None of them seem to survive that sentence.
I move before I can think better of it.
Close the small space between us.
“I love you, Mark.”
The future can do what it likes.
Epilogue
Philip
By forty-three, birthdays aresupposed to become smaller.
A cake. A few cards. Perhaps an increasingly unwelcome reminder that one’s knees now make administrative noises when standing up.
Not this.
The moment Mark opens the front door to the beach house, sound rolls out to meet me.
Children shouting somewhere near the patio doors.
Sophie laughing in the kitchen.
I stop just inside the hallway.
Mark, who has taken my overnight bag with suspicious efficiency, moves past me looking entirely too pleased with himself.
Then Sophie appears around the kitchen doorway and grins.
“Oh, this is excellent. He had absolutely no idea.”
I look from her to the living room.
Mark’s parents on the sofa. His father deep in conversation with Luke.
Mark's brothers outside with their wives and children moving between the beach and the house.
Callum by the barbecue with Finley.
A full house.
A full, noisy, sunlit house.
I turn slowly towards Mark.
“You did this on purpose.”
He shrugs.
“It’s your birthday.”
“That is not an explanation.”
Noah crashes into my legs before I can say anything else.
“Uncle Philip, there are presents.”
