Epilogue Josie
The oven timer went off and I grabbed the mitts, pulling the door open to check the bird. Heat rolled out across my face and I stepped back, fanning myself with one hand. Golden skin, nearly done. I basted it one more time and slid it back in, resetting the timer for another twenty minutes.
Behind me the television was on, some speech from the new mayor about infrastructure and housing starts. I wasn't really listening. The potatoes needed mashing and the green beans were still sitting in the colander, waiting.
The elevator chimed.
I wiped my hands on the towel and turned as the doors slid open.
Rosa came through first, carrying a covered dish that smelled like her grandmother's stuffing, and Omar followed with a bottle of wine in each hand.
Gideon was last, jacket off, tie loosened, looking more relaxed than I'd seen him in months.
"Josie." Rosa kissed both my cheeks and pressed the dish into my hands. "Where do you want this?"
"Counter's fine," I said, setting it down next to the stove. "Thank you."
Omar held up the bottles. "Red okay? I wasn't sure what you were making."
"Red's perfect." I took them from him and set them on the bar. "Vince is around here somewhere. Probably changing a diaper."
Rosa laughed and shook her head. "A year ago I wouldn't have believed it."
I wouldn't have either, but I didn't say that. I just smiled and went back to the beans.
On the screen the mayor was still talking, gesturing at a rendering of some new development on the south end. Gideon glanced at it, then reached for one of the wine bottles and started working the cork free.
Rosa leaned against the counter, watching the mayor with her arms crossed. "All that building," she said. "Gideon, how's that going for you? I thought Vince had something in the works with the old administration."
Gideon poured three glasses, calm as anything. "The permits never came back," he said. "The firm's smaller than it was. We're starting again at the bottom of the list."
I looked past him, through the doorway to the living room.
Vince was standing by the window with our daughter in his arms, one hand supporting her head, the other holding her against his chest. He was looking out at the city, and if he'd heard what Gideon said he didn't show it.
His shoulders were easy. His jaw wasn't tight.
He didn't mind.
Rosa made a sympathetic noise and reached for her wine. "Well," she said. "There's always next year."
"There is," Gideon agreed, and that was the end of it.
I turned back to the beans, my throat tight for reasons I didn't want to name.
A year ago Vince would have been across the room working his phone, lining up the next deal before the old one was cold.
Now he was standing there with our baby, talking to her in a low voice I could just barely hear, telling her about the light on the river and the bridges and the buildings he used to think mattered more than anything.
God, I loved him.
Not the man I married. Not the one who forgot my birthday three years running or left for Hong Kong without saying goodbye.
The man who came back. The one who walked into Mercer's on a Saturday morning and asked what I needed.
The one who sat on the floor of my studio while I worked and asked about what I was making and listened to every word.
He turned, catching my eye, and smiled. Our daughter made a small complaining sound and he looked down at her, still smiling, shifting her higher on his shoulder.
"I know," he was saying. "I know, I'm boring you.
Let's go see what your mother's doing, huh?
Let's go see if she'll let us taste anything. "
He walked into the kitchen and the whole room felt warmer. I could smell the soap he used, the faint cedar from his closet, and underneath that just him. My pulse kicked up. Ridiculous. We'd been married ten years and he could still do that to me just by standing too close.
"Josie's making everything," he told the baby, his voice soft and serious like he was narrating a documentary. "The turkey, see? And the potatoes. And those are green beans. Your grandmother used to make them with almonds on top but your mother does it different, with lemon."
I flushed, stupidly pleased that he'd noticed. "She can't even understand you," I said.
"She will eventually." He kissed the baby's head, then looked at me over her downy hair, his eyes warm. "Smells amazing."
"Twenty minutes," I said, and my voice came out softer than I meant it to.
Rosa was watching us with a little smile, the kind that said she saw exactly what was happening and wasn't going to comment.
Omar had found his way to the couch and was helping himself to the crackers I'd set out earlier.
Gideon poured two more glasses of wine and handed one to Vince, who took it one-handed, still cradling our daughter like she was made of something precious.
"All right," I said, pulling myself together. "Somebody set the table before I drop something."
We sat down twenty minutes later, all of us, the baby asleep in her basket by the window.
The turkey was perfect, the skin crisp and golden, and I felt the same warm glow in my chest I used to feel at my father's table when everyone was there and the food was good and nobody was fighting.
Rosa told a story about a supplier who'd tried to sell her Chilean sea bass that was obviously tilapia.
Omar argued with Gideon about a ballot measure I didn't understand.
Vince refilled my wine and his knee pressed against mine under the table, steady and warm, and I thought, This is it. This is what I wanted.
Not the penthouse. Not the view or the marble or the elevator that required a key. Just this. People I cared about, around a table I set, in a place that felt like home because he was in it.
The baby fussed and Vince got up without a word, lifting her out of the basket and walking her around the room, bouncing her gently against his shoulder. I watched him and felt something settle in my chest, something that had been knotted up for years.
I wasn't waiting anymore. I wasn't watching for the moment it all went back to how it was. He'd come home, really home, and I believed him now.
Rosa caught my eye and raised her glass slightly, a silent toast. I raised mine back.
By the time everyone left it was late and I was exhausted. I kicked my shoes off by the door and started gathering plates, but Vince caught my wrist and pulled me back against him.
"Leave it," he said, his mouth against my ear.
I shivered. "It'll be worse in the morning."
"I don't care." He turned me around and kissed me, slow and deliberate, his hands sliding down to my hips. Heat flared low in my belly and I forgot about the plates.
We made it to the bedroom, barely. He pulled my dress over my head and I yanked at his belt, laughing breathlessly when it stuck, and then we were on the bed and his weight was on me and I stopped thinking about anything except the way his hands felt on my skin, the way he said my name like a promise he intended to keep.
Afterwards I lay against his chest, sweaty and sated, my fingers tracing the scar on his side where the knife had gone in last year. His heart was still pounding under my palm. He caught my hand and pressed it flat against his ribs, holding it there.
"I love you," he said, quiet and sure.
My throat went tight. I turned my face into his shoulder, breathing him in. "I love you too."
He kissed my hair, then my temple, then found my mouth and kissed me again, softer this time. I curled into him and felt his arms come around me, solid and warm, and thought I could stay exactly here for the rest of my life.
Then the baby cried.
Vince groaned, but he was already moving, sitting up and reaching for his pants. I caught his hand and he looked back at me, his hair sticking up, his mouth still swollen from mine.
"Go," I said, smiling.
He leaned down and kissed me, tender and unhurried, then got up and crossed to the crib. I watched him lift her out, watched the way he held her against his bare chest and murmured to her, his voice low and gentle. "Hey, sweetheart. Hey, I've got you. I know. I know."
The lamp from the hallway spilled gold across his shoulders. He swayed slightly, rocking her, and she quieted in his arms.
I closed my eyes, still smiling, and let myself fall asleep to the sound of him singing something soft and off-key that I didn't recognize.
THE END