"The Beginning After the End" Epilogue
Epilogue
October 25th 9:00 pm
Albert had been fussing in recent months, more than he used to. Lara would stay up and sit beside the window, rocking him back and forth as he wailed and she nodded off periodically. When he would finally seem to fall asleep, she’d set him down and not be halfway out of the room before he started in again.
Lara knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, what Albert’s different cries meant. She knew his quiet whimper of boredom and his high, piercing wail of pain. She knew his rise-and-fall sob of hunger. It wasn’t any of these. All she knew was that JJ left, and that’s when it started. She couldn’t help but feel like Albert was crying out of pure sadness. But that was stupid.
It was time for a walk, she guessed. She was tired of going for walks around Bristol--this was the fifth one of the day--but could think of nothing else to do. The chilled air on his face sometimes allowed an awed silence to settle over him. He seemed to like the weather.
He fussed as she wrapped the blanket around him. He fussed as she set him in the buggy. He fussed as she pulled on her shoes and jacket, wincing against the strain in her exhausted muscles. He fussed as she trudged towards the door, pushing him along the way. He fussed as she opened it, revealing JJ. He was currently taping something to the doorframe, and jumped back immediately when he saw her.
“JJ?” she breathed. He looked thinner, but his cheeks were rosy with good health. “What are you doing here?”
“Well,” he began, looking terribly awkward, “I wanted...um, I-I, I w-wanted to...oh, here.”
He thrust an envelope into her hands, then turned to leave. She grabbed him firmly by the elbow and yanked him into the apartment, shaking her head.
“You don’t just drop something off at a girl’s flat when she’s got a fussy baby,” she said, closing the door. “See to Albert at least, for God’s sake. You scared the hell out of me.”
She turned her back to JJ and tore the envelope open with her fingers. She didn’t see JJ stare down at Albert with round eyes, like he was being reunited with something he cherished deeply that had been lost (which, by all rights and purposes, was exactly what was happening). She didn’t see how JJ knew, almost instinctively, how to lift Albert up from the buggy and hold him. She didn’t see Albert’s eyes widen innocently, nor did she see his tiny mouth close against more crying. The silence should have shocked her, but she was reading the letter.
It’s as though someone has reached into my chest and taken out my heart. Someone has taken my heart and laid it on a table in front of me and begun smashing it with a hammer. Someone has cracked open my ribcage and peeled away my lungs and my liver and the rest of my organs. Someone has taken my brain and replaced it with a brick. Life makes no sense without you.
I have made mistakes. I have made so many mistakes, I have been wrong so many times. The only thing I think I’ve ever been right about is saying I love you. And though I may love again, if need be, I will never love anyone as much as I love you. My eyes will be blind to the sun against the hair of anyone who isn’t you. My fingers will be numb, and I won’t be able to read the words between the ribs of anyone who isn’t you. Forever, I will breathe stale air if I can’t breathe your breath. If you don’t want me, I will live, but I will live as half a person. People will look at me and wonder where the rest of my body has gone. I will say, “I destroyed it myself.”
If you can’t forgive me, if you don’t want me, I understand. But I need you to know I love you. I love you, I love you, I have never loved anything as much as I love you.
It’s certain that if Lara did not have a baby, JJ would have been watching her anxiously. Or perhaps he would have waited until she turned her back, and then dashed out of the apartment. But Lara had a baby, and when she turned around she saw JJ was engrossed in holding him. He pressed Albert up against his chest and patted his back gently, speaking to him in quiet tones. And Albert looked at Lara, almost imploring her, almost saying, “Don’t be stupid. We both want him to stay.”
Lara crumpled up the letter as a way to get JJ’s attention. He turned his face away from Albert’s ear and looked at her, then looked at the crumpled letter, then looked back it her. He appeared crestfallen until she grabbed the sleeve of his sweatshirt and glared up at him.
“No more flipping tables,” she said.
“N-no,” he replied. “No more flipping tables.”
