EPILOGUE
HARLAN
“Test,” Emma said into the microphone clipped to her shirt.
“Sounds great. I don’t have to ask you two to sit closer this time,” the marketing director joked.
“Do you want her on my lap?” I asked.
“Harlan,” she warned.
“Alright, whenever you two are ready, tell the rest of the story. The part you weren’t telling us before.”
“In fairness, it was all still happening the last time you interviewed us. I would have gladly told you everything.” I found Emma’s hand and squeezed. “Ready? You wanna start?”
“Okay, it all started on this cold January morning. I was avoiding him in my favorite coffee shop because I just didn’t feel like dealing with him.”
I scoffed. “You never told me that part!”
“What? You annoyed me all the time! I just wanted a moment of peace before work!”
“Do I still annoy you?” I acted affronted.
“You’re doing it right now!”
“Do you hear this cruelty?” I asked the marketing director.
She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, and I hugged her, kissing her cheek over and over. “You’re a monster. Can I tell the story already?”
“Yes, princess.”
Emma’s cheeks went red and she shot me a glare that was only half-serious. “Okay, so Royce was zigzagging all over the sidewalk and talking on the phone. I was just trying to stay far enough behind him that it wasn’t obvious I was snooping.”
I shook my head. “I knew it. The truth comes out now.”
She sighed. “Anyway, he stepped out into the street and he wasn’t paying attention to where he was going. I saw the bus coming his way and yelled for him. He didn’t hear me, so I ran after him.”
“I heard her a split second before she tackled me,” I said, turning more serious. “I was all disoriented. I felt stupid. I worried that I hurt you.”
She nodded and put her hand over top of mine on her knee. “You did, but we were okay.”
“And I just felt so touched that you stuck your neck out like that for me,” I said.
Emma’s jaw twitched, a sign she was trying not to cry.
She sniffled and went on. “I got really sad when I thought about something happening to you. You wouldn’t be around to bother me anymore, and the way you bothered me,” I sniffled, “I think that was the first way you showed you cared about me. When you bothered me, I knew you saw me.”
My eyes misted listening to her. “I saw you. I still see you.” I put my arm around her and kissed her temple when she leaned into me.
“So, what happened right after the accident?” the interviewer asked.
“Well, I thought she was going to kiss me right there, in the street,” I said.
“I was going to kiss you? You were going to kiss me!” she objected.
“You had those gooey eyes! And it was all snowy and romantic.”
“You gooey-eyed me first. You started it,” she insisted.
“But I finished it too,” I said with a grin. “I realized all the things I hadn’t gotten out of life, and one of them was learning to be a chef, or at least to cook better for my friends.”
“So, one day he shows up in my cooking class at the culinary school, then demanded I give him private lessons.”
Flashes of that time played in my head. Emma’s first time riding my bike.
Getting to admire her beautiful body in the hot tub.
Admitting she made me mad when she didn’t kiss me.
Our “secret for now” pact. The moment Liam didn’t hate me anymore.
The way Emma accidentally told me she loved me and immediately took it back.
“Yep,” I said. “And then she wouldn’t leave me alone.”
Emma’s jaw dropped. “That is so not how it went. I showed up to our lessons, and then you came to my house to drop off my knives. That was when everything changed.”
“What changed?” the marketing director asked.
My cheeks felt hot. “Her son answered the door and I thought he was her boyfriend. He was older, mind you. Eighteen. And he was super protective, so I just assumed he was her boyfriend. That was the moment I realized I was jealous of whoever got to date the cute chef from work.”
Emma grinned wide and leaned in to kiss me.
“And tell me about your project with the Leroys.”
“Emma already made soup from the scraps from our kitchen and took it to the shelter downtown. Then Mara, Jack’s wife, had grocery experience, and she helped us tap into the network of stores with excess food.
Food banks are more of a distribution center, and we take all the stuff that won’t work for them, plus some grocery buys to fill in the gaps.
SoUPCYCLE delivers ready-made meals to people who need them. ”
“And the best part is, the system is transferrable to any city who wants to open a kitchen.” Emma plugged the website for ongoing donations and anyone interested in partnering with us.
“Very cool,” our interviewer said. “Is there anything else you’d like to share about what you’re working on, or about your story?”
Emma and I looked at each other, the light and shadow of that January morning etched into her face. I swallowed hard and threaded our fingers together.
“Can I go first?” Emma asked, and I gestured her on.
She clasped a hand on top of our joined ones.
“Sometimes I think about how I saved Harlan, but then he turned around and gave and gave until in a way, he saved me too. I was just living, and when I let him into my life, he made everything . . . more. He just is more. More than I ever knew to ask for, but the one who fell into my lap anyway.”
My brow knit and my lips twitched. “Love you so much.”
She snorted. “I love you too.”
I took a moment to think, taking a few breaths.
“We spend so much of our lives in pursuit of greatness, but there’s incredible beauty around us all the time. The best thing in your life might already be there, waiting for you to pay attention to it. In my case, it took that beautiful thing tackling me to the ground for me to notice it.”
“And cut. Great job, you guys. People will love this.”
Emma smiled over at me as she took her mic off. We thanked the marketing folks, I signed a few things for giveaways, and hand in hand, Emma and I headed to my bike in the parking lot.
I thought about our life together, and all the parts of our story we kept to ourselves. The origami and the steaks. The struggles with Liam and Jeff. The ways we had to work at weaving our lives together. The way I both never saw her coming, and knew she was there all along.
The way I wished for her without even knowing it.
The best kinds of wishes are the ones you don’t ask for out loud. You fold and fold, working toward joy with each bend and crease. You get paper cuts and aching fingers, but you sculpt tiny capsules of beauty along the way.
And when all the tiny, beautiful things you’ve created rain down on you at the end, you find you were never going to get your wish by shouting at the sky.
Because the kind of wish you were after is ultimately unspeakable.