“They’ve never come to New York,” she says quietly.
And it’s this moment I realize that maybe love isn’t about rewriting the past, because without it, we aren’t the person we are today. Maybe love is about inviting the people who mean something to you into the messy, complicated, half-broken stories, and saying,“Come anyway.”
I don’t have a lot of people that mean much to me, but I can start trying to let more people in. This isn’t just about Rachel. This is about me. About us. This is our story, and I need to let these people in, too.
Rachel clutches my jacket tighter, her forehead resting against my chest as she tries to steady her breathing. I press a kiss to the top of her head, breathing her in, feeling the weight of everything this moment means settling into my bones like a promise I’ll never break.
“They’re waiting over there,” I whisper, tipping my head toward a quieter corner, where a small group, her family, is gathered. Theylook uncertain, but I meet her mom’s eyes and there are tears. Not just in her eyes, I realize, but in mine, too.
“Did you call my family a plot twist?” Rachel asks. “And wait, are those tears?!”
“Yes,” I admit.
“You’re having a sincere moment reaction!” she exclaims. “Your first one!”
“I didn’t know it was contagious.” I laugh.
She grins at me. “Stick with me and you’ll find a lot more good things to cry about.”
And I believe her.
“Will you come with me?” she asks.
“Always,” I say without hesitation.
“Before we go…” she pauses. “I just want you to know that confident, radiant woman over there, who looks like a glitter bomb…you did a good job raising her.”
I feel a tear slip down my cheek. It runs fast…uncontrolled.
“Got ya,” she says through a wide smile.
“Well, Lily is quite the handful,” I tease.
“No, she’s not. She’s a strong woman, who can hold her own. You taught her that,” she replies as she reaches up and wipes my tears with her fingers. “Are you ready to meet my family?”
I nod my head, ready or not.
I let her lead me, our fingers twined together like something certain, something written long before either of us knew how to look for it.
Rachel glances at me once, her eyes still shimmering with tears. Her smile is small but it’s real, brave, and beautiful.
Her mom steps out from the group first to meet us. Her long dark hair has streaks of silver, and the tears that were pooling in her eyes just moments before are now spilling down her face.
“RayR…Rachel,” she stammers. “I’m so sorry. I…”
Rachel nods her head. “Momma,” she pauses and then looks at me, “This is Evan Michaels.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” I say, extending my hand.
Her mom takes it in both of hers. “Thank you for flying us out.”
“My pleasure,” I reply. “You should be proud of your daughter. She’s a great writer and an even better woman.”
Her dad steps up to me, extending his hand. “I’m Wes.”
I shake his hand firmly. “Nice to meet you, sir.”
“I…” he pauses. “Well, this is a great party.”