Their kiss was gentle, with Albert between them. JJ tasted the same as he always did, Lara noted. Naivete and vitamin C.
October 29th 9:52 a.m.
Katie was engrossed in the morning crossword. She tapped the end of her pen (“People who do crosswords in pencil are people who second-guess themselves,” she would say with her nose in the air, “And I’m always fuckin’ right.”) on the table, racking her brain for the name of Citizen Kane’s sled. It was something impossibly stupid, and she knew that once she figured it out she would spend an additional five minutes chastising herself for not knowing it sooner. Absently, she reached out with her free hand and lifted a spoonful of cereal to her mouth. Unbeknownst to her, she had been so engrossed in her crossword that she had allowed her breakfast ample time to grow soggy.
“Ugh!” she screamed, rudely spitting the mushy mouthful of flakes back into the bowl. She slammed her spoon down angrily. “Breakfast has just gone tits up!”
From where she was sitting across the table, Effy stood and approached Katie’s side. She picked up the bowl, kissed her on the temple, and said gently, “I’ll get you more.”
Katie looked up into Effy’s eyes, as though she was just now remembering that she was sharing the kitchen with someone else, and that someone was her girlfriend, who had snuck in after her parents had gone to bed and made love to her until they fell asleep entwined in one another. Katie blinked, dully aware of the quiet comfortable feeling that slowly crept all through her body as she realized this moment was what she had been searching for.
“Thanks,” she said softly.
Effy smiled and kissed her again, this time on the mouth. Pulling away, she tapped on Katie’s newspaper twice. “It’s ‘rosebud,’ by the way.”
Katie blinked down at the crossword, then shook her head, annoyed. “I knew that.”
November 25th 7:15 p.m.
“You know, it’s Thanksgiving in the States today.”
Emily looked at Naomi, who was grinning cheerfully. “And?”
“And,” Naomi began, looking self-important, “that’s the day they give thanks for everything they have. Like turkey, and the highest obesity rate in the world, and capitalism, and the land they stole from the natives.”
Emily sighed through her nose and paused to yank her sock up from where it had begun to slip down into her shoe. As she righted herself, Naomi took note of the way the crisp air turned the tip of her nose red, like her hair. She reached out a hand, which Emily took, and slipped it into the pocket of her coat. In her other pocket, she fiddled with the tiny black box. They continued to meander down the street, eyeing the windows of shops every so often.
“Was that going somewhere?” Emily asked after a moment.
Naomi looked at her. “Sorry?”
“Your Thanksgiving thing,” she said, with put-on exasperation (the corners of her mouth quirked up in amusement). “Or was it just a way for you to take a stab at our friends across the pond?”
“Oh, Thanksgiving,” Naomi said. She felt suddenly nervous, and fidgeted with the box some more. “They have Thanksgiving to give thanks.”
“Right, you said that bit.”
“Well,” Naomi continued, glancing at her out of the corner of her eye. “We don’t have anything like that here.”
“Wait, wait,” Emily said, rolling her eyes up towards the sky and grinning. “I can see where this is going. We English don’t have something like Thanksgiving because Americans are all greedy cunts and they need a specific holiday to remind themselves to be grateful. And the English aren’t like that, because we’re cheerful chaps and we’re grateful all the time for things like the queen, and tea, and the fact that the American dollar is worth half one British pound sterling. Is that it?”
“No,” Naomi quipped. “The English are just as greedy as the Americans. We taught them everything they know.”
“Oh, of course,” Emily said, shaking her head. “How could I forget.”
“Emily.”
The stern quality of Naomi’s voice made Emily pause mid-step and look at her curiously. She had a piece of hair stuck to the corner of her mouth, which Naomi reached out and pushed aside automatically.
“Babe?” Emily said quietly, looking a little confused.
“I love you,” Naomi began, drawing a deep breath. She smiled a little, despite the weight of what she was about to say.
“I love--”
“No, no,” she interrupted. Emily bit back the rest of her response. “Let me finish. I love you.” She paused here, taking another deep breath and gathering her thoughts. “And...and we’ve been through a lot together, haven’t we?”
