First Love, Epilogue
Epilogue
Tap taptap. Tap taptap tap tap.
The room had darkened. Reid looked up from the journal article on the screen of his electronic tablet; he watched and listened to shards of frozen rain hurl themselves loudly against the tall windows, whipped by wind, stopped as if by a force field. He watched the wind in the willows below, watched the pendent ropes of leaves sweep across the already disturbed lagoon surface. A row of stationary swan boats shuddered against the dock, jostled by the churning water making its way under and around, a procession of peaks chasing each other under a stately footbridge linking the longest shores. Reid smiled, remembering the warmth of Luke’s head against the curve of his neck as they had passed under that bridge for the first time, alone on a swan boat filled with tourists. He remembered the warmth in Luke’s voice as he’d informed Reid that the footbridge was reported to be the smallest suspension bridge in the world. Not long after, when Reid had balked at the price of the condo, Luke had turned him toward this same wall of windows, wrapping his arms around Reid’s middle, fitting himself against Reid’s back.
“You’ll never guess which famous New York bridge they modeled it after,” Luke whispered into his ear.
Turning to the real-estate agent, Reid reached for the paperwork in her hands. “We’ll take it.”
The fire snapped. Reid let himself be warmed by the flames on the hearth, watched the play of colors on his outstretched legs and bare feet, ankles crossed at the other end of the sofa on which he lay. The changeable glow reminded him of the golden light that gilded Luke’s naked form every time they would come together, here, as the sun set. Reid loved these windows.
A spark flared, briefly illuminating the momentary truce between Yankees and Red Sox chess pieces sitting next to the fireplace. Nearby, firelight danced over more sedate maple and rosewood counterparts. Reid returned to his tablet, minimizing the current article to open a new one. He paused as the background photo came into view, caught once again by light and color - the frozen undulation of celestial shades of green and blue and orange hanging over a boreal landscape, almost obscuring the dark dome of stars. Less obscure were the bright faces of the two men in the lower right-hand corner, blindingly lit by love, framed by soft snow and stiff pine trees. One face, Luke’s, was in profile, laughing - the other’s, Reid’s, faced the camera he appeared to be holding in front of them. Reid had yet to notice his own face.
His attention was caught by other noises, then - a soft sniffle, hushed words. His eyes fell to the carpet beside him, to his husband lying on a blanket. To the baby gathered in his arms. Reid watched as Luke whispered to their daughter, soothing her, trying to lull her to sleep. Her eyes would close only briefly before there would be more gurgles and squirms, at which point Luke would cradle and hush, murmuring calming words against the soft fuzz of her head. Reid knew they were both tired; the baby was just getting over a cold. Laying his tablet on his lap, Reid shifted his seat on the cushion slightly, the familiar dull throb below reminding him that Luke had gotten even less sleep than had their daughter; though Luke hadn’t been able to settle her for the night until almost morning, and though Reid had needed the sleep for an early surgery, when Luke had finally joined him in their bed, they’d been drawn together like magnetically saturated bodies - a silent, inevitable coupling, a connection they had long since given up trying to control. They couldn’t not be together, their bodies moving in concert, sliding and fitting and filling. If they were anywhere near each other’s orbits, they would be in each other. And they were never out of orbit, even after all this time. Stars coalesced nightly. Reid watched Luke with their daughter, knowing he was feeling similar aches. Knowing he was similarly relishing them.
The baby momentarily pacified, Luke looked up. A smile fought through the drowsiness, growing until it outshone the flames, brightening the room - a beam of radiance aimed directly at Reid, a fire burning only for him. Had any dark places remained, they would have been exposed, cleansed. But Reid hid no dank chambers; Luke had aired them all out. He knew the floor plan, had all the keys. He had planted black-eyed Susans where the moat used to be. At some point, Reid wasn’t exactly sure when, he had stopped waiting for the inevitable collapse, for the expansion of the universe to reverse, for the critical density to be too much, or too little, leading to a universal rip or universal freeze. He had stopped waiting for Luke to leave. Reid believed. He met Luke’s smile; Reid’s eyes burned right back.
The baby stirred; Luke’s soothing sounds once more wove among those of striking sleet and hail. Eventually, both Luke and the baby stilled, their eyes closing, faces turned in the same direction, lashes fanning against cheeks. The baby lay in the angle of Luke’s elbow, her tiny hand outstretched, fist balled. Just beyond her reach lay two plush toys - one a blue fungus, the other a grey neuron. The journal articles long forgotten, Reid watched them sleep, listened to the soft, rhythmic breaths, the faint nasal rumbling.
Quietly unfolding from the couch, Reid lowered himself behind Luke on the blanket. He eased one arm around Luke’s waist and his head against Luke’s neck, nosing his way from shoulder to ear, settling against Luke’s hair, breathing him in. Without perceptible movement, Luke melded himself to Reid’s contours. Reid lifted the other arm up and around, fitting his palm over the crown of his sleeping daughter’s head. Closing his eyes, he surrendered to the spell of fire and rain, let elemental forces envelope the three of them.
Mine. They’re both mine.
Eyes still closed, Luke reached for the hand around his waist. Reid felt their rings connect.
Ours. Our universe.
Slowly, Luke guided their hands up his chest. He rested them over his heart.
