“Good answer,” JoAnn says approvingly.
My dad snorts. “Smart man.”
Somewhere behind us, a box tips over and spills across the floor. Amy gasps dramatically. “My Halloween costumes!”
I dive for the red Velma skirt like it’s a priceless artifact. That, of all her costumes, can’t ever be ruined. “Zoinks! I’ll save them.”
She snickers before crouching down beside me to gather random items including the Morticia Addams dress she plans to wear this upcoming October. As she gathers it up, her fingers brush mine. Heat and love bloom in equal measure in my chest.
It’s been a year since Amy let me back into her life. We worked hard for our forever. It’s not just about mornings and routines and learning each other’s rhythms; it’s remembering love is what makes us feel safe.
Like when Amy insisted on coming with me for my annual visit with my neurologist. Holding my hand while I struggled with the idea of being fit for a helmet.
Dr. Moser points out, “Getting fit doesn’t mean you always have to wear it.”
“Then why do it?” Amy gives my hand a squeeze at the question.
“Because it will give you a little more freedom than you have today without aggravating your injury.”
“Can I skate?”
He rolls his eyes. “If by skate you mean go around the rink slowly while kids use trainers, then yes. But only if you wear the helmet.”
It’s me sitting in the front row of every math meet like a proud idiot. When the Willow Creek team took states last year, Icheered louder than I do when we watch hockey together. “Way to go, team! Way to go, Amy!”
She blushed to the roots of her hair, but never once stopped smiling as she accepted the trophy on behalf of her students.
We choose each other again and again. We even attended a few sessions together with Dr. Halvorsen who said, “You two will be just fine. Just don’t lose sight of each other.”
So, we don’t. Regardless if it’s a day filled with chaos which is why it doesn’t surprise me when she asks, “You okay?”
“More than okay.”
She kisses my cheek, quick and familiar. Our moms collectively decide to “Aww.”
“Get a room,” my dad jokes.
“I’m literally moving into Bren’s house for this reason,” Amy fires back.
All the parents laugh. I catch my mom watching us with that expression she’s worn all day—like she’s witnessing something she once hoped would happen. Amy leans close to whisper, “You’re smiling.”
“I know.”
“What about?”
I glance around the room. At the boxes. At the parents arguing good-naturedly. At life unfolding exactly the way it’s supposed to. “This is our life. Finally.”
She squeezes my hand and then heads outside to pull another box of clothes from the UHAUL.
Later—after the couch has been moved three times—we steal away to the kitchen. Leaning against the counter, we share kisses in between taking sips from a bottle of water like we ran a marathon instead of moving her in.
“They like each other,” she murmurs.
I raise a brow. “They’ve formed a united front against us. I wouldn’t be surprised if they started a group chat.”
She grins. “My dad already asked your dad about fishing spots in Ireland.”
“Yeah, we’re doomed.”