“Do you want an answer?” Emily asked, half-joking.
“No. Could you let me finish please?”
“Well, could you hurry?” Emily pressed anxiously. “You’re making me nervous. You’re not...you’re not going to dump--”
“No,” Naomi said firmly, grabbing her arms. She did it so suddenly, she didn’t realize she had pulled the box out of her pocket, and it was now stuck between her palm and Emily’s elbow. She quickly withdrew her hand. “I just--”
“What’s that?”
Naomi mentally cursed Emily’s observant nature. “It’s nothing. Listen--”
“Let me see,” Emily said, pointing at the box. “If it’s nothing, you’ll let me see it.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because. Because, I...I have a speech prepared and I have to say that first. Then you can see it.”
A look of awe crossed Emily’s face, and Naomi was certain that it wasn’t the nip in the air making her cheeks turn pink. “Okay.”
“I know you feel bad about everything,” Naomi said, looking down at her shoes briefly, then forcing herself to look Emily in the eye. “Everything that’s happened the last couple of months. And I know you know I think it’s okay, because we’ve both fucked each other over, and we’ve both hurt each other. But we both love each other too. And...I’m really, really grateful for that, Ems. And I’m grateful that you came into my life, and that you broke my shell.” She paused for a moment, then clenched her jaw. “Fuck, I told myself I wouldn’t cry…”
Emily reached out and gently touched Naomi’s forearm. “Go on.”
Naomi sniffled a bit, then cleared her throat. “I didn’t...really believe in love. Before I met you, I mean. With my dad leaving and everything, and I...well, I never really felt anything about anyone, before I met you. I had this shell, like a sort of wall I put up between me and everyone else. And you were right. I was lonely.” She started chewing her lip and willed herself not to look away again. “But you taught me that I didn’t always have to be lonely. You taught me to be brave. You knew me better than I knew myself, you knew...you knew I wanted someone to want me. And for the first time in my life, I wanted someone back. I wanted you back.”
In an instant they were transported back to being sixteen beside the lake, doing blowbacks into each others mouths, kissing water off skin, sucking liquor out from teeth, sleeping beside a fire, and aching with need in the light of the morning.
“I’m so thankful for you, and everything you’ve taught me,” Naomi said, bringing them both back to the present. “I’m thankful that I have you in my life, and I’m thankful that I believe in all those stupid things I never let myself believe in before. Like love, and making love, not just fucking or sex...and soul mates.”
The headlights of a passing car caught Emily’s eyes for a moment, and they shone a bright gold, awestruck, as Naomi finally looked down at the box in her hands.
“It’s not much, but--”
“Naomi,” Emily interrupted, wringing her hands slightly. “I’m not sure.”
Naomi’s eyes snapped up to Emily’s. “What?”
“Jesus,” she said, beginning to cry. “I love you, you know I love you. I love you more than anything in the world, but we’re not yet nineteen and...I just think we’re a bit young, is all. We don’t have steady jobs, we haven’t gone to University. If we get married now--”
“Married?” Naomi cried, aghast. “Who said anything about fucking marriage? No!”
“No?” Emily echoed, her tears immediately evaporating. “But...what’s that, then?”
Shaking her head, Naomi opened the little black box, revealing a slightly beat up key on the inside.
“It’s…,” Emily began slowly, studying the key and then looking at Naomi, “the key...to your heart?”
“To our flat,” Naomi clarified with a hint of exasperation. “It’s tiny, but it’s by the water, and I’ve got some money saved up so we can afford it ‘til we get jobs and stuff. I’m sick of Mum walking in on us all the time when we’re trying to have a shag. I signed the lease yesterday.” She paused, then added as an afterthought, “Which I probably shouldn’t have done, because you haven’t seen it yet, but I reckon you’ll fancy it, and--”
Emily pressed her lips to Naomi’s, cutting her off. Between soft kisses she breathed “yes, yes” over and over again.
