65. REEMA

One year later

"Drive slower," shouts Leo, clutching the baby seat with both hands.

"I'm going ten under the speed limit," Jake informs him.

"Put both hands on the wheel!"

Jake takes his right one off the gearshift.

"There's a red light!"

"It's green."

"It's about to turn red!"

"Apologies," says Wyatt with a sigh. He's also in the backseat, sitting on the other side of baby Mel, their adopted daughter, who is sleeping soundly without a care in the world. "This is our first trip out of the house. It's going to take some adjusting."

"What adjusting?" screeches Leo. "There's no adjusting. I'm always going to be like this."

"True. Unfortunately, no cure has been discovered," I say, and then, "Hey!" because he's kicked the back of my seat.

"Settle down, children," says Wyatt with an impressive amount of patience. "Or you'll wake the actual child."

With that said, the rest of the ride is mostly drama-free, but Jake must be regretting car-pooling together, considering his knuckles stand out against the wheel, and he's cleared his throat multiple times.

Good thing we're arriving now.

The car pulls onto a long stretch of a curved driveway cloaked by dense shrubs for privacy, so you have to know the exact entrance, otherwise you could easily drive past it. There are twists and curves, and then a turn around a final bend to reveal a gorgeous, multi-floored home with a sweeping white patio wrapped around the front. On the second floor is a domed turret built with an attached circular balcony, echoing the shape. By my count, there are two dozen windows accented with blue-painted trimmings that, when open, wash the country-chic furnishings inside with warm light.

Wyatt whistles in low appreciation, which is very understandable. Every time I see Jake's mother's home, my mouth drops in awe, and I understand even more clearly why he wanted to save it for her.

A few vehicles are already parked, but they are expected. Jake's mother is throwing a fancy luncheon for my parents and a few relatives who have flown in to hang out with his family. Maybe that's why Jake seems so nervous? He's not been acting like himself these last… two weeks? Most strange is how he's not come over in the evenings or asked me to come over to his place. We've not seen each other enough that I'm considering an intervention about him overworking himself, which past-me would find highly fucking ironic.

The car turns off, and Jake and I get out. Leo doesn't, rolling down the car window. "We're going to wait until she gets up from her nap," he hollers. "You two go ahead."

Before I can argue or ask if they need help, Jake is off. I follow quickly behind, catching up with some jogging.

I nudge his arm. "You seem worried."

"Hm."

My hand brushes against his with question. He wipes his palm on his pants before interlacing our fingers. That's—new. I've never seen him like this before. As if he's in his head completely. It was like this during breakfast, too. He hadn't eaten a thing.

"If our families hanging out so regularly feels too fast—" I start.

"It's not."

So he says, but I would understand if it was. A lot has changed in this past year, and there are days it feels unreal to me. Moments where I can't believe how we've fitted our lives together, but also moments I want to strangle and straddle him at the same time.

What's helped is how I quit my job—only to be offered another one by Mr.Davies. Shocker, but being in a commission-based position isn't the best for my mental health at this stage in my life. I couldn't seem to dial back my workaholic tendencies, knowing there could be more money made if I put in more hours—but then more hours made me push myself to the brink of exhaustion…

It was a vicious cycle.

Mr.Davies, panicked at the thought of losing me, created a whole new department for me to lead. Client Relations. It's my responsibility to manage clients after they've signed up with us. It's been challenging but fulfilling to create my own processes and touch-points for communication. The substantial salary bump doesn't hurt my interest either.

As for Jake, he's gone to Mr.Davies with an offer to own shares in FINAN Group. There's been a hefty amount of number crunching involved, and Jake asked to include my name on them, but I told him I wasn't ready to be involved in the business side of things right now.

As for the two of us and our relationship, it's been lovely even when we fight. Personally, it took some time for me to de-program certain habits. I swung between not allowing myself to rely on anyone else or worrying about whether I was doing enough to make the other person happy. To manage the two polarities of my past, therapy has helped, but also, strangely, wood carving has. It's a new hobby full of delicate violence against lumber that brings me strange joy.

Jake argues it's threatening how I like having so many sharp objects nearby, while simultaneously buying me loads more sharp objects to play with.

I no longer make fun of his spreadsheets but praise them, which turns out is A Thing in Bed for him. We've had too much fun with that. What's also fun is our monthly Take Jake Coleman Out Of His Comfort Zone outings.

Sometimes it's a group affair with our friends, and sometimes it's the two of us. It's a chance for him to consciously remember not to worry and stress about unplanned surprises or things not going exactly to plan. When he gives up control, he gets to have a break, not needing to be so dependable and on top of things. It's such a treat to shower him with planned chaos—and that he lets me do it, because I'm trusted with his heart, but also his forgiveness if I take it too far.

It's a leap of faith that we both keep taking to love each other.

All that being said, I've got no idea what is running through Jake's head today. He seems deeply worried about something.

"I know my family is a lot?—"

Abruptly, he pulls me into a hug. I'm squeezed with warmth and affection, and everything melts inside me. I wonder if the sheer relief of being in his arms will ever go away. I don't think it will.

"They are the best kind of a lot," he mumbles against my hair.

"Right. And I guess we've already done this as fake-boyfriend-girlfriend. So being real should be easy."

"Just don't kiss the side of my head. Aim for my mouth."

I snort. "That joke is old."

"It will never get old." He lets go and offers his hand again. "Come on. Everyone is around back."

Turning the corner, we pass by the side garden full of broad upturned leaves soaking in the sun. Here, Jake's mother, Charlotte, has planted black-eyed Susan, beautyberry, and yellow daylilies. The stone pathway guides us under a cedar archway, and then past a wooden gate already open. Following the edge of the house, I enter the mouth of the backyard, expecting everyone to be there, but no one is.

