“You too,” I force the words out.
Callum wraps an arm around Sophie, whose eyes linger on me for a long moment. Not in appreciation, not in longing or even warmth, but just in acknowledgment. We once were something, and now we’re not. It stings, because I couldn’t seem to let go of the love I have for her, but it feels as though I was just a footnote.
A stepping stone on her way to Callum.
Maybe I was.
“It was nice seeing you, Paul,” Sophie says, giving me a small, friendly smile. She tucks herself back into Callum’s embrace and lets him guide her over to Maria’s donut stand. He says something to Sophie that makes her throw her head back and laugh.
Callum bends down to kiss her, both of them smiling into it, the clear picture of two people in love.
I turn away before I can see anymore, disappearing into the crowd. My mother stands near a Christmas ornament stall, animatedly speaking with a couple of her friends. I hang back on the edges, glancing around the festival.
I wonder how many people here made the same mistakes I did, ones that cannot be undone. I wonder how many made choices they regret, and how many feel grateful for the ones that shaped their lives into something beautiful.
There are choices I made that I am genuinely proud of. Choosing Northeastern and meeting Sophie for the good times we had together. Pursuing the career I have now, the one that fulfills me. Choosing to keep going to therapy even when it forces me to face the ugly parts of myself.
Life is just a long series of choices.
All we can do is hope the ones we make will put us on the path we want.
Good choices or bad choices, heartbreaking or healing, life always goes on.
EPILOGUE
Sophie
May
“You got it?”
“I got it, baby,” Callum assures me as he continues to expertly climb up the ladder, balancing the casserole dish in one hand and somehow maneuvering his way up the—reinforced last month—ladder. I still watch, holding my breath as he stretches up, puts the casserole dish in the treehouse, and then pulls himself in.
“We should rig a pulley system,” I say, though when I say we, I really mean Callum will do it.
Over the last months that we’ve lived in the house, we’ve been fixing it up. Callum, from years of working with his dad in contracting, can do just about anything around the house.
I didn’t want any big changes. There was really no reason to change what’s already wonderful, just small fixes here and there. Fresh coats of paint, standing and restaining the wood floors, filling in dents in the walls, no doubt from two rambunctious boys living here for years.
The most fun part for me was picking out furniture with Callum—a brand new California King Mattress, because my otter is quite big. We hit thrift stores, antique shops, and estate sales with Maeve, always on the hunt for tables and dressers. None of that glorified cardboard. We wanted real wooden furniture that was built to last. Callum sanded them down, restored them, making them look brand new while still retaining their original charm.
We’ve also bought new couches, chairs, and our bedframesfor our bedroom and the guest bedroom. The third bedroom, well, we’ve left that one open for any potential future Rhodes.
Last week, Callum finished putting together all of the deck furniture: a table, chairs, and a big umbrella for dinners outside. I can just imagine having our family over this summer. Tonya grilling. Everyone playing cornhole, with music in the background, before we all have dinner. It finally feels finished and settled.
We’ve developed a good system: I have the ideas, Callum executes them.
While I feel we’ve finally reached the stage of the house where it feels complete, I think I might just have never-ending projects that pop into my mind, like the pulley system. I smile at the thought of Callum and me working on this house forever.
That sounds just fine to me.
The pulley system should jump to the front, though. It was difficult carrying that wine bottle and those glasses up earlier, but Callum suggested that, since it’s Friday, we should get dressed up and have a picnic dinner in the treehouse. I’ll never say no to a date with him.
I had made Callum’s latest favorite meal, the salmon cooked on the cedar plank that he practically moans over whenever I make it, and I even got dessert delivered from April. I’m trying to savor all of the baked goods I can get from her before she heads off to culinary school in the fall.
A picnic on this warm spring night sounds wonderful.
Callum reaches an arm down to easily pull me into the treehouse. Like always, I smile when I see the inside. Fairy lights hang at the top, connected to a solar battery. We swept all the leaves and dirt off the floor and laid down a beautiful, soft rug for us to sit on. Callum even installed tempered glass into the windows. I call it our vacation home. It makes him laugh. But it’struly wonderful to come out here and escape from everything for a while.