Later on in the evening, just as they were coming up the driveway of what was soon to be solely Naomi’s mother’s house, Naomi turned to Emily and squeezed her hand.
“Did you really think I was proposing to you?” she asked.
Emily turned red and said, “Well, with a speech like that--”
“You know I want to spend the rest of my life with you, don’t you?” Naomi interrupted.
Emily looked at her, the lights of the street etching out her figures in the darkness. Naomi looked quite serious, and said again, “Don’t you?”
“Well,” Emily started slowly. “I mean, we’ve talked about the future a bit...but never really about marriage or anything.”
Naomi smiled a little. “Marriage is a patriarchal institution that was created to continue the oppression of women. But if you’re the woman I’m oppressing, I’m okay with it. And I figure us moving into our own place is a step in that direction. I do want to. Just, you know. Not right now.”
“Not right now,” Emily agreed, then kissed her fiercely, pressing her up against the side of the house and slipping her tongue between her lips. She opened her mouth against Naomi’s and whispered, “Can I oppress you sometimes too?”
“You’re a-pressing me right now,” Naomi said, gasping as Emily slid one hand down to press against the crotch of her jeans. “A-pressing me against the house.”
Emily cried out in disgust and tore away from her. “That was awful! I can’t believe you’d interrupt snogging with a joke that bad.” She turned away melodramatically. “I shan’t ever touch you again.”
Fifteen minutes later, curled up in a bed they would soon move to the other side of town, Emily, of course, broke that promise.
December 21st 5:00 p.m.
Ms. Hannah Smith was surprised to see Victoria still in the waiting room. So surprised, in fact, that when she finished locking her office door and turned, the sight of her made her scream and drop her briefcase.
“Sorry, sorry,” Victoria kept saying as she helped her reorganize her papers. “I stuck around after ‘cos I...um.”
“‘Cos you um what?” Hannah asked, slightly amused. “Wanted to scare the shit out of me?”
“No,” she replied, looking uncharacteristically awkward. Hannah noticed Victoria was fiddling with an envelope. She saw Hannah eyeing it and sighed, holding it out towards her. “I wanted to give this to you.”
Hannah took it, glancing at her secretary (who was, at this time, turning bright red and trying to get into her coat as quickly as possible so she could leave) before beginning to open it. Two tickets fell out.
“Right well, I’ll see you--”
“Vic,” Hannah interrupted, her eyes glued to the tickets. “What’s this?”
Victoria sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. Hannah looked at her, waiting patiently for an explanation. “Victoria?”
“They’re...um. They’re tickets to that play you’ve been wanting to see.” Hannah smiled a little when she noticed Victoria began to blush harder. “You’ve been a fantastic boss, see, and even better lately, what with giving me that raise and all...and I had the money, so I thought maybe you’d fancy seeing it. With me. Maybe.”
Oh, Hannah thought. She is a lez-be-friends.
“I’d like that,” she said. “I’d like that very much. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Victoria said awkwardly, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “Um. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow’s Saturday.”
“Oh,” Victoria said, looking as if she felt quite stupid. “Right. I’ll see you Monday then.”
“Actually,” Hannah began slowly. “Would you like to see me tomorrow?”
“What?” Victoria asked.
“Perhaps for dinner?” Hannah blurted out. She felt herself start to blush now, and began second-guessing her assessment of the situation. “Unless you don’t--”
“I’d love to,” Victoria said quickly, as though she were worried Hannah would take it back. Then she looked confused for a moment. “But don’t you have yoga on Saturday nights?”
“Usually. Why?”
“I thought…you’re all about routine, anyway, and I thought you don’t like it when that sort of thing is interrupted.”
“Oh,” Hannah said, embarrassed that Victoria had noticed her previous anal-retentiveness. “Well, yes, but I’ve recently been trying to...let go of control a little bit. So if that’s what you’re worried about, it’s not a big deal. I’d rather…” She paused, smiling self-consciously. “I’d sort of rather have dinner with you than do yoga anyway.”
“Okay,” Victoria said. Her cheeks turned pink again. “Um. Would you mind if I walked you home?”
