by Julia Kent
Andrew and I freeze, lost in the sweeping wonder of emotion, staring.
“Kiss her!” Consuela urges as Mom mumbles about her little Mandy.
“Who am I to argue with Connie?” Andrew whispers, joy stippling his words, a million tiny particles of love coming together to make his voice a wave of love.
“Did we really just do this?” I say as he bends toward me, eyes closed.
He opens his eyes and smiles. “Yes, we did, Mrs. McCormick.”
“Mrs. McCormick? We never really talked about last names. I’m not automatically changing mine just because -- ”
He rightly shuts me up with a kiss.
No paparazzi ruin the moment. Hawks don’t come out of the sky to kill drones or steal chihuahuas. No one’s on a fake date with an anal gland expert, and I’m not driving a Turdmobile. No one loses a Tesla keyfob while showing off swimming techniques in Walden Pond, and my ex-boyfriend from high school doesn’t magically appear while Andrew is half naked in public.
None of those pieces of our life together interrupt as Andrew’s mouth slants against mine, his arms around me, our kiss one of celebration.
The one full of passion can come later.
A loud pop! behind us tells me Consuela has Champagne, and Mom’s squeals of amusement make it clear the bottle bubbled over. By the time Andrew breaks the kiss, the flutes await us, Mom sipping hers delicately, chatting with Consuela like they’re old friends.
“Where’s Spritzy?” I ask, realizing Mom hasn’t brought him. Given that he’s an unofficial therapy dog, this is surprising.
“At home.” Sip. “I do need to get home to him, but I’m having far too much fun, Mrs. McCormick.”
“It does suit me better than you, Mom,” I tease. “But no promises.”
Consuela’s mouth opens with a gaping expression that is so out of character. “Pam and James? I thought that was a bad rumor started by the gossip sites.”
“It was,” Mom assures her. “James is not my type.”
“Mine either,” Consuela sniffs. “Although the man does know how to use his...” Her voice drops low in confidence. Whatever else she says, it makes Mom dizzy.
But they laugh the smoky chuckle of mature women.
Andrew drinks his Champagne but he’s nervous. Antsy. He might as well be tapping his toe with impatience. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, nothing.”
“What is it?”
Mom finishes her drink and stands. “I do need to get home.”
“Gerald’s ready whenever you are, Pam.”
“José brought me. He asked me to make zucchini muffins again.”
Consuela perks up. “You bake?”
Mom blushes. “Just for fun.”
“A woman after my own heart,” Consuela says, so smooth, so poised, working to make Mom relax.
Mom gives her a polite smile. I know she’s too overwhelmed to say much. She then comes to me, eyes shining. “I know Spritzy is fine, but I want you and Andrew to be alone. Goodness knows the last few months have been hectic. Now that the deed is done, you can relax. Enjoy each other.” She pats her purse, which is slung on her shoulder. “I have paperwork to file at the town hall tomorrow.”
“When will the official license be filed and complete?”
“A few weeks, they said. I’ve never married anyone before. I rather like it.” She hugs me and whispers, “I love you so much. You’re become an independent, loving person, and that matters more to me than anything else in the world, sweetie.”
“I love you, too, Mom. Thank you for coming here. Thank you for marrying us and for being here. It means more than you can imagine.”
She sniffs and pulls away, squaring her shoulders. Andrew’s next, their hug making me cry more. Watching the two people who mean the most to me express their love and affection for each other is its own category of happiness.
Mom leaves without delay. Suddenly, we’re alone, our entrées in front of us, Consuela’s seamless service so covert, it’s jarring.
“What do we do now?” I ask.
“We eat?”
A few bites into the delicious food and I give up the ruse. I’m just pretending, going through the motions. The meal is fabulous, but when you’ve just had your one and only wedding turned into a surprise party, taste buds aren’t the only part of you that gets confused and overstimulated.
I take my wrapped gift and hand it to him, eyebrows up, smirk engaged. “Here’s your wedding present. You already know what it is, but I wrapped it anyhow.”
“I’ll open it when I give you yours.”
I look around the rooftop solarium, which only has four tables. I don’t have to search long before realizing there is no gift here. “Where is it?”
“Hang on.” He texts someone. “There. I told Consuela we’re done.”
“What?”
“Look at your plate. I can’t eat. You can’t eat, either. There’s one more part of the wedding. One part left.”
“My gift? What’s the big deal?”
His hand is a little sweaty, his heart beating faster against my hand as he lets go, picks up my coat, and holds it open for me to put my arms in.
As I shrug into it, he whispers, “I’ll show you.”
Chapter 19
“The blindfold is so over the top,” I announce for the fifth time as we drive in the car. I have no idea where we’re going, although I know we were on the highway for a while there, based solely on the car’s speed. That means we’ve moved outside of the city, but given Boston’s location as a port town in New England, we could be in Massachusetts, Rhode Island, or New Hampshire by now. I generally prefer to know which state I am in at any given time.
Picky. I know.
“No, it’s not.”
“Good thing I’m not prone to getting carsick.”
“We’re almost there.”
“Why couldn’t you just bring the gift with you to Consuela’s like I brought yours?”
