Page 155 of Cakes for the Grump

“You’ve looked at it once or twice after thinking I’d gone to bed,” says Luke.

“Oh, not to pressure you—I mean we don’t have to?—”

“There isn’t pressure—I’m happy. More than happy. But if you’ll have me for more, to spend our life together forever, I would very much like that.”

He takes a deep breath, and I release the counter. Unable to stop myself, I reach for him. He kisses the middle of my palm.

“I didn’t have a good example of family growing up,” he continues. “I’ve lacked in that capacity. A family where you don’t have to bend yourself into a shape to keep them happy. I thought it was normal until I met—you. That’s when I—breathed. Really breathed. It—you—opened me up. I’m not angry anymore. I’m not hurt. I’m at rest, Rita. It doesn’t matter what we go through because I love you. You’ve given me so much strength—and I love you. I loved you when I wasn’t a good man. And I love you now when I’m trying to do better. I will love you always. And I’ll take whatever you’ll give me, but it would be my greatest honor to call you my wife.”

“Yes.” I hold my hand out. “Hurry.”

“Hurry?”

“I’m so happy I don’t think I can stand longer. I’m so desperately in love with you even when you are at your snarkiest, I love you. You’re my forever, Luke Abbot. You are my family,” I say, clinging to him. “And it’s me who breathes for you, who feels so safe and guarded and supported even when I’m falling to pieces. You see me in all that I am. Happy. I’m happy. So yes, yes to everything!”

He puts the ring on my finger where it belongs, and I’m spun around. We’re kissing, and I think both of us have turned into sentimental souls, since we are both unsteady, laughing, and crying.

Then Luke leaves for a brief second to bring me his other surprise. It’s a cake. He’s baked for me a frosty, slanted mini-tower of imperfection. It pouts forward as if eager to be eaten. There is a potpourri scent that wafts out from it.

“I’ll get better,” he promises.

I rush to the fridge and bring out the one I’ve made for him. “You are more than enough, love.”

The cakes are set down, and we’re pressing our foreheads together and kissing again.

Outside the window, the sun sets. It casts a molten glow onto our kitchen, a familiar space in many homes, but one that has becomeextraordinary in ours. If I could speak to the Rita of the past, I would tell her she should leave that cake in his kitchen multiple lifetimes over. That two people from opposite worlds and opposite cultures are about to clash—and revolve around each other. That she’d be surprised at how deeply she falls apart and how she doesn’t have to be alone pulling herself together again.

Not only happiness can be shared.

It’s okay to accept failure. It’s a part of this, and so is love. From friends and family. Old and new. Related and non-related.

That everything changes, and it’s a brilliant thing when dreams shape-shift into new forms.

~The End~