Briefly, Hannah thought about how she always used her walk home to recall her day, analyze details, and plan out tomorrow. This obviously would not be possible if she was accompanied by her (suddenly very enticing) secretary.
“No,” Hannah said genuinely. “I wouldn’t mind at all.”
December 22nd 6:00 p.m.
Peter got up to do the chips at the beginning of the meeting. He was a bit nervous--the commitment had been thrust on him by his sponsor during the last business meeting, and he had barely thirty days sober. The anxiety of standing up in front of a room full of people was always worse when he had to do it without a beer in his hand.
“Erm,” he began, clearing his throat and holding the paper in front of him. “We here at Evening Recovery celebrate increments of time in sobriety using a chip system. The idea is, you keep the chip in your pocket so that if you’re having an obsessive and/or compulsive thought aboot--” He cleared his throat again, scowling at the typo, and continued, “--about drinking, you can reach into your pocket and remember why you’re here. Call for help. You never have to drink again, if you don’t want to.”
He put the paper down on the table, beside the case of aluminum chips, and surveyed the room. “Anyone here for the first time who wants to pick up a twenty-four hour chip? Anyone?” About thirty pairs of eyes stared back at him patiently. “No one? Okay. Um. Thirty days? No one? Sixty days? ...Ninety days? Anyone at all?”
“Got a lot of recovery in here tonight,” someone from the back of the room cracked. Peter managed a weak laugh. AA humor still eluded him slightly.
He pushed through four months, then five months, with no one standing. Reaching six months, a hand was raised in the front row. Surrounded by a thunderous applause, a young bloke, still dressed in his work clothes, approached the front of the room and shook Peter’s outstretched hand, plucking the chip up from the other.
Peter felt his sweat grow cold as he realized he’d forgotten the young man’s name. “Congratulations, err--”
“James,” he said, with a crooked grin. “But you can call me Cook. Ease up, mate. You’re doing fine. Don’t give yourself a heart attack.”
“Right,” Peter nodded, swallowing. Cook clapped him on the shoulder, then half-skipped back to his seat.
“Ease up,” Peter reminded himself, then turned back to the room. “Right, then. Seven months?”
December 22nd 8:00 p.m.
His long strides made it easy to keep up with her, but he consistently marveled at the strength her small form held as she periodically yanked at his arm. He felt like his shoulder would dislocate at any moment. He deterred her gently by moving his hand out of her vice grip and snaking it around her shoulders, keeping the parcel firmly gripped in his free hand. He made sure to carry it level.
“Feels good to be back home, don’t it Thommo?” she said excitedly. “I’m happy Naoms and Emily got their own place.”
“Yes,” he said, then smiled at her. “It will be nice to have a party without having to worry about cleaning before parents arrive.”
Pandora was so eager to see the place, she hit the buzzer three times before Thomas gently took her hand and lowered it to her side.
“Jesus, what?” Naomi’s voice crackled through the speaker.
“Naoms, it’s Panda and Thommo!” Pandora said excitedly.
There was a pause. Then: “Well, who the hell is it? Haven’t got all night.”
Pandora looked confused. “Panda and Thommo. Did you forget us?”
“Try this,” Thomas said, then held the button of the intercom down.
“Panda and Thommo!” Panda exclaimed again, her excitement not diminished at all. “Let us in Naomi, it’s wicked cold.”
When Thomas and Pandora entered, Naomi was pouring a large bottle of rum into a punch bowl full of egg nog, and Emily was drinking a glass of wine on the couch, studying a pile of color swatches in her lap. The flat was furnished with a variety of knick-knacks Emily had picked up from an antique store the day after they moved in. They both looked up at the same time and grinned.
“Well--” Emily started, beginning to rise from the couch.
“EMILY!” Pandora cried, launching herself at her. Thomas caught the glass of wine before it spilled all over the cream carpet. “S’great to see you, really, feels like it’s been ages! How’s England been? We just got in yesterday and Mum was in a right spot when I told her we’d be here for the night, and--”
“Hi, Thomas,” Naomi said warmly, crossing the floor to hug him as Pandora prattled on.