Tap taptap. Tap taptap tap tap.
The room had darkened. Reid looked up from the journal article on the screen of his electronic tablet; he watched and listened to shards of frozen rain hurl themselves loudly against the tall windows, whipped by wind, stopped as if by a force field. He watched the wind in the willows below, watched the pendent ropes of leaves sweep across the already disturbed lagoon surface. A row of stationary swan boats shuddered against the dock, jostled by the churning water making its way under and around, a procession of peaks chasing each other under a stately footbridge linking the longest shores. Reid smiled, remembering the warmth of Luke’s head against the curve of his neck as they had passed under that bridge for the first time, alone on a swan boat filled with tourists. He remembered the warmth in Luke’s voice as he’d informed Reid that the footbridge was reported to be the smallest suspension bridge in the world. Not long after, when Reid had balked at the price of the condo, Luke had turned him toward this same wall of windows, wrapping his arms around Reid’s middle, fitting himself against Reid’s back.
“You’ll never guess which famous New York bridge they modeled it after,” Luke whispered into his ear.
Turning to the real-estate agent, Reid reached for the paperwork in her hands. “We’ll take it.”
The fire snapped. Reid let himself be warmed by the flames on the hearth, watched the play of colors on his outstretched legs and bare feet, ankles crossed at the other end of the sofa on which he lay. The changeable glow reminded him of the golden light that gilded Luke’s naked form every time they would come together, here, as the sun set. Reid loved these windows.
A spark flared, briefly illuminating the momentary truce between Yankees and Red Sox chess pieces sitting next to the fireplace. Nearby, firelight danced over more sedate maple and rosewood counterparts. Reid returned to his tablet, minimizing the current article to open a new one. He paused as the background photo came into view, caught once again by light and color - the frozen undulation of celestial shades of green and blue and orange hanging over a boreal landscape, almost obscuring the dark dome of stars. Less obscure were the bright faces of the two men in the lower right-hand corner, blindingly lit by love, framed by soft snow and stiff pine trees. One face, Luke’s, was in profile, laughing - the other’s, Reid’s, faced the camera he appeared to be holding in front of them. Reid had yet to notice his own face.
His attention was caught by other noises, then - a soft sniffle, hushed words. His eyes fell to the carpet beside him, to his husband lying on a blanket. To the baby gathered in his arms. Reid watched as Luke whispered to their daughter, soothing her, trying to lull her to sleep. Her eyes would close only briefly before there would be more gurgles and squirms, at which point Luke would cradle and hush, murmuring calming words against the soft fuzz of her head. Reid knew they were both tired; the baby was just getting over a cold. Laying his tablet on his lap, Reid shifted his seat on the cushion slightly, the familiar dull throb below reminding him that Luke had gotten even less sleep than had their daughter; though Luke hadn’t been able to settle her for the night until almost morning, and though Reid had needed the sleep for an early surgery, when Luke had finally joined him in their bed, they’d been drawn together like magnetically saturated bodies - a silent, inevitable coupling, a connection they had long since given up trying to control. They couldn’t not be together, their bodies moving in concert, sliding and fitting and filling. If they were anywhere near each other’s orbits, they would be in each other. And they were never out of orbit, even after all this time. Stars coalesced nightly. Reid watched Luke with their daughter, knowing he was feeling similar aches. Knowing he was similarly relishing them.
The baby momentarily pacified, Luke looked up. A smile fought through the drowsiness, growing until it outshone the flames, brightening the room - a beam of radiance aimed directly at Reid, a fire burning only for him. Had any dark places remained, they would have been exposed, cleansed. But Reid hid no dank chambers; Luke had aired them all out. He knew the floor plan, had all the keys. He had planted black-eyed Susans where the moat used to be. At some point, Reid wasn’t exactly sure when, he had stopped waiting for the inevitable collapse, for the expansion of the universe to reverse, for the critical density to be too much, or too little, leading to a universal rip or universal freeze. He had stopped waiting for Luke to leave. Reid believed. He met Luke’s smile; Reid’s eyes burned right back.
The baby stirred; Luke’s soothing sounds once more wove among those of striking sleet and hail. Eventually, both Luke and the baby stilled, their eyes closing, faces turned in the same direction, lashes fanning against cheeks. The baby lay in the angle of Luke’s elbow, her tiny hand outstretched, fist balled. Just beyond her reach lay two plush toys - one a blue fungus, the other a grey neuron. The journal articles long forgotten, Reid watched them sleep, listened to the soft, rhythmic breaths, the faint nasal rumbling.
Quietly unfolding from the couch, Reid lowered himself behind Luke on the blanket. He eased one arm around Luke’s waist and his head against Luke’s neck, nosing his way from shoulder to ear, settling against Luke’s hair, breathing him in. Without perceptible movement, Luke melded himself to Reid’s contours. Reid lifted the other arm up and around, fitting his palm over the crown of his sleeping daughter’s head. Closing his eyes, he surrendered to the spell of fire and rain, let elemental forces envelope the three of them.
Mine. They’re both mine.
Eyes still closed, Luke reached for the hand around his waist. Reid felt their rings connect.
Ours. Our universe.
Slowly, Luke guided their hands up his chest. He rested them over his heart.