Page 153 of Cakes for the Grump

“That was the most painful thing that has ever happened to me. I’d endure torture before going through that again. Kindly never do it again.”

“I also said we could be friends.”

“An excruciating consolation for a man who is currently obsessed with finding the right way to propose for real to his fake fiancée. I promise you never want to see what was left of me after you got on that plane.”

“I’m so sorry, Luke. I thought I had to do it. I was scared. Afraid of who you needed me to be. What I thought being with you meant. But now you’ve given it all away.” My breath hitches. “Propose?”

“Steady on, we can table that for later. For now, you need to hear this. I didn’t give anything away, darling. I have you. And now I need to convince myself you are real and sitting on my lap so I can finally have a moment of peace without you haunting me, without you being in my brain, without my arms hanging around, uselessly dying to touch you.”

“Do you know I started hearing your voice in my head? That I pretended you were here and what we’d talk about? How much I wanted to tell you that I got this opportunity to cook again…”

“You took so much of me when you left that I didn’t know what I was. All I knew was what I didn’t want. I don’t want to be any of the people wemet at that conference. I don’t want to be the man who sits on the throne of a company I loathe.”

A last shred of uncertainty rocks me back. “But do you really think you could live here?”

“My home isn’t a place. It’s you. And…even if you never left, I would need to change. What I want and who I am have radically shifted.”

“I’m not strong enough to walk away again. If that means finding a way to go to fancy parties and learning how to live in that other world, I’ll find a way.”

“I don’t want those parties. I promise you we’ll have as little of those parties as we can have.”

“This is real,” I say to myself. “It’s happening. Rich grump and talented upcoming chef get together in a proper relationship.”

“I’m talented too.”

“Sure, baby.” I pat his cheek.

He spanks my hip, then tugs me up until our faces are aligned. “I can’t wait. Once more. Say it again.” The graveled vibrations of his voice make my knees quiver.

“I love you, love you, love you?—”

“I’m going to kiss you now.”

I grin up at him, the weight of the past two months sliding together into new, fresh exuberance and hope. I’m where I want to be, with who I want to be with, able to do what makes me happy in the future.

Luke kisses me.

It goes on forever, and then so we don’t get carried away on the couch, both deciding that our physical reconnection needs glorious time and space to properly execute, we go back to the party after splashing copious amounts of freezing water on our faces.

The first thing everyone notices is our interlocked fingers.

And so we give them another reason to celebrate tonight.

EPILOGUE

The next yearpasses in a monsoon of changes, some winds prevailingly strong in shifting the foundation of my life, others a tender drizzle nurtured by two hearts beating in synchronicity.

Luke moved to Mumbai, and not beholden to his usual punishing deadlines and pressures, took time off to attend Punjabi classes, immersing himself in the language, culture, and traditions. Mostly, he was proud anytime he could recite a fact I did not already know.

Anyway, that lasted a while and then he woke up one morning and started his own investment firm. As of right now, he has funded and grown the following: a technology platform that connects Mumbai students with vetted international exchange opportunities, a digital coach that allows anyone to enter in their circumstances and receive free financial education about how to make their money work better for them, and an app-based ecosystem that allows tenants access to affordable legal advice in relation to deteriorating housing conditions.

The start-up culture is anything but glamorous. Most meetings happen in bootstrapped apartments-turned-to-office-spaces. The times I have dropped by, I see him circled by heads, debating healthily back and forth with the founders and lead engineers about business growth strategies. Luke Abbot no longer sits on a throne. He’s flattened the platform to make room for others tojoin him.

His explanation is not that he has turned into a generous benefactor for altruistic reasons. He states, “If they succeed, I succeed since I own a slice of their business.” I notice that doesn’t account for why he keeps selecting companies with social impact missions to invest in for his portfolio.

What he does well is leverage his history of connections, encouraging past wealthy associates to diversify where they put their money. To fund and give opportunity to those companies that might never have had a chance to be spotlighted. What that means is we attend a few galas. I dress up in an expensive dress, and accompany Luke around the room.

No longer am I tongue-tied doing this. Not because I’ve suddenly learned the language of the powerful and occasionally rude elite, but because I’ve lost my fucks to give. I’m an expert in what I’m doing and see no need to be someone I am not. We are all greater and lesser people in different ways, and I’m no longer interested in regretting the uniqueness of my own journey.