Epilogue
LAUREN
“Babe, these look amazing. Truly. They complete the lobby.” Max slides his arm around my waist and draws me into his body.
“Hmm.” Whenever I see my own work displayed, I get self-conscious. “I don’t know.”
“Well, I do. They’re stunning. You’re stunning. Hey, look,” Max brushes a quick kiss over my lips. “There’s my brother.”
He lets go of me, which leaves me feeling a little bereft. Even after a couple of months together, I can’t get enough of Max.
“Tate,” he calls out. “Come check this out. Look what we put up today. I'm so proud of Lauren.” Max beams. “It feels like the place is finished. Finally.”
Tate ambles over, stopping in front of a massive photograph in a silver frame. It's of Paradise Springs, all water and sky. Blue on blue. I took the photo the morning Max and I talked at the springs and decided we were both going to stay in Cypress Grove.
“They're perfect.” Tate walks up to one and studies it, his nose only two inches from the glass. “And they’ll sell crazy. You'd better print more.”
“Her photos at ArtSpace already sold out,” Max chimes in, kissing my temple, while Tate wanders off to look at the photos on the other side of the lobby, closer to the reception desk.
There's a lone woman checking in; the resort hasn't had its grand re-opening yet, but it is accepting guests. Max calls it a “soft launch.”
Steve, the family's not-quite-obese pug, follows close behind Tate, his nails clacking on the polished floor.
The four photos at the gallery sold in their first month on display. Now twelve of my large-scale photos hang in the newly renovated, airy lobby of the Magnolia Grand Resort. Since the space is all white walls, white concrete floor, and white furniture, the blue in the paintings don't just pop.
They explode.
Kind of like my heart these days.
The past two months have been the best of my life. After Max and I had our talk that morning at the springs, we continued our conversation. About our fears, our failings, and our future. We walked back to the resort and had coffee on the balcony and watched the Starlight River wake up, and somewhere in the middle of all of it, the shape of what we were building together became clear.
We’ve been talking ever since. No grand announcements, no rushing into things — well, at least not by Hastings family standards.
Last week, while walking through town one evening, Max said quietly: “I keep thinking about what a house in one of the neighborhoods near here would look like. With a porch.” He paused. “With you on it.”
I'd looked at him for a long moment. “I keep thinking about that too,” I said.
That's where we are. It's enough. More than enough.
Here in Cypress Grove, we've been living together in the carriage house above his parents' garage while we look for a place of our own. At first I was unsure if I'd like being so close to his family.
Turns out, I adore it. His mom and I have coffee a few days a week, often joined by Kate and her mom. I see Kate almost every day, knowing she needs me — Damien's often unable to contact her for days at a time, and each time it happens, she's beside herself with worry.
When I'm not with her or Max, I'm taking photos, printing photos at a commercial studio in Orlando, and building an online photography course — actual craft, not content strategy. I'm also in therapy, talking to someone about the patterns I learned growing up: how to be the one who holds everything together, and how terrifying it is to finally put the weight down and trust someone else to help carry it.
It turns out that people who spent their whole lives propping others up often struggle to believe anyone would stay once they stop being useful. That was me and Max. I'd been afraid to show my true, flawed self for fear he wouldn't love the real me.
Spoiler alert: he loves the real me.
I've been thinking lately about the captions I wrote on social media just a few months ago. All those words about light and sacred spaces and gratitude for my sponsors.
Perfectly curated. Completely hollow.
I don't think in captions anymore. I'm not sure when that stopped.
Today I spent the morning shooting the morning light at the springs, then met with a local inn about displaying my work there. After, I brought Max a turkey sandwich at the resort. He's mostly still his workaholic self but has been good about taking breaks. With me.
I'm also supposed to do a Steve handoff with Tate, since he's going to a meeting and doesn't want to leave the dog alone. Tate's thinking about running for a seat on the board of the Starlight River Watershed Council. Today's the first meeting, and I think it would be hilarious if he brought the dog. I've already suggested that Steve appear in his political ads, but Tate says it’s not that intense of a campaign.
