Epilogue

5 years later

HUNTER

I smile as I sip on my coffee and watch my husband through the large floor to ceiling windows of our home just outside of Scarsdale. We lived in a smaller place until recently when Oliver’s income started growing again. He’d taken a bit of a pay cut after quitting his accounting job, but the payoff of seeing him so happy was more than worth it.

He’s shirtless, wearing a simple pair of jeans, kneeling in the soil of the flower garden he designed right after we purchased this house.

I feel a wet tongue against my fingers and look down at the brown ball of fur by my side, tongue out and tail wagging as he stares out the window at Oliver, too.

“He’ll be inside soon, boy,” I tell him, then scratch behind his ear, making him tilt his head and thump his foot against the floor. Clifford is the cavapoo we adopted a little over a year ago and he adores Oliver, though he’s fond of me as well. He’s sweet, exuberant, playful, and a wonderful addition to our family. Oliver picked him out after I told him I wanted to get him a dog as a birthday present. I told him he could have any one he wanted and when we got to the animal shelter this little furball stole his heart in an instant. Apparently his previous owner had only had him for a short while before finding out their child was severely allergic, and their loss was our gain.

Oliver and Clifford instantly bonded, and they’ve been almost inseparable ever since, the canine following him around every moment of the day when Oliver is home and lying just inside the front door when he isn’t.

Even now, Clifford moves to the door and begins to paw at it, whimpering, and I give up and open it, letting him free. He rushes around the house and the next thing I see through the window is Clifford bounding headlong towards my husband and Oliver tumbling backwards as the dog slobbers all over his face, him laughing hysterically. I smile at the duo and sip my coffee as Oliver’s dirty hands reach up and grip Clifford’s face, trying to distance himself from the onslaught.

After quitting his accounting job five years ago, Oliver went to work for a landscaping company and was able to learn enough on the job and with a few night classes that he opened his own landscaping business about a year ago, and now has around a dozen people that he employs, and has done all of the design for our two story suburban home. He thrives at his job, and I have never seen him more happy than when he’s working outside, soaking up the sun and fresh air, surrounded by nature. And I’ll never complain about seeing him on his knees.

I’ve been working on finishing up my doctorate in child psychology, and it’s been exhausting, but rewarding, and I have never regretted my decision for a second, especially when Oliver looks at me with so much pride and fondness, and I know he hasn’t stopped bragging about me to his friends and employees.

I watch as he wipes the sweat from his brow with his forearm, having finally managed to extract himself from the dog who now stands beside him, panting and wagging his tail. The sunlight bounces off Oliver’s gold wedding band, making it sparkle. He turns and spies me staring at him through the window and gives me that tell tale Oliver flush and smile that has butterflies taking flight in my stomach. I can’t get enough of this man, and seeing him come into himself, seeing him take charge of his own life, living the life he deserves, for himself, has been my greatest privilege.

We got married 3 years ago, and all of our friends were there, my old roommates from college came, the friends and coworkers that Oliver met on the job, Olivia, and Freddie, who we asked to be our flower boy and who consequently stole the show, and even Mom and her boyfriend, Mark.

Things are better between us. It’s taken time, but we talked eventually. I had texted her to see if she wanted to talk shortly after Oliver and I got back together. She told me she loved me, but that she needed time, and that honestly she didn’t think she could handle a conversation yet, or even hearing my voice. And of course I didn’t blame her. I knew there was a chance she might never speak to me again after what I had done to her, how I’d hurt and betrayed her, and she had every right to walk away from me completely. She said she was going to go on her honeymoon alone and she would contact me when she felt ready.

It was a year later when she finally did call, and only a couple of weeks after we’d gotten engaged, and when I heard her voice I immediately started crying. I honestly wasn’t sure if I would hear from her after everything. I told her I understood if she never wanted to speak to me again and if this call was just for closure and a way to say goodbye, it was more than I deserved, and the least that I owed. She told me she was not okay with the way I had treated her, but that she would like to start rebuilding our relationship if that was something I wanted, and we’ve slowly but surely been reconnecting. She said she’d forgiven me for the part I played in hurting her, and that she wanted me to be happy. She also told me she’d met someone, but that they were taking things slow. I told her about the wedding and said I understood if she didn’t want to come, but that it was several months away so she had time to think about it, and while I certainly didn’t expect her to come, I would love it if she did. I told her I would leave it up to her to make contact in the future, always willing to take things at her pace, and if she ever changed her mind and decided she couldn’t be a part of my life, I would grieve, but I would understand.

We agreed to meet up a couple of times a month in the months leading up to the wedding, and while things were awkward, especially at first, I was just glad she wanted to be in my life again. I don’t know if things between us will ever be the way they were before, but we’re trying, and I am grateful, because I do love her.

When she did show up at the wedding I was stunned. I sobbed when she hugged me and said, “You might have been okay with losing me, Hunter, but I am not okay with losing you. You’re my son.” I know that I’ll never understand the grief and pain and anger she dealt with, the heartache, the amount of work she must have done to get to where she was then, and where she is now. I know I don’t deserve any of her kindness. Having her at our wedding meant everything to me.

We honeymooned in Europe, and Oliver was more than happy to be my guide in England, while I took over in Italy. Seeing the area where he grew up and the country he loved so much was such a beautiful experience, as was taking him to all the places I’d visited on my “get over Oliver” trip. Everything was infinitely better the second time around, with him as my husband.

I grab a glass of iced tea and bring it out to him, and he stands and wipes the dirt from his jeans before smiling and taking it, guzzling it down, sweat clinging to his ivory skin as Clifford worms his way between our legs, staring up at us both with those big brown eyes.

“Almost done?” I ask.

He nods.

“I’ll make us some lunch then,” I say, taking the glass and heading back inside, but not before patting Clifford on the head.

I pull out the bread, lettuce, tomato, mayo, and bacon, and make us sandwiches. Oliver loves BLTs.

When he gets inside, he showers and then joins me in the kitchen, pressing a kiss to my cheek, Clifford at his feet.

“Thank you,” he says. “This looks amazing.”

That afternoon we do a few more chores around the house and then after dinner we take Clifford on a walk, before he cuddles up next to me on the sofa and we listen as Oliver plays the piano. We got it a couple of years ago after he decided he wanted to take it up again, and watching and listening to him play is the highlight of my evenings.

He plays for himself, because he wants to. Because he loves it, and not out of a sense of obligation or the act of a child trying to earn the love of their parents, and it shows. He’s incredibly talented, and I find it so relaxing.

His parents never did come around to the idea of their son being gay, and they haven’t spoken to him since he told them about us. But it’s their loss, and neither of us have any desire to change things. Of course he would rather they be accepting, but we’re happy, and we have plenty of family and friends by our side. Olivia has also cut ties with her parents in support of Oliver, and because she says the only reason she stuck around in the first place after they shamed her for her divorce, was to support her brother.

We make love that night, and as I move inside my husband, my arms around him, holding him close as he clings to me, letting out the most beautiful sounds, our sweat slicked bodies entangled, I can’t imagine anywhere else I would rather be than here with this incredible man, who’s made my life infinitely better just by being him. I’m so incredibly proud of him, for having the courage to face his fears and accept himself for the beautiful person that he is.

Marrying him was an honor, and growing old with him is a privilege. I can’t wait to see where life takes us, because with him by my side I know I’ll always be home.

I hear his cry of pleasure as he releases between us and I come inside him, then press kisses to his sweat slicked skin and breathe in the scent of gingerbread and vanilla.

The scent of Oliver.

The End