“We absolutely do not.”
“And it’s snowing.”
“It is,” I said. “Very romantic snow. Really doing a lot of atmospheric heavy lifting out there.”
She laughed the real, unguarded laugh—the one I’d been collecting since childhood—and she reached for me, dragging off the t-shirt and fitting her mouth to mine.
Outside, the snow kept on falling soft and steady, through the pine trees, and there was nowhere else in the world that either of us needed to be.
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BONUS EPILOGUE
ELLIE
Some things didn’t change.
Sunday dinner was still Sunday dinner. The table was still set the same way, with the good placemats that came out for company and my grandmother’s serving dishes. The kitchen still smelled like whatever I’d had going in the crock pot since noon, which today was pot roast because it was October and some things were right for the season.
Some things had changed considerably.
“No!” Auggie spouted this with the conviction only a two-year-old who’d recently discovered a new favorite word could. She sat in her high chair at the end of the table, regarding the green beans on her tray with a gimlet eye and pouty lip that definitely said she hadn’t agreed to this and she refused to pretend otherwise.
Auggie had been Daniel’s idea for a name, floated with so much care and sincerity that I couldn’t say no. Which was how we had two variations of the same name at every family gathering. Jury was still out about whether that was twice the chaos or twice the joy. Depended on who you asked. The originalGus, seated at his customary place at the table, found the little scamp’s obstinance delightful.
“She doesn’t want the beans,” he said. Because he’d been taking her side in every dispute since her arrival and had no intention of stopping.
“She needs to eat the beans,” I said.
“She’s two.”
“She’s two, and she needs vegetables.”
“She had a cracker earlier.” He announced this as if it were nutritionally equivalent, and reached over to remove the offending beans from her tray. Auggie beamed at him with the devastating smile she reserved for great-grandfathers who did exactly what she wanted. Gus beamed back with the helpless adoration of a man completely undone by a two-year-old in pigtails.
“Grandpa,” I said.
“She’s fine,” he said serenely. “She’s perfect. Aren’t you perfect?”
“Yes,” Auggie agreed, which was a new word, and she was using it correctly, which was both impressive and terrifying.
Daniel materialized from the kitchen with the gravy boat. He set it on the table and took in the lack of beans on the tray, Gus wearing the expression of a man innocent of all charges, and Auggie now reaching for his fork with both hands. Clearly deciding it wasn’t worth the battle, he sat down beside me.
“The beans,” I said to him.
“Mm,” he said, and kissed the side of my head, which was not a position on the beans but was very Daniel.
“You’re not helping.”
“I’m staying out of it,” he said. “Strategically.”
“Coward.”
“Survivor,” he said, and helped himself to the pot roast.
Dinner was the controlled chaos that dinner had become since Auggie arrived and became the center of all things. She ate some of her pot roast, which she liked, and none of her beans, which she continued to express strong opinions about, and a piece of cornbread that she consumed with a focus and dedication that reminded me of someone but I couldn’t place who. She narrated portions of the meal in the running commentary of a toddler who had recently discovered language and was making up for lost time. Gus responded to everything she said with the gravity of a man taking it seriously, which she clearly appreciated.
