“I knew Adley would live here eventually. I didn’t know how long that would take, so I’m glad it came sooner rather than later.” He shrugs. Like this is just what boring, normal men do for their crazy girlfriends.
He turns me so he can see my face. “I love you, Rochelle Bastille. I’m done sharing you with the world. You’re mine and you’re gonna marry me. You’re gonna have to settle for boring, so I’m really sorry about that. But I’ll try my best to make you happy.”
I kiss him, whispering, “I love boring. Your brand of boring is exactly what I need.”
Chapter Thirty-Five - Quin
Once upon a time, I was unhappy.
I just didn’t realize it.
I had no idea how much I was missing out on until Rochelle and Adley came back.
But they’re not why I’m happy now. Other people can’t make us happy. Only we can make ourselves happy. Rochelle and I faced our fears, just like Smith and Chella did last year, and our lives are so much better because of it.
The door buzzes.
Rochelle and I ignore it. We know who it is. I’m setting the table. This is the first time I’ve ever used this table and I can’t think of a better time to break it in than for Christmas dinner with the people I love. Rochelle is busy with the food. Chella is bringing dessert, so she didn’t have to bake.
We went and got our Christmas tree last weekend. All the way up to the National Forest. Chella and Smith came too. Watching Smith use an ax was almost the highlight of my day.
Almost.
My highlight was realizing this is the fourth time Rochelle and I have done this little trip and the second time Chella and I have done it. Adding in Adley and Smith created something new, and we don’t miss the past. In this small way, we’re happy to share.
It’s an old tradition done a new way.
Of course, Chella and Smith’s tree is filled with sophisticated ornaments and looks like it belongs in a department store.
Our tree looks like it came out of my grandma’s attic. But hey, that’s just how we roll here at the Foster house.
Adley went to the allergist. Turns out she’s allergic to latex and Rochelle would’ve found this out sooner if she had bought cheap bottles with latex nipples. But she’s a genius and knew better. Latex has some cross-reactivity with certain fruits—mango is one of them. It scares me a little. To think that fear of knowing the truth almost made me doubt what I always believed to be true.
Adley is ours.
We’re petitioning the court to add me to Adley’s birth certificate. And tonight, when everyone goes home and Adley is fast asleep in her crib, I’ve got a little sparkly something for my future wife. We’ll be changing her name too. Sometime next summer, to be more specific.
Adley is sliding around the condo in the little walker Bric bought her. We invited him tonight too, but he’s busy, I guess. Whatever. He needs to learn his lessons in his own time or not at all. But I’m done. I did what I could for the guy and I’m done.
He lives in a world I don’t understand anymore. He lives in denial. Denial of the truth inside him that’s dying to get out and denial of all the good things Smith and I have found now that we’ve stopped playing his game.
The door beeps and a second later chaos erupts. Three puppies—yes, three now—burst into the room barking and racing around like, well, puppies. Adley squeals with delight and tries to maneuver her walker to chase them.
Rochelle warned me about Smith’s new addition. But I have to fuck with the guy. I can’t help it. “What the hell is this, Baldwin?” The little husky puppy was Chella’s gift to him for Christmas this year. Turns out she knew he was just going along with those rat dogs to make her happy. So she went back to the shelter and got him the dog he really wanted.
“Triplets.” Smith beams.
I can only shake my head.
“Am I a lucky guy or what? I can’t believe it,” he says, looking down at the completely crazy husky pup as it runs circles around Ads. She’s gonna get dizzy trying to follow him with her eyes. I’m expecting that little shit to eat all the couch pillows, pee on the floor, and probably steal food off the table tonight. But whatever.
The things we put up with for love.
Smith and Rochelle talked for hours that night we set things straight. She told him everything. He listened. They forgave each other for… well, whatever it was that kept them from seeing eye to eye. I think Smith was just looking out for me. I can appreciate that. And now I think we’re all on the same page. We’ve moved on. Left the past behind.
That’s all you can do, right?
There’s no such thing as turning back.
All you can do is move forward.
Once upon a time I had no idea what it meant to be happy.
I know what it means now.
It’s love—in twos and threes and fours.
Does the number of people really matter?
Yes. The more the better.
I’m happy with our new foursome. It’s not what it used to be, that’s for sure. We’re just… normal, I guess. And that’s not a bad thing anymore. It would be a lot nicer if Bric was here. But like I said, I did what I could.
He can turn back all he wants. He can live in the past forever, for all I care. But one day his turn will come.
And then he’ll know what we know.
Game over.
Epilogue - Bric
Christmas Day at Turning Point was pretty much how it always has been. If you don’t mind the fact that all my friends are absent.
I take a drink of my brandy and exhale. I’m sitting in Smith’s bar, looking down at the Black Room. There’s only about a dozen people left now. They’ve all got rooms upstairs and will stay the night.
Me? I’m just gonna sit here for as long as I can. No one is in the basement tonight. They are all with their families and friends.
Fuck them.
The revolving doors make that swooshing sound they do when someone is coming in. I can’t usually hear it from up here, but it’s so quiet down there, it makes me look.
A woman comes in. She’s wearing a black fur cape and a long black dress. She doesn’t stop, but keeps walking. Across the front lobby and right up to the stairs. Her head is perfectly straight, her spine too. Her long dark hair falls down her back, but jiggles a little with each upward step.
Who the hell?
But just when I recognize her, my phone buzzes on the table.
I check the text.
Jordan: You wanted her trained? She’s trained. Merry Christmas.
It’s that ballerina chick. She’s been slapping him around for weeks. The wannabe dom, I chuckle to myself.
When she gets to the second-floor landing she pivots right and walks towards the second, shorter set of stairs that lead up to Smith’s bar.
She stops at the threshold of the bar and waits.
“What?” I ask her.
She doesn’t even look at me. Just stares straight ahead.
That’s when I notice she’s got a tag attached to her right wrist.
“What the fuck is Jordan up to?” I mutter, getting up from my chair. I walk over to her and try to make her meet my gaze. She looks straight ahead and then lifts her hand up. The one with the tag.
I take her hand and read the tag.