Together, we are perfect. “You’re my world,” I say, pulling Ethan’s hands around to hold me.
“And you’re mine,” Ethan says, squeezing me so tight for a second, I can’t breathe.
All this time with Ethan, and I’m tired, spent, satisfied.
And I’m thinking about great loves. I fall asleep dreaming up characters, and creating conflicts for them that I’ll write in my first romance novel.
Because do you know how a romance novel ends and the great loves finally get to be together?
When everything that keeps them apart isn’t strong enough to keep doing so. My brain can dream up new characters, because it doesn’t need to try and solve the problems between Ethan and me anymore.
We’re living happily ever after.
Emmaline
Three Months Later
My mother is trying, she really is. I see the smile she offers me, and then Ethan, and I’m grateful and smile back. It's been three months since Ethan versus my mother went off on full tilt. Now I live with Ethan, we’ve decided to stay engaged until I’ve graduated, and Ethan and my mother are even forming a tentative revival of their friendship.
I close my hand over Ethan's on one side of me, and my mother’s on the other. These are two of the most important people in my life and I’m so happy that they can be friends again.
My father clears his throat, but when I look up, I don’t see the look of disapproval that I might. Instead, he raises a glass.
“To Emmaline and Ethan,” he says, and I’m shocked.
“Dad?” I whisper, so shocked at this illicit approval.
“Emmaline, you’ve always been such a smart, precious girl,” my father says. “You were always complicated, intense, emotional, all of these things in incredible ways. It's part of what drives you and what makes you an amazing woman. There’s nothing you set your sights on that you don’t get,” he continues.
I think I’m going to cry, and I’m smiling so much. Ethan and my mom are both squeezing my hands back.
“You know, there’s only been one other person in our lives that was that level of intelligent and ferociously passionate, in a way that even your mother and I couldn’t understand, and that’s Ethan,” my father says, tipping a drink to him.
I look to Ethan and see the surprise read on his face. It warms me inside and out to feel such love in this room right now, and I can’t recall ever feeling so happy at one of these family dinners that Ethan and I go to every week. We wanted to not be the older man, younger woman couple that was hiding from our families or anyone in the world. We're serious about being together, and I have always been close with my family.
But this is more than I could've ever hoped for with us. At least not so soon, if ever, did I think one of my parents would be so accepting.
The truth is, my father is quiet. I had no idea that he saw me like this, or Ethan, or the two of us together like this.
“I believe the two of you are going to be very happy together. And I know things got to their own rocky start, but so many relationships do. It doesn’t matter how you start, hell, sometimes it doesn’t even matter how you finish. It does matter what you do in the middle. You two are in the middle, and you care for each other. You treat each other as equals. As long as you love my daughter, Ethan, you’re always welcome in my home,” my father says, and then he laughs. “But if you break her heart, I want you to understand that I’ll have to wait in line behind her to break your kneecaps, and that’s probably messy so we’ll keep that outside.”
Everyone laughs, and it isn’t forced. I let go of my mother and Ethan's hands and I walk over to hug my father. Then I grab my water glass and I toast with everyone else.
“To Emmaline and Ethan,” my father says.
My mother repeats the words, “to Emmaline and Ethan,” and to her credit, she actually sounds like she means them.
I look at Ethan and I can tell that he’s shocked, too. Neither of us expected this, and we’re both so grateful.
I remember that night my mother confronted us. I thought it was a little odd that my father said nothing but things to try to calm my mother down…but I had no idea that he could actually approve of my relationship.
I mean, let’s look at the facts. I’m dating a man who was my professor, who tried to start something with my mother when they were younger, and here we are sitting at a table with dinner where I’m not even old enough to drink.
Surely, there’s all sorts of reasons my father could disapprove.
“Thank you for seeing the man that I love,” I say, raising my glass. “Thank you for seeing the person I am, always, dad,” I say, and I start to get choked up.