a wink that almost seems to say welcome to the family.
Amy, an accidental streak of purple paint in her hair, loops her arm through mine and pulls me into the kitchen. The amethyst ring on her finger, just like the ruby ring on mine and the emerald one on our mother’s, twinkles under the lights. However, it’s nothing like the glittering diamond on her left hand, nestled in an artful arrangement of tiny aquamarines that match her eyes. Honestly, Liam did an incredible job with choosing the engagement ring.
“You two look really great together,” Amy murmurs to me.
“Do we?”
She giggles. “You know you do. The glamorous couple from the city, floating in here all graceful and pretty.”
“Oh, please.”
Gram drifts into the kitchen after us, jingling with all the bracelets on her wrists. She’s humming to herself, hushing us all toward the table without a word. I tug Ben down to the chair beside mine and stifle a laugh when my mom claims the seat on the other side of him. She’s peppering him with questions about his classes and his poetry, and he’s blushing in a way that makes me want to drag him away to another room just to steal a kiss or two.
He takes my hand under the table as he speaks, either for support or simply because he’s formed a habit of holding on to me whenever he can. I’m glad for it. So glad that I don’t even pause to think about all the things I need to do, all the preparation and rehearsals waiting for me back in New York as we dangle on the cusp of the holiday performance season. I don’t think about any of it.
For the first time in a long time, I am truly present.
Ben rubs the pad of his thumb across my skin under the table.
I love him. I do. I know it. Sitting with him here, surrounded by my family, laughing about some silly, harmless gossip that Amy heard in passing at the Siren Sword… it’s all so perfectly ordinary and wonderfully perfect. It feels like something has clicked into place, corny as that may sound. But, it’s true. Ben belongs here. This moment was written in the stars. Absolutely, impossibly… meant to be.
And, against all odds, I love him.
The conversation keeps flowing, everyone battling over second helpings of the beloved baked ziti, and Ben pauses to smile at me. Somehow, from the look in his eyes, I know that he loves me, too. We don’t need to say it. We will eventually, of course, but for right now, it’s like we’re floating in this blissful, unspoken knowledge that we are in love and everything is beautiful.
Thus, we will go on, beautiful in love and endlessly happy. I don’t need the wind whispering in my ear to know that’s true.
The End