Epilogue
six months later
Garrett
“No, that box is for the bedroom.”
I suppress a smile as Rory grabs the little plastic zip container that holds her allergy eye drops, lip balm, and snail mucus under eye patches, all from her bedside table, and shoves that into a box marked Bathroom.
Packing brings out her bossiest tendencies. It’s cute and exasperating at the same time.
“Those live on your bedside table.”
“But they’re toiletries. They only live on a bedside table in a completely put together bedroom. They shouldn’t be unpacked in the bedroom.” Sure in her logic, she adds two more bundles of things from the bathroom on top, and then seals up the box. “Okay, that’s good to go.”
“When your eyes are scratchy and we haven’t unpacked the bathroom stuff yet—”
“I have a spare set of drops in my backpack.”
I’m about to argue further, because it’s fun to rile her up, but her pager goes off.
Today is technically a day off, for us to pack up the last of our belongings before her final shifts at the hospital.
Wincing, she grabs the pager and reads the screen.
When we left Pine Harbour the day after Boxing Day, we spent the whole road trip back to Ottawa talking about our lives together, our future, and how we would survive the last six months of her residency training.
Because Rory becoming a fully-trained doctor is a goal worth making some sacrifices for, but we lost each other once and we didn’t want to risk that again.
The partridge timer became an integral part of our “hang in there” plan.
Once a week, on a day Rory isn’t on call, we give each other a guaranteed-uninterrupted ninety minutes. At first, we used it to talk. Some weeks we used it for sex. And then we started to use it for…doing things. Playing cards. Going for a walk.
And for six months, not a week has gone by that Rory hasn’t made those timer dates a priority.
Until, maybe, today.
Because today is the day of the week we were going to do that—after we finished packing.
But last night, a twin mom who Rory has been following in and out of antenatal over the last six weeks went into labour.
“Go,” I say, even before she has to explain what she’s reading on the screen.
“I might only be an hour or two,” she promises.
I know better.
And this time, it’s all right. More than all right. “As much as I want to bicker about packing all day, I can handle this myself. Go. Be with your patient.”
“We weren’t bickering.”
“As soon as you’re gone, I’m opening up that box and putting the shit you keep on your bedside table in the Bedroom box.”
Her mouth drops open, then snaps shut.
I take her chin in my hand and lift her face. “Do you want to get ice cream tonight?”
Her expression softens. “One last gelato in Little Italy before I drag you back to Pine Harbour?”
“Exactly.” I rub my thumb against her bottom lip, enjoying the way she holds still for me, how her mouth drags open and her expression goes soft. “Roar, don’t feel badly about going to the hospital today.”
“I don’t,” she whispers, but her voice hitches.
She does.
And she wants to go anyway.
“There’s never enough time, but we always make time. And we have.”
“But we need to pack.”
“I want you to imagine for a second that I’m capable of completing the packing job that I’ve already done ninety percent of.”
Her eyes narrow. “I’ve helped as much as I can.”
“Sure. Yes. I know.”
“Garrett!”
“Go to work.”
“We’re going to argue about this later,” she snaps.
I grin. “I’m counting on it.”
“I’m sorry I’m late, I’m sorry—”
I catch Rory as she comes flying into the condo. She’s still in scrub pants and a t-shirt that says Show Me Your Uterus. “It’s okay.”
She huffs out a breath and a curl that came loose from her double French braid bounces against her forehead. “Give me fifteen minutes to shower and change.”
“No rush. The ninety minutes doesn’t start until we’re both ready.”
She brushes a kiss against my mouth and then runs to the shower. The water cranks on, then off. When she sprints out of the bathroom barely wrapped in a towel, water droplets still clinging to her, I follow her to the bedroom.
Suddenly I’m less interested in ice cream and more interested in chasing those droplets with my tongue.
“Don’t,” she warns as she briskly dries herself off, making everything jiggle.
“Why not?” I waggle my eyebrows at her.
“We’re running out of time to appreciate our neighbourhood.”
I tip my head back and laugh. I don’t bother pointing out that she walks through Little Italy every day, going to and from the hospital. What she’s really saying is, we need to take one of our precious blocked-out date moments and focus on the good that we had here.
Something specific to remember and hold in our hearts.
So licking my way between her tits and down her belly will have to wait until after we get gelato.
Fine.
