Epilogue
Philip
By forty-three, birthdays are supposed to become smaller.
A cake. A few cards. Perhaps an increasingly unwelcome reminder that one’s knees now make administrative noises when standing up.
Not this.
The moment Mark opens the front door to the beach house, sound rolls out to meet me.
Children shouting somewhere near the patio doors.
Sophie laughing in the kitchen.
I stop just inside the hallway.
Mark, who has taken my overnight bag with suspicious efficiency, moves past me looking entirely too pleased with himself.
Then Sophie appears around the kitchen doorway and grins.
“Oh, this is excellent. He had absolutely no idea.”
I look from her to the living room.
Mark’s parents on the sofa. His father deep in conversation with Luke.
Mark's brothers outside with their wives and children moving between the beach and the house.
Callum by the barbecue with Finley.
A full house.
A full, noisy, sunlit house.
I turn slowly towards Mark.
“You did this on purpose.”
He shrugs.
“It’s your birthday.”
“That is not an explanation.”
Noah crashes into my legs before I can say anything else.
“Uncle Philip, there are presents.”
Jamie appears behind him.
“And two cakes.”
“Why two?”
Jamie points solemnly towards Noah.
“He sat on one.”
Noah looks offended.
“It was an accident.”
I hold back a laugh and I lock eyes with Mark.
He is smiling.
Watching me with that warm, infuriatingly fond expression he has worn more and more over the last few months.
I love this man.
Eventually, I let Noah drag me into the kitchen.
The afternoon blurs in the way good afternoons do.
People move in and out of rooms.
Children in and out of arguments.
Someone is always asking where the ketchup is.
Sophie takes photographs nobody agreed to.
Luke spends twenty minutes trying to explain publishing advances to Mark’s father and failing on every level.
Mark’s mother keeps feeding me.
Every time I put down an empty plate, another one appears.
At one point I find myself standing barefoot by the patio doors with a paper plate in one hand, Mark beside me, three children running through the garden, and Heath asleep upstairs away from the noise, and I have the sudden strange sensation that this all feels… ordinary.
Not in the boring sense.
In the impossible sense.
As if this level of belonging should still surprise me more than it does.
Mark’s hand brushes the base of my spine as he passes behind me.
A tiny touch.
Automatic.
Thoughtless.
Mine.
I search his face.
He glances back, catches me staring, and smiles.
There it is again.
That quiet, dangerous pull in the centre of my chest.
The one that still feels new and permanent at the same time.
Later, while most of the family is outside and Luke is loudly losing a game he claims he never agreed to play, I carry a stack of glasses into the kitchen.
Mark appears beside me.
“Come upstairs.”
I glance over my shoulder towards the patio.
“Why?”
“I want to give you your present.”
I snort softly.
“You are aware sex does not count as a gift.”
His mouth twitches.
“Noted.”
He takes the glasses from my hands and sets them down.
Then he nods towards the stairs.
“Come on.”
There is something in his voice that makes me follow without another comment.
The noise downstairs dulls with every step.
At the bedroom door, Mark lets me walk in first.
The room is cooler than below, curtains moving gently in the sea breeze.
On top of the chest of drawers, Heath is curled in his beanie, entirely uninterested in human birthdays.
Mark closes the door.
I turn.
“Well?”
He doesn’t answer immediately.
Just looks at me.
Too serious.
My stomach tightens.
“Mark?”
He crosses to the bedside table and opens the drawer.
When he turns back, there is a small dark box in his hand.
I stare.
“Oh, fuck off.”
A quiet laugh leaves him.
I do not join in.
Because suddenly I can hear my own heartbeat.
Downstairs someone yells for more lemonade.
A child shrieks.
The whole world carries on perfectly normally while mine appears to have tilted.
Mark steps in front of me and takes my left hand.
His thumb moves once across my knuckles.
“I was going to wait longer,” he says.
I blink. “What?”
He huffs a small breath.
“I thought I should be sensible about it. Give it time. Not terrify you.”
“That was considerate.”
“Yes, well.” His mouth shifts. “Turns out I’m not very patient when I know what I want.”
My throat tightens.
He looks down briefly at our joined hands, then back at me.
“When you first came back, I kept thinking it still felt temporary,” he says quietly. “Like at some point you’d pick up a bag and leave again.”
I swallow.
Mark’s fingers squeeze mine.
“But then you didn’t.”
The room feels very still.
His voice stays low.
“You were there in the mornings.”
My heart is racing.
“In the kitchen.”
My stomach flips.
“On the sofa.”
He smiles slightly.
“Arguing with Heath like he understands what is right and what is wrong.”
My eyes sting.
Because I know exactly what he means.
Not the big moments.
Not Whitstable.
Not reunions.
The Tuesday mornings. The takeaway menus. The laundry on radiators. The ordinary.
Mark lifts the box.
Opens it.
A simple silver ring catches the light.
No fuss.
No spectacle.
Just solid and sure.
“I don’t need anything dramatic,” he says. “I just know I want to enjoy all life throws at us with you by my side.”
I genuinely cannot speak.
My throat has closed entirely.
He draws in a breath.
And for the first time since this started, I see nerves in him too.
Small.
But there.
“So,” he says, voice rougher now, “will you marry me?”
For one second I just stare at him.
At the ring.
At the bald, tattooed man standing in front of me looking steadier than I know he feels.
Then I step forward.
Cup his face.
“Yes,” I whisper.
His breath leaves him in a rush.
“Yes?”
I laugh through the tears threatening behind my eyes.
“Yes.”
He kisses me.
Softly at first.
Then with all the relief of a man who has apparently been worried I could possibly say no.
When he pulls back, he slides the ring onto my finger.
It fits.
I look down at it.
Then back at him.
And for a second all I can do is stand there and feel the sheer impossible weight of happiness pressing against my ribs.
Downstairs Sophie bellows, “If anyone is naked up there, I’m getting the hosepipe.”
I let out a wet laugh against Mark’s mouth.
He smiles.
“Should we go and have some cake?”
I shake my head, still holding onto him.
“Give me one more minute.”
So he does.
He stands there with his arms around me, sea breeze moving the curtains, Heath asleep behind us, family noise rising from downstairs, and lets me have one full minute to feel what it is like when a life finally fits.