“And that’s going well?”
“Er, yeah, I mean—”
“And my wife…You’ve shown up for her.”
“Well, Mrs. Welch is—”
“And me, and”—he pauses, pointing upward to the fixed arrow sign above the cash register—“my shop.”
“Right but—”
“And now Prue.” He nods, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You’ve shown up for her today. It took a lot of courage to come in here, to set me right, I’m sure. And you make her happy, Milo. She’s been so much happier lately. I didn’t want to admit it fully because, well, not much else has changed, has it? She’s still here, still working away taking care of her mother and me…. But she’s happy.”
“That’s all I could ever want.”
“You should be proud of yourself, ??? ???.”My son.
I nod, stunned, as my throat tightens and my eyes widen.
“I will tell her after the opening on Friday, okay? I don’t see any good reason to ruin a party.” He walks over to the storage closet, fetching a sign from the back of it. I watch him walk over to the door, place theClosed for the Daysign on it, and smile back at me over his shoulder. “Until then, why don’t you let Prue know she can have today off. I’d like to spend the day with my wife.”
I nod again, though disappointment hits when I realize I’ll have to wait another five days to tell Prue what I want and how I feel. I can’t do any more half-truths. I want all my cards laid out on the table at once. And I can’t tell her how I’m willing to changemylife to fit hers before she knows her life is about to change too.
“Okay, sir.” I walk toward the door as he holds it open for me. “I’ll let her know.”
“And Milo?” he says as I get two steps outside and stand under the early-morning October sun.
“Yeah?”
“Your shirt is on inside out.”
I look down to see the shirt’s label on my chest, realizing it’s also on backward.
“I left rather urgently,” I admit, smiling sheepishly. “Thank you for hearing me out, sir.”
“Anytime.” Tom laughs, looking down at my shirt once more before shutting the door and locking it in place.
I set off to the back of the property, toward the A-frame and the woman inside of it whom I love.
Twenty-five
Prue
After sex, whenMilo pulled me in close and his sentences began to scatter as though half of his words were being spoken in a dream, I lay awake and watched him fall asleep.
I wrote poetry that I don’t fully remember now that it’s morning. Sonnets about his eyelashes, the dip of his cupid’s bow, the scent of his skin, the texture of his hair, the overwhelmingly large size of his heart and how I wish I could live inside of it.
I imagined all the worlds in which he would stay. Not just in my bed, but in this pass-through town, forever. I script hundreds of different endings to our story. Some of them are happy, others sad, but in each of them I gave us more time.
I wondered if I’ll miss him the most when I find myself in the arms of another man someday. If my bones will cry out for him. I tried to convince myself that I won’t. That my body will feel as perfectly designed to fit against another man as it does with Milo. I failed and repeated this step many times.
Deep in my soul I know that if someone were to ask me to be their wife someday, my first thoughts would be of Milo. Not wondering if he’d be coming back, because I can’t afford that hope, but instead what he’d think of it all. If he would like the mandown on one knee. If he would laugh at his jokes or find him handsome or think he was worth my time.
I’m terrified that I could go on to have a full life with a marriage, children, and even grandchildren, but my last breaths would be spent with the memory of Milo asleep on my chest.
And I reminded myself, over and over, how lucky I am to have found love. Even if it cannot stay. Even if I cannot follow. Even if it must come to an end.
And when I woke up this morning, one thought stuck with me: At least it won’t end today.
