He made his choices. Those choices affected my life. But I can’t change the past. I can only embrace the present, and make better choices about my future.
Holding Dad’s hand, with my head on his shoulder, I let Tess chirp about the bistro. It’s a surreal moment with our little family.
My sister is different. My bond with Dad has shifted. Despite everything, we’re still us.
A small, dysfunctional family.
So different from Xander’s.
I think about the distinction as I make my way to the townhouse. Our upbringing and family dynamics are another gap between us I would have held against him—us—a few weeks ago, but getting to know my husband, I realized we all have many facets, and I can’t judge and assume.
Even Dad, with his own drama and betrayal, still showed up for me in many ways. The Zinfandel birthdays were real. He was there for me after Ethan.
These are the memories I’m going to cling to.
And similar loving, joyful memories are what close the gaps between me and Xander.
Kindness means we give the other person a chance. Perhaps they prove us right. Hopefully, they will surprise us pleasantly.
Not giving a chance means potentially robbing myself of a beautiful experience.
On the way home, I buy a bouquet of sunflowers. Getting the vase, I find a small box with my favorite pistachio Danish and a note on the kitchen counter.
I love you, Coraline. X.
Every day I find something from him that makes me feel seen. Happy. Content.
It’s the little gestures like the notes, a rare vintage of Zinfandel, a book, or an ice cream. So much more meaningful than the island.
I smile, inhaling the scent of my home—sunflowers, moving boxes, Xander’s cologne. Perfection.
Xander has been extra attentive in the past two weeks since we returned from California. He couldn’t say he was sorry, but he’s making sure he shows it to me.
I walk into the living room looking for the cats. The bay window alcove has quickly become my favorite place in our new home. The house is still a war zone with boxes and haphazardly strewn furniture, but here I find peace. Here I write my stories. Here I wait for Xander to come home.
And here I find Pitt and Clooney, who quickly claimed the upholstered bench as their own. I scratch their heads, sit, and finally search up C.O.R.A. online.
Community Outreach for Responsible Appetite is a project run by a woman I don’t know—not me or Xander—and the spokesperson is Pavel. My neighborPavel. His school is where the healthy lunch initiative started.
Xander Stone, when on earth did you manage this?
He comes home later, looking his usual gorgeous self, and finds me still at the bench.
“I’m finally sure we have only two cats.” He leans against the wall, smiling at me.
Wehave two cats.
“Maybe the other eight are hiding.”
“They are not. My wife isn’t an old cat lady.”
I laugh. “Isn’t she?”
“How was your meeting with Andrew?”
Still wearing his suit, with one leg crossed at the ankle and his tie loosened, he looks both a powerful business executive and a playful man who brings lightness to my life.
My smile widens. “Great. Thank you for taking the first step for me.”