Before us is an empty, untouched fairytale.

"Your mother outdid herself," I gasp. "It's unbelievable! Look at that gazebo. It's huge. I wonder when she got that installed—and—oh, the flowers. They are my purple color I love so much, and so many of them—my God, they are everywhere?—"

The gazebo is dripping with them, as are the long tablescapes beyond it, so hedonistically full of flower arrangements, vases, cakes, drinks, and treats that the white of the tablecloth is obscured.

"I can't believe she did all this," I say with another gasp.

"It wasn't her."

I turn to look at Jake. He's standing there with his hands slipped into his pockets, watching my reaction so carefully.

"You did this?"

He nods. "For you."

Turning back around, I get closer. There are tables full of tasty canapés, a lot of them flavors I recognize and love. Goat cheese, apricot, bruschetta… and is that the Ritz cracker one I made for Jake a few months ago? The one I ate too many plates of because I couldn't get enough?

Going closer, I see dishware, flatware, beautiful string lighting, and a dance floor. I can't stop staring at everything in disbelief, warm under the toasty sun, breathing in the flowery garden air, eyes feeling damp all of a sudden.

Jake comes up behind me. He turns me gently around.

"Is this our wedding?" I whisper.

"Only if you want it to be," he says in a voice choked with emotion. "You don't have to marry me. There's no pressure. It can be a party and nothing more. For I've loved every second of this past year and if all our years are like this one, I'm the happiest man. You make me the happiest man. And I know you don't have good experiences of being married—and you might not want to do it again—but I wanted you to know I'm here. I'll always be here if you'll have me. That for the rest of our lives, I'll be by your side."

He continues, "And if you need time to think about it, consider this a trial run. I can plan everything for us. All you have to do is show up and be happy, if that's what you want?"

The conversation we had in the hotel room so long ago, I remember it now. Back when we were fools denying everything between us. I had told him a far-fetched (to me, at the time) vision of the wedding I longed for. A wish hidden in the nooks of my repressed heart. It was for my partner to put everything together, so I wouldn't have to shoulder any of the burden and?—

He's given it all to me.

Jake Coleman remembered and has gifted it to me, but without any expectation that I will say yes. No, he's told me I have all the power and I don't ever have to get married again if that's what I want.

"You did this for me," I whisper.

"I'd do anything for you Reema, but there's no pressure. I never want to pressure you. You don't have to?—"

I leap into his arms. "Yes!"

He swings me around. "Yes? You want to marry me?"

"You make me so happy–I–of course–I want forever with you. Yes to all of it!"

He puts me down, pulls me close, and kisses me. "I love you."

"I love you."

"There's a ring." He pulls it out of his pocket, goes on one knee, and holds it up for me to see. It's an antique diamond wrapped in a halo of smaller diamonds. The light strikes off the stones, stippling us with dazzle.

Now my hands are shaking. "It's beautiful."

"You're beautiful." He holds my hand and slides it on.

It's a perfect fit and as soon as it's on, the back doors of the house burst open with our family and friends pouring out, screaming with joy.

My sister reaches me first. Gurinder follows behind with their son in his arms. "I told you so," she declares. "I knew you were going to marry him!"

Behind them, my mother is sobbing into my father's shoulder, and on the other side of her is Jake's mother, dabbing her tears.

Serena is here, too.

"I thought you were supposed to be in Japan! You flew in?" I say incredulously.

"I did! And I brought my girlfriend, too. I want you to meet her."

I do, and Jake and I go around and thank everyone else for being here. There's no brood of nosy uncles and aunties. Our guest list is perfectly curated, as I've always dreamed of it being. Manu, Miya, Priya, Jiya, Frank, Vikram, Pooja, and Jyoti are all here. So are Leo, Wyatt, Mel, Sally and her husband. Ms.Beatrice and her kids.

Jake's four brothers are six foot plus giants blessed with absurdly good genes. In her high-speed wheelchair, Bebe whizzes around them, charming them completely with her zany, out-of-pocket personality. There is so much laughter.

After all the welcomes are done, I'm whisked inside to the main house. On the bed is my wedding outfit. Seeing it, my heart soars.

"Do you like it?" my mother asks nervously. "Esha and I picked it out together."

The georgette fabric is a deep sage green, hand-stitched with delicate vines, naqshi, pearls, and small studded crystals. Despite all the work, it floats over my arms as if ready to dance in the wind. The two-piece lengha has a long-sleeved top that would have been too much in this heat, if the back wasn't completely naked, held together by a single silver clasp.

More tears dance down my cheeks. "It's everything I didn't know I wanted."

Charlotte has a bed full of jewelry options for me. With her help, I pick a delicate kundan set.

"Thank you," she says, embracing me. "You make him so happy and because of you, he's opened up so much more. He's healed himself."

This last year, on the anniversary of his dad's passing, Jake had gone into his dad's office and wept as I held him. It was the outpouring he needed. After that, we've been back and have stayed overnight many weekends with his mother, his brothers often joining in. There have been stories told around a fire, memories of the past, the good times and the hard ones openly shared.

And now with our wedding, two families join and shower us with their love and support. At the end of the aisle is my soon-to-be husband waiting for me, dressed in a traditional Punjabi sherwani.

Our eyes meet and we fall into each other, no longer two people pretending to be sworn enemies to disguise the pull between us. Excuses aren't made so we can orbit each other, swords raised and mouths smirking.

This time we're side-by-side, and we fight and love together.

Coleman and Patel, together at last.

* * *

And so we come to the end of this story. Now if you recall, there was this brief mention of Reema manifesting squirting for herself.

Dreams do come true.

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