I’d like to debate this topic, with a little 1995 ditty calledWaterworldas my opening argument, but Owen’s alarm goes off next to our bed.
“I don’t wanna go,” he moans, turning off the alarm, then rolling over until I’m nestled beneath him. “Convince me to stay.”
Boy, am IOh. So. Tempted.But today is a big day for both of us. So since I’m a grownup, I only use my superpowers of persuasion for a little while, before my first alarm sounds and we both know we have to get up for the day.
Owen jumps in the shower, and after getting ready myself, I greet Todd the Orchid, blooming beautifully in our master bath. It turns out, when you leave an ailing orchid alone to its own devices in a teensy tiny bathroom—in the throes of a terrible case of food poisoning—that dying orchid will get the perfect amount of impartial sunshine and humidity to help it thrive. This guy, and his astonishing, three, brand new blooms, earned us an easy forty thousand dollars. Ten for keeping him alive—though, I don’t know that we can rightfully take credit since we forgot Todd the Orchid existed—and another ten thousand for every new bloom he magically grew on his own.
Just as I finish preparing his protein shake, Owen slips into the kitchen behind me, caging me in against the counter. “You are so pretty, Mrs. Jones.” Instead of kissing me, though, he blows raspberries in the crook of my neck, earning my laughter and making me squirm until I’m wrestling out of his arms.
“What time is Sumer expecting you there today?” he asks, sipping his smoothie and making his way to the coffee thingamajig so he can work his magic and make my perfect latte. Shirtless. With his wet hair dripping perfectly, glistening drops of water onto his shoulders.
Did I mention how sweet my life is?
My girl, Gretchen, stretches out on a beach of paradise, the lucky broad. She’s happy as a clam.
Sumer Morrison’s team contacted me about coming on staff right afterSuite Hearts’production officially wrapped. Ocean and Haven accepted an offer the same day Owen and I did. They won all of their debt paid in full and the Ram 3000, which they’ve since sold and repurposed into their newest venture: an organic, fresh juice bar in Honey Hill. Having both loved their time in the South so much, they decided a relocation with their band of beautiful children was next in theirkaleidoscopicjourney of harmonious vibrations.
Owen can’t wait for Jack to meet them. He plans to film the entire interaction.
The Woodhouses, of course, took home the grand prize. We were all there to celebrate with them on the small hobby farm they’ve lived in for their entire marriage, just outside of Sugartree. Their children and grandchildren looked more excited to have Clyde and Gloria home than they were for the million-dollar prize. And though they clearly loved the attention from their friends and family, Clyde and Gloria were much more interested in celebrating intheirway, giving no mind to the cast, crew, or locals witnessing it all.
Truly sweethearts, they deserved the win.
“I’m supposed to be there around ten,” I answer Owen, taking my sweet time perusing his backside. I can’t believe I went so many years without doing so. “After my appointment with Mom.”
I’ve been seeing a therapist a few times a week sinceSuite Hearts.Though I’m sure the wounds that have worn away at me for over half my life won’t be completely resolved anytime soon, if ever, I feel as if I’m getting the tools I need to move forward with my life. I won’t lie, though, each session feels a lot like jumping into a batting cage with no training and no protective gear to keep me safe. But after putting in the work, I’m getting a little bit closer to being strong enough to actually hit the ball at some point. Probably not today, as Mom is joining me for the first time. But one day.
Owen battled for us both so faithfully over the years, while remaining committed to pursuing his dreams. Now, I’m getting the chance to do the same. I’m so incredibly blessed to have him cheering me on, rubbing his belly in the proverbial stands, the whole time.
I try to take the more painful parts of healing one day at a time—or as Owen loves to remind me:One pitch. One inning. One game.Giving myself grace and space when necessary.
He delivers my coffee with a kiss to my cheek, only briefly catching my blatant ogling. His still-gritty morning voice sends chills up my neck when he lingers there. “Have I told you today how proud I am of you? How much I love you? How amazed I am by how hard you’re fighting?”
“I think I can guess, but thank you.” Brimming with the warmth Owen’s words of affirmation always bring, I hold out my hands greedily for my pretty coffee, but he keeps it just out of reach.
“Ah, ah, ah… not so fast,” he tsks, shaking his head. “Be my wife today, Love?”
Now, I'm far less interested in coffee. “Yes, please.” My hands reach out for his face instead, abandoning pursuit of the mug and running against the rough surface of Owen’s barely there beard. “Will you ask me again tomorrow?”
“Always.”
Another precious gift this man has given me. Time. We’re almost four months into marriage and not once has his patience with me or my insecurities and fears faltered. Just like everything else in my life, thisforeverbetween us is one day at a time, though I plan to give Owen myyesevery single day for the rest of our lives.
He lets me draw his lips to mine, kissing me so tenderly, I’m deeply inclined to go back on our plans, build an adult blanket fort in our bedroom, and pass the time in all of our favorite ways.
But we don’t.
Instead, we say our goodbyes when Jack comes to take Owen to the airport.
“I’m so proud of you, O. You’ve worked so hard, and I am so excited about this next step for you and for us… You’re amazing,” I say, wrapping my arms around his neck in a tight squeeze.
“And handsome and charming…”
I tug the curls at the base of his neck. “And a bit arrogant for my taste, but—”
He interrupts me with a demanding kiss, pressing me into the wall and out of Jack’s eyeline. It only takes a minute—but who can know for sure, since time really does fly when you’re having fun—before Jack groans from our entryway.
“You’re so much more dramatic married than you were as friends… He’ll be back in two days.”
