I kiss her forehead, allowing my eyes to close as a smile overtakes my face. “I think I do.”
Epilogue
6 Months Later
Milo
I have beenwaiting for this day.
As soon as I spot Julia beginning to make her way down the stairs, I deliver a massive, shit-eating grin over my shoulder toward Prue, locking eyes for a split second before returning to the chore at hand.
I make it a personal challenge each morning to get the dishes done before the coffee finishes brewing. Most days, if I’m not too distracted by my girlfriend or her chatty father, I can get my least favorite chore done before the last drip falls into the carafe that fuels this overworked household.
And I’ll be damned if on a day like today, which isapparentlya special occasion, I don’t finish them as quickly as possible.
“Well, good morning!” Tom says, greeting his bride, who is dressed as such, as she steps off the staircase. “You lookdivine,” he adds.
“You’re not dressed?” Julia asks Tom, her voice steady. “Won’t we be late?”
I place the second to last dish on the drying rack and turn to lean against the counter, watching as Prue tentatively studies her mother then looks toward me with a sweet but trepidatious smile. I want to kiss that worry line between her brows until itflattens, or rub her shoulders until they relax, but I’ll have to resist moving from my station just yet.
As always, I need to tread carefully. It’s best to be the last one to greet Julia each morning, making sure my presence won’t disrupt the reality she’s woken up in too drastically. What’s incredible is the way her brain will often blend and build realities to justify my being here when she doesn’t recognize me. Prue and Tom have taught me to play along with it, which took some getting used to, but I’ve quickly come to see that whatever is easiest for Julia is easiest for the house as a whole.
So instead, I just smile at her, attempting to offer some silent encouragement.
“It’s still early,” Prue answers, speaking in a reassuringly kind yet firm tone as she so often does. “We have plenty of time.”
Julia’s focus moves from her husband to her daughter, looking her over with vacant eyes and a serious smile.
“Hi,” Prue says softly, after a long moment.
“Hello,” Julia returns, her voice quieted from the steady, sure confidence she had only moments ago. She leans into Tom to whisper, blinking at their daughter across the room, who she cannot seem to place. “Tom…” I hear, barely. “Is that Lucy? I don’t…She doesn’t look like…” She brings two clasped hands up under her chin, fidgeting as she anxiously awaits his answer to a question she didn’t fully pose.
“Yes, dear, it’s Lucy,” Tom answers loud enough for us to easily hear, then turns toward me with a not-so-subtle wink, “and it would appear she’s brought someone to meet us…”
“A date?” Julia scoffs, her mouth stretching into a wide smile, a girlish, young glow washing over her again. She glides across the room, her white dress dusting the floor at her feet, before dropping into the chair next to Prue. “Luce!” Julia singsongs. “Who’sthe guy?” she asks, leaning in close to speak. “Why didn’t you tell me about him?”
“Well, it’s your wedding day, Jules! I didn’t want to make it about me.” Both women turn their faces toward me in unison, wearing equally playful, gleeful expressions that make their usually hard to spot resemblances so obvious.
“He’s rather handsome,” Julia remarks, tilting her head as her eyes narrow on my face.
I cannot help but sputter a laugh, running a hand through my hair before crossing my arms in front of my chest.
“Excuse me?” Tom laughs too. “Your groom is standingrighthere.”
“Yes, yes, love you.” Julia waves her hand dismissively, lovingly teasing her husband, or, rather, her fiancé, as she giggles and sets her focus back on Prue.
“So?” Prue elongates the word, wrapping her arm around her mother’s and holding on to her tightly. “What do you think?” she asks, smiling mischievously as their faces drift closer and closer. “Can he come to the wedding?”
“Well…” Julia pretends to think it over, giggling. “Do you like him?”
Prue nods unabashedly, filling my chest with a warm, now familiar, glow.
“Sure, then. Why not.” They press their foreheads together on a giggle before Prue whispers something inaudible, then they both laugh again.
Tom and I lock eyes and I mime wiping sweat off my brow before turning to clean the last of the dishes. A few moments later, Tom is at my side, drying pots and pans as he watches the coffeepot fill dangerously close to the finish line.
“You’re cutting it pretty close,” he taunts, looking between mysponge and the carafe. “Don’t know if you’ll beat the clock today…”