“It’s big.”
“So big you can’t fit it in your car?”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t get me a pony, did you?” The blindfold is black satin and it’s rubbing against my cheeks as I smile.
“Do you want a pony?”
“Not now, but where were you when I was six?”
We make a left turn and the car slows, the sound of tires crunching on gravel making me sit up.
“You’re a secret serial killer, aren’t you? Lured me into your fake billionaire trap and now I’m going to be found carved up and stuffed into a drain pipe while you turn my real ankle into a vajankle.”
“Okay, Stella. You figured me out.” We’ve been watching The Fall on Netflix, so I get the joke. “Where do you think we are?”
I reach for the window controls, lower the window slightly, and inhale deeply. “Snow. Woods. Fresh air. I don’t know. That describes half of New England this time of year.”
He makes an amused sound, then asks, “Vajankle?”
I laugh. “The fact that you don’t know what that is gives me relief.”
“Oh, I know what it is.”
“Ewww!”
“Thanks to Marie. She shared quite a photo album on her phone after the Vegas trip last year. Remember the adult toy trade show there?”
The car comes to a halt. I start to remove my blindfold, but his hands stop me. Purposeful and firm, they cover my vision.
“Not yet,” he says, warm breath tickling the end of my nose. I sneeze, two quick bursts of surprising interruption. His hands move, leaving bright light behind my closed eyelids.
“Mask back on. Just for another minute.”
I sigh. “One minute. No more.”
“Stay there. Coming around to your side to lead you up the stairs.”
“Stairs?”
The tip of my shoe hits the rise of a stair. He helps me up each one until we’re at the top. “Wood deck?” I guess.
“Close.”
He pauses and t
akes the blindfold off. Two inches of snow fell the other day, and some sort of bright security light is shining right in my eyes, but even with the difference, I know exactly where we are.
“Your parents’ house? In Weston? Why are we here?” Andrew’s face is filled with an excitement I’ve never seen, one that pierces my skin and bones, an injection of his emotion going straight into my bloodstream. Wide-eyed and grinning like a fool, the wind blowing his thick brown hair off his forehead, he looks down at me with a love so forceful it’s like a shield, holding the wind at bay. He’s balancing a small box from a bakery in one hand.
And with the other, he gives me a keychain with a metal key on it.
“What’s this?”
“Your wedding present.” A giddy tension looms between us, one that pools in my belly, half pleasurable, half madness.
I look at the driveway, expecting a car. “You got me my own Tesla?”
“No.”
“Then why are you giving me a key? A key to what?”
All he does is stare at me, more and more love pouring into those eyes as seconds pass.
I breathe, caught in the beauty of the long look.
And then I realize what he’s done.
“Big gift? BIG GIFT? Not sure whether I’ll like it?” I grip his empty arm, needing his stability as my knees go weak.
He nods, bearing my weight without effort.
Or comment.
“LIFE-ALTERING?” I look around the outside of the house. “Andrew – did you buy me a house? A house?”
“Not just any house.”
The words feel like ice cubes rolling around in my mouth. I struggle to get them out. “Did you buy your parents’ house as a wedding present for me?”
“Yes.”
“You bought me a house.”
“I hope you like it.”
“An entire house.”
“I was hoping half would be mine. Until we start having kids, of course. Then it’ll be part theirs,” he adds, as this were the most ordinary conversation in the world.
I lean against the front door and slowly let myself down. I can’t trust my legs.
“You bought it from your father?”
“I did.”
“And he let you?”
“He said no the first two times. Outright refused, in fact.”
“Then how did you — ”
“I used...leverage.” Andrew gives me a multi-layered look that makes it clear this was no simple feat.
“You guilted him into selling it to you after what he did to us? To Mom?”
“‘Guilt’ is an ugly word. Let’s use ‘negotiate’ instead.” Sparkling eyes filled with pride and triumph meet mine. I swear his brown-and-honey irises are darkened slightly, aged a bit by what we’ve been through with his dad, but on surer footing as an independent man capable of taking on James McCormick.
And winning.
“Oh, God,” I gasp.
“You don’t like it?”
“How could I not like an estate in Weston, Andrew?”
Relief makes him sigh. “Good. Because it’s hard to take back.”
“It’s not like a Cuisinart you return to WalMart because you don’t like it!”
“No. It’s not.” He extends a hand to me. “Let’s go into our new house.”
It takes three tries, but I get the key in the lock and turn it, slowly opening the front door with a long creak of the hinges. The living room is exactly as we left it a few weeks ago. Warm and inviting, enormous and stately.
Yet very, very different.
“You really mean it, Andrew? It’s ours?”
“If you can envision yourself living here, yes. I’m not going to make you live here if you don’t want to.”
“What about the apartment in Boston?”
“We can afford both.”
“We can?”
“We can.”
“When did you do this? How did you – what made you – oh, wow.” Remembering to breathe is suddenly hard. The building feels like it’s embracing me, my body’s cells mingling with the memory-filled air, the hardwood, the fine stone, the endless differentiated items in the house that all serve a purpose.
Our purpose, now.