“Wonderful to see you again,” he said, returning the embrace with his free arm.
“I forgot how tall you were,” she mumbled into his shoulder before pulling away. “How’s Hahvahd?”
“A dream,” he nearly gushed, then handed her the parcel he’d been carrying. “We brought dessert.”
“Donuts!” Pandora squealed. She was nearly straddling Emily, who was only half-trying to squirm away. Pandora looked about the flat. “It’s wizza in here! Are we the first to arrive?”
“No,” Emily said, finally managing to squeeze out of Pandora’s vice grip. “Cook is--”
“Evening loves,” Cook said, emerging from the bathroom with the sound of a flush emanating from behind him. “How was the flight?”
“Hi Cook,” Pandora said from the couch, waving enthusiastically. “How’s AA?”
Thomas noticed Naomi grimace awkwardly, but Cook took Pandora’s tactlessness in stride. “It’s good, thanks. Real good. Speaking of,” he turned towards Thomas, “a word?”
Thomas knew exactly what Cook was going to speak with him about, but played stupid and shrugged. If this was something Cook needed to do, he would allow him to do it. He trailed him into the bathroom, and wondered if this conversation could have been had somewhere that didn’t smell like Cook’s bowel movement.
“Sorry, mate,” Cook said apologetically, opening a window and lighting a cigarette. “Maybe the smoke will help.”
“It’s all right,” Thomas replied with another shrug. He lowered the lid of the toilet and sat down. “Is this about your letter?”
Cook rubbed his chin with his thumb and smiled self-consciously. “Don’t beat around the bush, do you?”
“I’ve received it, if that’s what you want to know,” Thomas said. “Panda got hers as well. We were both--”
“I don’t really want to talk about Panda, Thommo,” Cook said, waving his hand. “No offense. I mean, I owed her an amends. I sure as shit did. But I wanted to speak to you face-to-face about yours, for some reason. I think...I think you got more fucked in that situation than anyone else.” He made a face. “Err...no pun intended.”
“Of course,” Thomas said, not completely understanding. “So. Talk, then.”
Cook sighed out a plume of smoke that made Thomas’ nose wrinkle, and lowered himself down onto the edge of the tub. He let his hands hang between his knees. “I was a right shit when I was usin’. I don’t need to tell you that, or anyone else for that matter. I hurt everybody. I took things that didn’t belong to me, ‘cos I felt entitled to ‘em. I took Panda from you ‘cos I couldn’t have Effy. Do you remember…” He grimaced, taking another drag. “Do you remember that night at your club? When you found out, and we got into it, and you said I was a bad friend?”
“Yes,” Thomas said automatically. After answering, he wondered if it had been a rhetorical question. Cook honestly could not have believed he had forgotten, though Thomas was surprised Cook himself remembered it at all.
“The only thing I want out of my life now is to be the opposite of that person,” Cook said. He looked at Thomas, his head cocked to the side. “I don’t want to be fucked up, whinin’ about how no one loves poor Cook. And I don’t want to fuck my mates over anymore, and I don’t want my mates to think I’m a bad friend. Do you know what I mean?”
“If you want me to tell you to your face that I forgive you--”
“You don’t have to. Really. I did something fucked up, and I’m happy you and Panda got back together and I’m happy you and me have been able to be cordial. But if you don’t want to be mates, I under--”
“I forgive you,” Thomas interrupted. “You did unpleasant things, and they made me angry. They hurt me, and they hurt my friends. But I can see already that you are much different than who you used to be, even though this has been a short conversation. I know you’re sorry. I accept that. Let’s put it behind us.”
Cook squinted one eye against the cloud of smoke lifting before his face, and grinned crookedly. He extended a hand to Thomas as they both got to their feet. Thomas took Cook’s hand, smiled and pulled him in for a tight hug.
“Easy Thommo,” Cook murmured. “Nearly burned you with my fag, I did.”