I lean against the doorway and cross my arms. “All right. But slow down, let me appreciate you getting dressed first.”
She rolls her eyes, but then takes her time stretching her arms high over her head, making her tits bounce, as she slides her arms into a t-shirt.
By the time she’s zipping up her jeans, I’m half hard and completely dialled in.
“Ready to go?”
“Mmhmm.” She picks up the partridge timer. “Never too late, right?”
“Never.”
She turns it to the full hour and a half. “And…start.”
Hand in hand, we stroll the few blocks to the gelato shop. Her fingers feel so good woven through mine. Strong little fingers. Sure little fingers. Hands that are so steady when she’s doing surgery, and so soft when she’s welcoming a baby into the world.
And personally, so very clever when she touches me.
I rub my thumb against her skin, and she looks up at me. “How are you feeling about being done at the garage?”
I shrug. I liked some of the guys I worked with, but people come and go. This week it was my turn to go. “I’m mostly excited to get the rest of the move done.”
On my days off this month, I’ve been driving back and forth to Pine Harbour on my own.
First it was to find us a rental house. Then I took a load of boxes to the farm.
Then I got the keys to the house, and dropped off the couch Rory bought when we were broken up.
The couch we hooked up on the first time and that I’ll cherish forever.
That most recent trip, Rory’s mom talked her way into getting a spare set of keys so she could clean our rental house top to bottom.
“Hey, remind me to get that key back from my mom,” Rory says, reading my mind.
I chuckle. “I was just thinking that. If we aren’t careful, she’s going to use that key to let herself in one day and hear something she won’t want to hear.”
Rory snickers. “Maybe that would be a good lesson for her to learn.”
I give her a stricken look.
“No,” she says solemnly. “Of course not.”
“It’s bad enough that she’s held the eggplant version of my dick.”
Rory giggles.
“Okay, let’s focus. What kind of gelato do you want?”
“Pistachio,” she says immediately. “You?”
“Chocolate.”
She smiles happily.
After we get our treats, we move away from the noise of the street, heading down the side street until we find a bench.
“Do you want to try some of the pistachio?” Rory scoops a little of her gelato on her spoon and holds it out for me.
“Yep.”
She tries my chocolate next, and then we sit quietly and finish our scoops. I finish faster than her, so I just watch her eat.
Around us, the city hums with a quiet vibrancy.
I’m going to miss this a bit. Not enough to think we’ll move back, but even with the ups and downs, Ottawa has been really good to us.
After six gruelling—and yes, sometimes miserable—months finishing her residency, it feels like a gift to have this final moment together in the city where we became adults.
Where I joined the army and became a mechanic.
Where Rory charged through her degrees and training with breathtaking ease—from the outside—and became a doctor, and a surgeon.
And then, over the last six months, she bloomed into an even brighter, stronger version of herself.
She scrapes the last bit of gelato out of her paper cup, then tips her head to the side. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Have I told you that I really love who you’ve become?”
Her face softens even further, impossibly tender, as she smiles up at me. “Yes. But you can tell me again.”
“I do. You are amazing.”
Her eyes crinkle with delight. “I love you, too. And I’m excited for what comes next for us, you know? We’re going to do that together.”
“Absolutely.” I slant my mouth against hers. “Forever together.”
Rory
Two days later, we mount up for a final road trip to Pine Harbour.
Garrett drives his truck, with our bed frame in the back, the last thing to leave our condo.
I drive my brand-new SUV, a graduation present from Garrett.
It’s a more rugged vehicle that’s perfect for stuffing full of boxes for this move, and will be equally perfect for winters on the peninsula.
Way better than the hatchback I bought last year.
He fixed that up and we sold it this spring.
We stop twice for coffee, but otherwise it’s just a hard press to get home.
When we arrive late in the afternoon, there’s a welcome party.
“This is too many people,” I say to Garrett under my breath.
Not quiet enough for my mother not to hear.
“Many hands make light work,” she says pointedly. “Don’t be afraid of help.”
Mom still hasn’t gotten over me not telling her about the breakup. Luckily, her being hurt and me being annoyed hasn’t stopped either of us from being excited that we’re finally home.
Now, I throw my arms around her neck and buss a kiss on her cheek. “I love your help, Mom.”
Jules sails past with a box from the car.
“Is that the one marked Christmas?” I call out. “That can go in the spare room.”
She shakes her head. “No, it’s Bedroom!”