epilogue #2
The entryway opens into a wide living room with hardwood floors the color of honey.
There's a stone fireplace on the far wall, and the windows are tall and wide and the light pours in.
Through an archway, I can see the kitchen—white cabinets, butcher-block counters, the big island he mentioned, and that window over the sink facing east. I can already picture it: morning light, coffee, the baby in a highchair, Oliver coming in from outside smelling like hay and kissing the top of my head before pouring his own cup.
The vision is so vivid it nearly knocks me off my feet.
I press my hand to my belly. The baby shifts, settles, like they know.
"The nursery is upstairs," Oliver says from behind me. "Second door on the right. It faces south—gets the best light."
I turn to look at him. He's leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching me the way he watched me across that bar. Like I'm worth the patience. Like he's got all the time in the world.
"You already picked out the nursery," I say.
"I already painted it."
"You painted it?"
"Soft yellow. Mimz said it was gender-neutral and 'warm like sunshine.'"
I press my fingers to my eyes. "You're going to make me cry again."
“Darlin’, you haven't stopped crying."
"Shut up."
He pushes off the doorframe and crosses the room to me. Wraps his arms around me from behind, his hands settling on my belly. His chin rests on my shoulder. We stand there in the empty living room of our house—our house—and watch the light move across the hardwood.
"Welcome home, Cora," he says quietly.
I put my hands over his.
"Home," I repeat.
And I love that the word no longer scares me.
My phone buzzes fourteen times in the next six minutes.
I'm sitting on the kitchen counter eating the apple slices he brought in a cooler in the truck. He carried food wherever we go because he knows I need to eat every forty minutes or the nausea demon awakens.
After we’d walked through all the rooms of the house, I needed a moment, to rest. So he’d perched me up on this counter and now he's out on the porch making a call while I sit here in the kitchen that is now apparently my kitchen and try to process the fact that I own a home.
I own a home.
I pull out my phone.
Me: So.
Me: Update.
Jules: Oh God what did he do
Hope: Are you okay???
Me: Oliver just drove me to a two-story farmhouse outside of town.
Jules: Continue...
Me: With a wrap-around porch and a porch swing and twenty acres and a barn and a creek.
Hope: CORA
Me: And told me he bought it.
Me: For us.
Me: My name is on the deed.
Silence. Three full seconds. The longest Jules has ever been quiet.
Jules: I'M SORRY WHAT
Hope: HE BOUGHT YOU A HOUSE????
Jules: HE PUT YOUR NAME ON THE DEED???
Jules: I need to sit down
Jules: I'm already sitting down but I need to sit down MORE
Hope: Cora. Oh my God. Are you okay? What did you say?
Me: I cried. Obviously. Like a fire hydrant. Very sexy, very dignified.
Jules: As one SHOULD when their devastatingly hot cowboy buys them a HOUSE
Me: There's a nursery.
Hope: Stop.
Me: He already painted it. Soft yellow. Mimz helped him pick the color.
Jules: I am going to SOB
Hope: I'm already sobbing, Jules, keep up
Jules: Does it have a good kitchen?
Me: Gas stove. Big island.
Jules: He's perfect. I hate him. Why doesn’t he have more brothers?
Me: There’s Payton. He’s the sweetest.
Jules: He’s a child. A giant man-child.
Hope: What does the kitchen look like?? Send photos!!
I take a quick photo of the kitchen from where I'm sitting—the warm light, the butcher block, the window—and send it.
Hope: Cora. That's a DREAM kitchen.
Jules: I'm literally tearing up over a countertop right now
Jules: The man has been quietly building you a LIFE
Hope: He really has. Since the beginning. Even when you two were being stubborn idiots about it.
Me: Rude but fair.
Jules: There's a PORCH SWING, Cora
Jules: He got you a porch swing
Me: He said it was non-negotiable.
Hope:
Jules: Okay but real talk. How do you FEEL?
I stare at the screen. My fingers hover over the keyboard.
Through the window, I can see Oliver on the porch, phone to his ear, his free hand resting on the railing.
The evening light catches the planes of his face.
He turns slightly, sees me watching through the glass, and gives me that smile. The full one. The one that's only mine.
Me: I feel like I'm home.
Me: For the first time in my entire life, I feel like I'm actually home.
Hope:
Jules: You deserve this. Every single square foot of it. Don't you dare let that voice in your head tell you otherwise.
Me: Trying not to.
Jules: Try harder. That man loves you. Those old people love you. That baby is going to love you. And Hope and I have loved you since day one. You, Cora. Not the version of you that earns it. Just YOU.
I press my phone to my chest and breathe.
Me: I love you both. So much.
Hope: We love you. Now go kiss your cowboy in your new house.
Jules: You could christen your new countertops.
Hope: JULES!
Jules: What?? It's tradition!!
I laugh—loud and bright and real, the sound echoing off the walls of my kitchen. My kitchen. In my house. With my name on the deed and a nursery painted soft yellow upstairs and a man on the porch who chose me. Who chose us.
The red front door opens and Oliver steps inside.
"You good?" he asks.
I set my phone down and hold out my hands. He crosses the kitchen and steps between my knees, his hands settling on my hips, his forehead tipping down to rest against mine.
"I'm good," I say. "I'm really, really good."
He kisses me. Soft and slow, tasting like forever, and I lean into it the way you lean into something you trust.
Outside, the last of the daylight paints the fields gold. The porch swing sways in the breeze. Somewhere in the distance, a mockingbird is singing.
And inside this house—our house—I place my hand over the swell of my belly, where our baby turns and settles, and I let the word wash over me, one more time.
Home.
***
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