Ford: That’s an understatement.
Ford: Mom’s been stress cooking.
Malcolm: She could’ve just accepted them.
Evan: Dude.
Malcolm: I know.
Me: I’ll give her more time.
Me: I’m not letting Angie go just so Mom can be happy.
Ford: Good.
Evan: Yeah, good. I like Angie.
Malcolm: Me too.
I blink back more tears. I’ve gone so long without seeking approval. I didn’t need it. Or maybe I convinced myself I didn’t need it. But now that I have it from brothers, I never thought I would have any sort of relationship like I had with James, I’m not sure what I did to deserve it. I’m just me. Video game developer, Brandon.
Placing my phone back on the nightstand, I head out to the living room to my girl. A candlelight glow warms the space and illuminates her, making her look even more angelic than ever. I lean against the closest wall and watch as she becomes the music she plays. Her body sways, forehead creases, and her mouth pouts as her hands fly across the keys.
When she begins to play another familiar tune—the one she played when my brothers were here. Our eyes lock and she beckons me over with a nod. I kiss her on the cheek and take a seat next to her.
“What’s this song called again?” I ask as I watch her fingers effortlessly move.
“Terrible Love.”
“I think my mom thinks that about us,” I whisper.
Angie continues playing as if she didn’t hear me, but I know she did. “Thinks what?”
“That we have a terrible love. That she’d be happier for me if I wasn’t with you.”
She finishes the song and turns to me. “Do you think you’d be happier if you weren’t dating me?”
“No. I’d still be that sad boy who lived by his schedule.”
“Then excuse me for saying this, but fuck what your mom says. B, you are allowed to choose your happiness over what she expects of you.”
“Yeah,” I murmur. “I think it’s human nature that we’ll always work for our parents' approval.”
Angie loops around and plays the song from the beginning and I watch her hands move over the keys, putting me in a trance-like state until she finishes and turns to me.
“So what do you wanna do?”
What do I want to do? That’s the million-dollar question. Giving up Angie is not an option. She brings out the best in me. We laugh, love, and dream bigger than the stars to get to where we want to be.
I cup her face in my hand and lightly stroke her cheek with my thumb. The answer is on the tip of my tongue, and I wonder what she’d say. “Marry me?”
EPILOGUE
Five Years Later
“Asecond location?” my husband asks when he walks into our shared office at home.
At thirty-seven, Brandon has never looked more handsome. He’s got more laugh and smile lines along his face, and he’s added some black into his wardrobe. I don’t want to take credit for that, but before me, he was all preppy, video game developer. And while he’s still a video game developer, he’s a little less preppy. I like every version of him.
