“That’s great. Not the issues, but that you’ve identified the issues and want to work on them.”
“I think so. Vaughn and I have talked about it and it might help me be less of a dick if I know I’m working toward something stable. So, something secure, like maybe the all together-type situation you mentioned. That might could work for me.”
She playfully rolls her eyes and turns to Vaughn. “And what about you?”
He clears his throat and I know what’s coming. She’s giving him the green light to feel his feelings. He’s about to feel those big-ass feelings and I, for one, am happy for him. I know he opens up to me, but I know Brook makes it easier.
“I’ve been half in love with you for weeks already. I think you might be onto something. I was scared to put a name to what I want, because I wanted something more and I didn’t think we could have more after—you know.”
“Yeah,” she smiles, tears welling in her eyes.
“We have a lot of details to work out, but I would like to give a try.”
“Shaw?” she asks.
“Fuck it. Let’s do it.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I was hoping to find a nice couple to adopt me, but I think this will work.”
“Jesus,” she laughs. “Well, since you’re here, I would really like you to meet my sister.”
“Now?” Vaughn asks.
“Yeah. If that’s okay.”
My first instinct is to say hell no. I remember the last time I met a mother. How Mrs. Johnson was this close to calling the cops on us. But I also remember what it was like to meet Lynetta and how she’s welcomed me into her home every day since I met her son. Maybe Brook’s sister is more like Lynetta.
“Sure, let’s do it.” We pile back in my car and drive what would have been a long-ass walk to that farmhouse off in the distance. When we get out, more dogs come out to greet us. The barking works as a perfect alarm. We don’t get to the porch steps before a tall Black woman I can only assume is Brook’s sister steps out on the porch. She smiles this big-ass grin and shades her eyes from the sun.
“Hey. It’s hot as fuck out here. Come on in.” We follow her in, past a TV room cluttered with kids’ toys, back to a nice, remodeled kitchen. A swole-ass looking Brown dude with long hair and a McInroy’s Farm t-shirt stands from the kitchen table and nods at us.
“Hello,” he says.
“Vaughn, Shaw, this is my sister, Liz, and her husband, Silas.”
We all shake hands and then take Liz’s offer to have a seat. “Can I get you guys something to drink?”
“Here. Let me help with that.” Her husband’s a little tense in this strange way, but that doesn’t stop him from grabbing the glasses that are already out on the counter.
“We have plenty to eat too, if you guys are hungry. I’ve been baking all morning.”
We both take some of the homemade blueberry lemonade Liz offers and I help myself to two of the huge cookies that she sets down on a platter in the middle of the table. We sit and we talk. Liz is nice. And funny, like Brook. They look a lot alike, but Liz is taller. Still thick as hell, but like a stretched-out version of Brook and she wears her hair natural. She’s warm and welcoming. Silas doesn’t seem to have much to say, but some of the tension melts off of him after a while and it seems like he’s just quiet. Still, it’s clear he cares about Brook and he wants to get to know us too.
An hour later, as the conversation is still going, I glance over at Vaughn. He doesn’t look back at me, but his arm comes around the back of my chair and he squeezes my shoulder. I look back at Brook and she winks at me. I don’t know what to call this thing I’m feeling when I look at the two of them, but yeah, I think this thing with the three of us might work.
Epilogue
Sixteen Months Later
Brooklyn
“You okay?” I ask Shaw. He’s fidgeting beside me. Liz’s yard behind us is already filled with guests milling about, grabbing drinks and sampling tiny berry desserts before everything gets started. We’d wanted to keep things somewhat lowkey, since our commitment unfortunately won't be recognized by any governing body. To our surprise, almost everyone we’ve invited has RSVP’d yes, plus one, plus two or three. They’re all here.
I turn to face him and place my hands on his chest, over the lapels of his suit. We’d had conversations about tuxedos, but he and Vaughn settled on grey and navy suits, respectively. There were jokes about how I should be wearing a medium to dark beige, after all the freaky shit we’ve spent the last year doing, but I couldn’t be happier with the shade of white trailing behind me. This wedding dress suits me better than the one I had hanging in my closet all those months ago. I’m so happy to wear this one.
“Yeah, I’m good,” Shaw says.
