Epilogue
BEN - ONE YEAR LATER
The Puerto Rican beach stretches endlessly in both directions, white sand meeting turquoise water under a sky so blue it looks like something out of a postcard.
I’m lying on a blanket next to my wife, my actual wife, not my fake fiancée or best friend, watching her paint watercolor sketches of the ocean while I hold a book I haven’t opened in an hour.
A year ago, the idea of taking two weeks off work would have given me physical anxiety. The thought of being unreachable, of deals progressing without my input, of the company running without my constant oversight, would have been enough to trigger a panic attack.
Now, I can’t remember the last time I checked my email.
“You’re staring at me again,” Freya says without looking up from her sketchpad, her voice warm with amusement.
“Can you blame me? My wife is beautiful and talented, and she’s wearing that bikini I bought her in St. Thomas last month.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere, Mr. Lawlor.”
“I certainly hope so.”
She sets down her brush and turns to smile at me, and my heart still does that ridiculous skip it’s been doing for the past year.
Even after twelve months of marriage, of waking up next to her every morning and falling asleep with her in my arms every night, I sometimes can’t believe this is my life.
“How’s the painting coming?” I ask, scooting closer to see her work.
“Good. The light here is incredible. Look at the way it plays on the water.” She shows me the sketch: loose, impressionistic strokes that somehow capture the movement and vitality of the ocean better than any photograph could.
“It’s perfect. You should do a whole series of these when we get home.”
“Maybe I will. I’ve been thinking about exploring travel as a theme for my next exhibition.”
The ease with which she talks about her next exhibition fills me with pride.
This time last year, Freya was struggling to get gallery owners to even look at her work.
Now, after the success of her show at The Jetson and the attention that followed, she has galleries competing for the chance to represent her.
The painting that launched everything, the one she created during that awful period when we were both lying to ourselves about our feelings, ended up being acquired by the Art Institute of Chicago.
When we went to see it hanging in the museum, Freya cried.
I almost cried too, thinking about how that piece came from such a dark moment in both our lives, and how far we’ve traveled since then.
“Speaking of travel,” I say, pulling her closer so she’s nestled against my side, “where should we go for our next adventure? We’ve done Japan, Italy, Greece…”
“Mm, somewhere with great food and amazing art. Maybe Morocco? Or we could finally do that African safari you mentioned.”
Over the past year, we’ve traveled more than I did in the previous decade combined.
The Japanese honeymoon we originally planned as part of our business arrangement turned into three magical weeks exploring Tokyo, Kyoto, and Osaka together.
Since then, we’ve managed to take at least one international trip every quarter, along with countless weekend getaways around the United States.
Learning to delegate, to trust my team, to believe that SkyNova can function without my micromanagement has been one of the most difficult and rewarding challenges of my adult life.
Anthony deserves most of the credit. He’s basically been running my calendar and managing my priorities to ensure I take the time off I promise Freya.
“The wind farm projects are practically running themselves at this point,” I say, thinking out loud. “Red’s been amazing to work with, and the Texas operation has exceeded every projection. We could probably manage a month away if we wanted to.”
“A month?” Freya raises an eyebrow. “Who are you, and what have you done with my workaholic husband?”
“Your husband learned that there are more important things than quarterly earnings reports.”
“Such as?”
“Such as watching you discover that you enjoy snorkeling in Greece. Such as getting lost in back alleys in Tokyo because we were too proud to ask for directions. Such as lying on a beach in Puerto Rico with the woman I adore, talking about our next adventure.”
Freya smiles and leans up to kiss me, soft and sweet and tasting like the tropical fruit we shared for lunch. “I cherish our life,” she says simply.
“So do I.”
And I mean it completely. The past year has been the happiest of my life, full of discoveries both big and small.
I’ve learned that Freya sings in the shower, that she’s terrible at parallel parking but excellent at negotiating with street vendors in foreign markets.
I’ve learned that she steals the covers but always apologizes in her sleep, that she cries at commercials with dogs, that she makes the world’s best scrambled eggs.
I’ve learned that caring for someone doesn’t make you weak or distracted. It makes you stronger, more focused on what actually matters.
The Red Dawson deal turned out to be everything I hoped it would be, and more.
The Texas wind farms are generating clean energy and healthy profits, and the partnership has opened doors to projects across the Southwest. But the real success of this past year hasn’t been professional. It’s been personal.
“I have something for you,” I say, reaching into the picnic basket for the small, wrapped box I’ve been hiding since this morning.
“Ben, it’s our anniversary, not my birthday. We agreed no gifts.”
“We agreed no expensive gifts. This cost maybe twenty dollars.”
Freya unwraps the box to reveal a simple silver bracelet with a small charm in the shape of an airplane.
“For all our journeys,” I explain as she examines it. “And all the ones still to come.”
“It’s perfect.” She holds out her wrist so I can fasten it for her. “I adore it. I adore you.”
“I adore you, too. More than I ever thought possible.”
We sit in comfortable silence for a while, watching the waves roll in and listening to the sound of children playing further down the beach.
