15. Epilogue #2
“These are beautiful,” she says as she sets them back down on the table.
Charlie turns from the stove and smiles. I look at him with a smirk on my face, as if to say, I told you so.
“Hi,” he says.
She walks over to him and kisses his cheek. “Hi,” she repeats. “What’s for dinner?” she asks, glancing over his shoulder at what’s cooking in the pan.
“Steaks seared in garlic butter, diced potatoes, and caesar salad.”
“A feast,” she says. “Maybe you should come work at the diner,” she jokes.
Charlie reaches for his phone and changes the music playing through the Bluetooth speaker to some upbeat, jazzy pop song as Beth pulls her sleeves up.
“What can I do to help?”
“Not a thing,” he says, with a grin and adds, “tonight is all about you.”
“All about me? What did I do to deserve this?” Beth asks.
Charlie responds with a kiss and pulls out a chair for her. “Now, sit down. You’ve had a long day at work.”
I jump up from the table and open the fridge, retrieving the salad kit. I busy myself with fixing the salad while Beth sits down.
“How was the rest of your day?” Charlie asks as he adjusts the heat on the stove.
“We were slammed all day. I don’t think I sat down once. My feet hurt so bad,” she says.
“Hmm, sounds like a foot rub is in order.”
“Dinner and a foot rub? Okay, what is going on here?” Beth asks with a laugh, her gaze darting between us.
I pour the dressing into the bowl in front of me, along with the cheese and croutons, and then start searching for a pair of tongs. I can’t look at her. She can read my face like an open book and I know if I make eye contact, somehow she will know.
I find the tongs and toss the salad before getting the cake out of the fridge.
“Italian creme cake?” Beth asks, jumping up out of the chair as she sees it.
Her eyes twinkle as she comes over to the counter. Charlie smiles as he watches her, a look of pure love on his face.
I take the plastic wrap off the cake and Beth swipes her finger through some of the icing.
“Oh, my God,” she mutters as she licks her finger. “Thea, you’ve outdone yourself.”
“Thanks,” I say, with a grin. Charlie pulls a ring box from his pocket and gets down on one knee behind her.
“Beth Ann,” he says. It’s barely audible but Beth turns around, slowly removing her finger from her mouth. She wipes it on her jeans as Charlie takes her left hand in his.
Beth freezes.
“You know, I had this big romantic gesture planned,” he says. “I was going to take you down to the beach at sunset, but I can’t wait a minute longer. Beth Ann, I want you to be my wife.”
Beth blinks rapidly, a blush rising to her cheeks.
“I’ve been late for a lot of things in my life,” Charlie continues, “but my biggest regret has been that I waited so long to tell you how I really feel. It’s you, it’s always been you.
I’ve loved you for three decades now; I want them all.
So, will you do me the honor of wearing my ring and becoming my wife? ”
He opens the ring box, revealing the emerald cut ring he’d had custom-made for her.
“Charlie,” she says in a breathy voice, “I don’t know what to say.”
“Say yes,” he pleads as he looks up at her.
I hold my breath as I await her answer. Seconds tick by, the only sound in the kitchen is the steaks sizzling.
“Yes,” she says. It comes out a whisper but Charlie jumps to his feet as if she had screamed it.
“Yes! Yes, absolutely!”
They crash into each other, hugging and laughing and kissing. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. They part and he takes the ring out of the box and slides it onto her finger.
It’s kind of poetic that Charlie chose to propose in the kitchen, at least for us.
It’s where we’ve worked through our feelings, both big and small.
Love, loss, and every feeling in between have taken seats at the table.
We’ve baked through every emotion under the sun within these walls, so it’s only fitting that the best one of all be whipped up in a moment of surprise.
“Congratulations,” I say and they welcome me into their embrace. The three of us stand there in the kitchen, hugging like the newfound family that we are.
After a delicious celebratory dinner, I retreat to my room. I grab my journal and a towel and head down to the beach. Amber recommended journaling as a way to help process my grief, so each night at sunset I have a journaling session by the ocean.
There’re a few groups of people on the beach this evening, though it’s nothing compared to how busy it was over the summer.
Some are playing volleyball, some still relax in their chairs.
A flock of seagulls chirp and fly overhead.
I trudge through the soft white sand down toward the water’s edge, my towel slung over my shoulder.
I approach my usual vicinity just out of reach of the waves and stop, reaching for my towel. I shake it out and lay it down on the sand and then kick my sandals off before sitting down in the middle of the towel, the worn fabric comforting on my skin.
I open my journal up to today’s date and taking a deep breath, uncap the pen.
There’s music in the distance barely audible over the crashing of waves.
It’s faint but I’d recognize it anywhere.
Dreams by Fleetwood Mac — Mom’s favorite song.
I begin writing and once I start, I can’t stop.
I write about Beth and Charlie’s engagement, and how he is becoming the closest thing I’ve ever had to a father figure.
As silly as it sounds, I write about the relief I feel that the engagement cake turned out so wonderfully.
I want Ireland to come out here to visit, to see the town that has stolen my heart. I write about Graham, and wonder if he’s becoming my own Charlie — if we’ll have a love story that spans decades. He was the golden thread that tied my broken edges back together.
I write about how much I miss my mom and wish she were here to see how I’ve grown and how happy Beth is with Charlie. I write about wanting to open my own bakery here some day and how my goals are so vastly different than they were a year ago. How I now have purpose and drive.
But mostly, what I write about is…following my heart. I think that’s the biggest lesson I’ve learned with my mother’s passing. Life is short and tomorrow isn’t promised. Happiness can be created in the saddest of circumstances, whether it be found in a relationship or recipe.
Besides, a wise old woman once told me that the heart wants what the heart wants.