His voice is thoughtful, slow, and gravid. As he speaks, I watch him. This is my husband. My husband bought me an estate. My husband is standing before me, animated and handsome, wearing a ring I put on his finger an hour ago, one with an inscription that matches mine — and only mine. My husband looks at me with an honorable worship that makes all of the petty troubles in life seem inconsequential.
My husband.
My thumb tip worries the new wedding ring on my ring finger. Husband. We’ve chosen each other.
He chose me.
“That night we came here and swam in my lap pool, I knew. You were so beautiful in there, drifting without a care in the world. And when we sat before the fire, I felt like I was really home – not just in my Amanda home and in my childhood home, but fully home – for the first time in my life. I wanted more of that. Guarantees don’t come in life, but buying this place became my goal.” The look he gives me peels back parts of my heart that I didn’t know had doors and windows. Walls inside me turn flexible, filled with surprises.
When you give the light permission to enter, it finds a way.
“I know how you are when you have a goal,” I respond, distracted and centered, grounded and flighty, the very definition of who I am suddenly in flux. I’m Amanda. I’m me. I’m Andrew’s wife. I’m James’ daughter-in-law. I’m Declan and Terry’s sister-in-law. I’m Shannon’s…something.
Bestie and sister-in-law.
And I’m the mother of Andrew’s future children.
Each of those Amandas are cheering inside me as Andrew speaks, none of his words sinking in, all of his gestures tell a love story I don’t need to understand — I only need to feel.
“Yes. First you, then the perfect place to settle in. We can keep the current estate manager or hire a new one. There are old architectural plans for turning a few rooms into an apartment for Pam if she ever wanted to live here -- ”
“Whoa! Whoa! Slow down there. I’m still reeling.” Reality itself changes just enough to make the room tilt slightly.
“Is it too much? Did I go too far?” He sets the box down on a coffee table in front of a leather davenport and turns to me, eager and open, as if this were the truest merger he’d ever negotiated, one where every possible contingency were planned for.
“I bought you a rare album. You bought me an eight-figure house. I’m feeling a little cheap.”
I get a kiss as an answer, and then:
“You can make it up to me by telling me you love it.”
“I do!”
“So which room should we do it in first?”
“Andrew! Quit saying ‘do it’!” The joke is welcome. Joking I can handle.
An entire house? That will take longer to adapt to.
“Fine.”
“And I think it should be whatever room is going to be ours.”
“I was thinking Declan’s old bedroom.”
“Andrew!”
“What? It’s not his room anymore.”
“Then why do you care?”
“The view out the west window is particularly lovely.”
“You’re worried about the window view during sex? I really need to up my game if that’s the case.”
He makes a gruff sound.
“I know!” I pretend to be perky. “Why don’t you just pee on all the baseboards in his room. That’ll show him.”
“Why would I do that? It’s ridiculous.”
“Yeah. Why would you have sex in his bedroom, too? File that under ridiculous.”
“I file that under wanting to make sure we make love in every single room in our new home before we start having kids and our privacy disappears.”
“It’s a big house.”
“Then we’d better get started now. Time’s a-
wasting.”
“We’re really doing this?”
He cups my breast and comes in for a kiss. “Oh, yes.”
“I meant buying the house. Moving in here. Living here?” I look around the room, taken in by all the beauty. So much care was given to every item here. While Andrew can’t bring his mother back, I can tell this is as close as he can get. “We’re really making this choice.”
The ticking sound of sleet on glass makes me turn my head, caught up in the weather’s sudden change. All the light in the room changes, muted to shadow and sepia tone, as if even the moon were taking a moment to lower its brow and think this through.
Andrew drops his hand to my waist. “We don’t have to live here if you don’t like it.” Like me, he looks around, except his eyes see a past I’ll never know.
“I do like it. I do.” Sudden emotion fills me, too much to contain.
“Are you worried it’s too much about my mom? Her imprint is everywhere here. I think that’s why Dad’s avoided the house for so long. Don’t worry, Amanda. I don’t want this to be some kind of museum. That would destroy the whole point. I want us to live here. Really live here. Make it ours and own it. Take all the good stored in this home and wash off the sadness. Make it shine with love again. Only this time, it’ll be our love. Our power. Our family we raise here.” Intense emotion makes his voice go hoarse, low and deep. His hands tighten on my hips and as I look up at him, I know that what I’m about to say is truer than any words I have ever spoken to him.
“We deserve this,” I answer. “We deserve all the light and love we decide to make for ourselves and our children. So yes. Yes to all of it. Yes, yes, y -- ”
I can’t finish that last word because his mouth is on mine, his lips warm and urgent, slow and eager, a paradox I’ll spend forever trying to understand. Buying me a house as a wedding present looks selfless and grandiose on the outside, but from the inside it’s a selfish act on Andrew’s part, a step toward reconciling wounds from the past with his vision for our future.
But right now, as his hands warm my back and his body touches me, heating my heart, I realize I’m truly home, in every way possible. We’re here. We made it. In his arms and in our house, we’ve done it. Settled down. I have my life partner, whose kiss sends me spiraling up to a place so high, no one can find us. Not paparazzi. Not James. Not Leo or Mom or the million tiny pieces of unfinished life that chase me.