Easton grins. “She could have sat on the couch with my roommates while we were in the bedroom. Nothing awkward about that at all. They’d probably make her watchThe Kissing Booth, however, all three movies.”
“I don’t have that sort of relationship with my mother, and I don’t care to have that sort of relationship with your roommates either.” I suppose I’ll need to start saving money if I’m going to be a grad student again, but I’m not taking any half measures during this first weekend of having her all to myself and knowing she’s mine. “I got us a hotel room for the next two nights.”
“How’s the bathroom?” she asks, unlocking an ancient Jetta. I may not have Hawk’s income, but we need to get her another car. This thing barely looks like it’ll run.
“You hate baths, remember?”
She bites her lip. “I don’t mind being bent over a sink once in a while, however.”
I grin. I’m sure we’ll end up there eventually, but first I’m going to undress her, and have her show me all of her scars—the place where Kevin once broke her wrist, the place on her temple when she got swung into a wall, the cut on her thigh from a barbed-wire fence.
I’m going to kiss every last one of those marks and do my best to carry the weight of her past. And then we’re going to map this future of ours out, once and for all.
After that, and only after that, I might take her into the bathroom.
40
EASTON
FIVE MONTHS LATER
It’s the Saturday before Mardi Gras—a big day in the many Boudreaux households as their parade is this afternoon.
All is chaos in Hawk and Kelsey’s new home—which is, obviously, a mansion and also isn’t technically new. It was built in the early 1850s, though you’d never guess it from the home’s interior: they’ve had it gutted, and even if it’s a work-in-progress, the primary rooms are complete and already possess finishes Elijah’s never heard of, and doesn’t see the point in.
In addition to all the insane smart-home features they’ve added and the hydroponic vertical vegetable wall, there’s a wing for Judy, and plentiful guest bedrooms for frequent visitors—me and Elijah, obviously, but also Betty and Carol Cabot and Paul, though it’s unclear to us which one of them he’s with. I frequently suggest to Elijah that it’s both. He still does not find this amusing.
We spend longer in bed than we should, given all the excitement about the parade, but no one can fault us. Our time together is sporadic, though I hope that’s about to change. Elijah’s nearly done with his existing projects and transferring the rest of the business to a few of his employees, and myresearch is nearly complete...at which point I’m free to leave. These final months in Boston have been okay, but I’d prefer to be near all the people Elijah and I love. I interviewed at Tulane yesterday and the guy who interviewed me knew all about my research. He was also a Boudreaux, so I feel good about my chances.
Elijah and I won’t have a mansion with circadian lighting, but we don’t need one, either. I’m just thrilled we’ll be in the same place at last.
At the appointed hour, we go out to the car waiting to take us to our reserved seats on the parade route.
“Surprised you didn’t want to be on the float,” says our driver once we’re on the way.
I raise a brow at Elijah. Hawk invited us to sit on the float with them, but my significant other insisted we’d rather watch. I guess someone had to sit on the sidelines to cheer on Hawk, Kelsey, Judy, Betty, Carol, and Paul.
“Oneof us didn’t want to be on the float,” I correct, hoping to get a rise out of him, but he’s weirdly stressed and checking his watch.
“What’s up with you today?” I ask.
“I think that circadian lighting Kelsey put in the house is messing me up,” he suggests.
Which is ridiculous, of course. Kelsey’s entire home has been lit by daylight since we got up, the way most homes are. Nothing even changes until sunset.
I wonder, though I don’t say it aloud, if he’s worried Kelsey shouldn’t be on the float at all.
I’mworried. Her due date is three weeks from now, after all.
When we arrive, a security guard shepherds us through the crowd to the bleachers, where the extensive Boudreaux family’s guests sit.
The parade begins, with floats tossing beads and frisbees and hats and candy. Grown adults rush into the street to grab stuff, fighting with children over things they won’t even want in an hour or two, but no one seems upset.
“Did Kelsey tell you how far down the line they are?” I ask, squinting at the float now turning the corner.
He shakes his head. “She’s going to text us. She just said ‘somewhere in the middle.’ It should be soon.”
Sure enough, a moment later, the float Kelsey and Hawk had made in honor of their wedding turns the corner. It’s a massive fifteen-foot-tall wedding cake made of white roses, with a life-size bride and groom on top. Though I can’t see their faces from here, Kelsey has sent me the photos...the bride and groom are dead ringers for the two of them.
