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“Were you or were you not a computer programmer? Owen Construction has those. Stay here, and I’ll work out the details. I bet Nate knows people who could move you from Atlanta to my house without you lifting a finger.” I rub her left ring finger with my thumb as a really obvious hint. “Without lifting this finger, for example.”
Her eyes are on mine. No tears, but I’m drowning in the ocean of love staring back at me. “I’d rather rent a U-Haul and pack up my room with you. We can argue over the proper way to use bubble wrap. Fight with a roll of tape that sticks to nothing but itself.”
“Sounds perfect,” I say, meaning it.
She studies her lap, growing serious. “I wasn’t ready last year.”
“I know.”
“I never expected you to wait.”
“I know.”
She raises her head, touches my cheek with cool fingertips. “Thank you.”
It’s almost too much, the feeling of love swelling to fill every corner of my being. The way she’s watching me, with hope and reverence and gratitude. So much, I almost can’t take it in. “Are you going to put that on? I wouldn’t ask, but I’m going to make love to you again, and I don’t want to lose it in the blankets.”
This time, her laugh propels her head back. She shakes her head, but it’s not a no, it’s an “Oh, Walt, you sexy animal, come fuck me like you mean it, and then feed me pizza in bed.”
Or something like that. Could be wishful thinking on my part.
“In that case…” She offers me the ring. “My answer is yes.”
I slip the ring onto her finger, the weight of the moment saturating the air in the room. The importance of it. The unknowing of it. Being in recovery means taking life a day at a time. Learning to embrace the unknown, accepting the way the world shifts and changes around you. And rolling with those changes while holding on to what actually matters.
Dee matters.
I lean in and capture her lips. “Merry Christmas, baby.”
She spears her hand into my hair. “Merry Christmas, sexy.”
I make love to her again.
But first, I untangle the lights.