As they re-entered the party, Thomas saw the rest of the company had arrived during his bathroom intermission with Cook. Lara was chatting amicably with Emily and Naomi, chiming in with laughter when their conversation dissolved into a lovers’ quarrel over whether or not more rum should be added to the egg nog (both were in favor of excessive rum consumption; however, Emily wanted egg nog as a chaser, while Naomi preferred them mixed). Katie was cradling Albert close to her chest, while Effy whispered in her ear. JJ, having apparently overheard, asked an honest question and received a swift but good-natured kick in the shin from Katie (she would have hit him, but her arms were preoccupied). The ever-oblivious Pandora echoed JJ’s question, and Effy patted her shoulder in response.
“I’ll explain later,” Thomas heard her say as he and Cook approached.
Pandora wasn’t satisfied. Sidling up to Thomas, she leaned up to kiss his cheek and ask, “How do lezzas knock each other up?”
Katie turned her face away, blushing. “Jesus, Panda.”
“Turkey basters,” Cook piped up. “Just ask those two.”
He jerked his thumb towards where Naomi and Emily were now playing tug-of-war with the bottle of rum. Katie handed Albert off to JJ and told him to “go save his wife for God’s sake.” Pandora tagged along for the spectacle, tugging at Effy’s wrist.
“Welcome home,” Effy said, smiling at Thomas before she allowed herself to be dragged away. Cook barked a laugh and skipped after, but not before clapping Thomas on the shoulder and giving him a meaningful look. He met it with a smile.
Thomas stood with Katie a moment, looking on at the growing ruckus in the kitchen. He felt her move closer to him, her arm brushing his elbow. He looked down at her and saw her eyes follow Effy with unwavering adoration.
“I’m happy for you, Katie,” Thomas said.
She looked up at him, then smiled before looking back towards Effy. “Figured you’d heard.”
“Panda was excited when Effy told her,” he explained apologetically.
“Mmm,” Katie hummed absently. “I can imagine.”
There was a moment’s pause between the two of them. Emily wrestled the rum from Naomi, but Cook snatched it from her hands and began running circles around the table with both on his tail. JJ stepped back, cradling Albert’s head, but Lara’s laugher indicated she was not worried about any immediate danger. Thomas noticed Effy catch Katie’s eye and wink.
“You know,” Katie said quietly, her cheeks still slightly pink from the gesture. “I used to think Freddie was such a shit for loving her. Now I get why he did.”
“Oh?” Thomas said, as Cook pantomimed pouring the closed bottle of rum into his mouth. He felt a chill go up the back of his neck, but Naomi found it funny, and laughed as she snatched it back. He sighed to calm himself.
“Sometimes I wish I could talk to him face-to-face about it,” Katie said, then shook her head a little. “But that’s neither here nor there.”
Thomas curled his fingers around Katie’s wrist and squeezed gently. “It is a bit weird without him around.”
“Oh, he’s around,” she said lightly, looking at him. “It’s windy tonight.”
Before Thomas could ask what she meant, she pulled her hand forward. “C’mon. Before they kill each other.”
December 22nd 10:05 p.m.
I watched them eat pizza from the window. I followed the way the lines in JJ’s face smoothed when Lara kissed his cheek as she put Albert in his lap. I caught Effy’s hand trailing up Katie’s thigh under the table, when they thought no one would notice. No one did, aside from me, even when Katie choked on her egg nog after Effy got too close. I saw Naomi and Emily steal away to their bedroom for a moment “to get more blankets,” then felt a bit like a perv and turned my attention to Thomas’ hands on Pandora’s shoulders, his nose in her hair.
In a moment that was arguably too somber for Christmastime, Cook raised his virgin egg nog and proposed a toast to me. He said something heartfelt that could have been regarded as completely out of character seven months ago. Not a dry eye in the house, I promise you. They drank.
Effy looked out the window, and I looked into her eyes. “Merry Christmas, Freds. Thank you.”
I rattled the window a bit in response. She smiled.