A family with two small kids has set up camp nearby, and I find myself watching them with interest rather than the mild annoyance I would have felt a year ago.
The father is helping his daughter build an elaborate sandcastle while the mother chases their toddler son away from the water’s edge. They look exhausted but happy, the kind of controlled chaos that comes with small children and family vacations.
“They look like they’re having fun,” Freya observes, following my gaze.
“They do. Tiring, but fun.”
“Do you ever think about that? Having kids?”
The question catches me off guard, though it shouldn’t. We’ve been married for a year, we’re both in our thirties, and we’ve built a life stable enough to support a family. Of course the topic would come up eventually.
“I think about it more and more lately,” I admit. “Especially watching families like that one. Do you?”
“All the time.” Freya fidgets with her new bracelet, not quite meeting my eyes. “Actually, Ben, there’s something I need to tell you.”
Something in her tone makes me sit up straighter. “What is it?”
“I’ve been trying to figure out how to bring this up all week. I didn’t want to spring it on you, but I also didn’t want to wait until we got home because I’m terrible at keeping secrets from you.”
My mind immediately jumps to worst-case scenarios. Is she sick? Is there a problem with her career? Did something happen that she’s been afraid to tell me?
“Freya, you’re scaring me. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.” She finally looks at me, and I can see tears starting to form in her eyes. “Everything’s perfect, actually. It’s just… well, it looks like we’re going to have our first travel companion a little sooner than we planned.”
It takes my brain a moment to process what she’s saying. “Travel companion?”
“Ben.” She takes my hand and places it on her stomach. “I’m pregnant.”
The words hit me like a physical force. Pregnant. Freya is pregnant. We’re going to have a baby.
“Are you serious?” I manage to ask.
“Completely serious. I took three tests to be sure, and then I called my doctor when we got here. She confirmed it yesterday when I went into town for supplies.”
“Yesterday? You’ve known since yesterday and didn’t tell me?”
“I wanted to find the perfect moment. Our anniversary seemed right.”
I stare at her for a long moment, trying to process this news that changes everything and nothing all at once. We’re going to be parents. I’m going to be a father.
The thought terrifies and thrills me in equal measure.
“How far along?” I ask.
“About eight weeks. Due date is sometime in early February.”
“February.” I do quick mental math. “So you got pregnant…”
“Right around the time we got back from Italy. Apparently, all that gelato and romantic dinners were very conducive to baby-making.”
I laugh, a sound that’s part joy and part hysteria. “We’re having a baby.”
“We’re having a baby.”
“Hot damn, we’re having a baby.”
“Ben Lawlor, language! What kind of example are you going to set for our child?”
But she’s laughing as she says it, and suddenly I’m laughing too, both of us giddy with the magnitude of what this means.
I pull her into my arms, careful not to squeeze too tightly, and kiss her forehead, her cheeks, her lips.
“I can’t believe it,” I say against her hair. “I can’t believe we’re going to be parents.”
“Are you happy? I know we haven’t really talked about timing, and our lives are pretty settled right now.”
“Happy?” I pull back to look at her. “Freya, I’m ecstatic. I’m terrified and overwhelmed and completely unprepared, but I’m so elated I can barely think straight.”
“Really?”
“Really. I can’t wait to meet our baby. I can’t wait to see you be a mother. I can’t wait to teach them about renewable energy and watch you teach them about art and take them on adventures all over the world.”
We sit there on our anniversary beach, holding each other and talking about the future that just got infinitely more interesting.
We talk about nursery colors and stroller systems and whether we want to find out the gender or be surprised.
We talk about names and schools and how we’re going to tell our families.
“Your parents are going to lose their minds,” Freya says. “In the best way.”
“Your parents are going to start knitting immediately. Your mother will have seventeen blankets finished before the baby’s even born.”
“Bella’s going to want to throw me the world’s most elaborate baby shower.”
“Let her. She’ll enjoy having an excuse to plan a party.”
As the sun starts to set over the Caribbean, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink that Freya will probably try to capture in watercolor tomorrow, I realize that this moment, sitting on a beach in Puerto Rico with my wife, talking about our unborn child, represents everything I never knew I wanted.
A year ago, I thought success meant building the biggest company, closing the most deals, and accumulating the most wealth. I thought romance was a luxury I couldn’t afford, a distraction from the serious business of achievement.
I was wrong about everything.
Success is this: a life built with someone you cherish, adventures shared and memories made, the promise of a future that’s uncertain but faced together. Success is learning that there are things more important than quarterly reports and stock prices and industry rankings.
Success is knowing that the best investment I ever made wasn’t in renewable energy or real estate or technology.
It was in caring for Freya Hull, even when I was too scared to admit it to myself.
“I love you,” I tell her as the first stars begin to appear in the darkening sky.
“I love you, too. All of you. Forever.”
“Forever,” I agree, and I’m pleased knowing that forever doesn’t feel like a commitment that’s too big to handle.
It feels like the greatest adventure we’ve ever embarked on.
And we’re just getting started.
I hope you’ve enjoyed Freya and Ben’s story!