Page 158 of Hell Bent
“I thought an emerald,” he said. “Symbol of loyalty, new beginnings, peace, and security. Sounds right.”
“I read something different,” I said. “Wealth, power, and authority. I looked it up a long time ago because of the earrings, obviously, and thought, ‘Well, no. No thanks to that.’”
“I like mine better,” he said, and we both smiled.
“My mother will say it’s too soon,” I said.
“We don’t need no stinkin’ rules,” he said, and we both laughed some at that. “It can be a long engagement,” he went on, “but I’m tired of holding back. I’m tired of closing off. Radical openness. That’s what I want. Nothing in this world is permanent. Parents die. Partners die.” Another pause. “Even kids can die. But love doesn’t die. That’s what I’ve realized. Love doesn’t die. The love you give goes on. Love lives.”
My heart was so full, I could barely speak. “Kids,” I said. “You know that I …”
“My dad died young of pancreatic cancer,” he said. “My sister died young of breast cancer. She had the BRCA1 gene. He almost certainly did too. I’d need genetic testing, and so would you.”
“IVF,” I said.
“IVF,” he agreed. “When we’re ready. So what do you say, Anastasia Alexandra Glucksburg-Thompkins? Want to marry me and not change your name? Because that name’s a keeper, and so are you.”
“Yes,” I said. The wind blew, the sun shone through the clouds, and the tide kept on rolling in and out. Radical impermanence. Radical acceptance. I held his beloved face in my two hands and looked into his wolf-eyes. He looked back at me, steady and strong. Ready to face the world with me. “Yes,” I said. “I do.”
62
EPILOGUE
Alix
On a Saturday morning in late March, I finished toweling my hair dry while Sebastian stuck his wallet into his back pocket and said, “Well, that was fun. Ready to go do this thing?”
“Yes,” I said. “Now that you’ve relaxed me.”
“Although going back to bed could be fun, too,” he said. “I kinda like this both-not-working thing.” He got up close behind me, pulled my hair aside, and kissed the back of my neck, and I shivered. It was hard to believe Icouldstill shiver, honestly. We’d gone for an early-morning run with Ben and Lexi in a misty evergreen forest like a fairy tale, and then Sebastian and I had taken a shower. Unfortunately for the steadiness of my gait, Sebastian had shaved my legs in there.
I’m not joking. He shaved mylegs.Very slowly. Very carefully. With lots of foam and steam. While he was down there, he’d done a few other things, too, and then he’d carried me out of the shower and set me on the bathroom counter. Until he’d told me to get on all fours on the bathroom rug, that is.
We’d used the heck out of that bathroom, and since I’m sharing? He’d used the heck out of me, too. It was amazing how kinky a man could get while still being gentle. Going back to bed soundedverygood. But it was a special day, so we didn’t.
We were fully dressed and eating French toast, and Sebastian had just looked at his watch when my phone rang. I glanced at it and said, “My mom.”
“We’re meeting the lady in less than an hour,” Ben said, his leg jiggling.
“I know. I’ll be quick.” Then I said, “Hi, Mom,” and even remembered to grab my coffee before heading into the bedroom. Lexi was sprawled across the bed on her back, all four paws in the air, snoring, and when I sat down beside her, she sneezed.
“Do you have a cold?” my mother asked.
“No,” I said. “That was the dog. She’s having a rest and was sneezing in her sleep. Now she’s jerking her legs and whimpering, because she’s dreaming. That’s not me, so you know.”
A short silence, then, “You’re at Sebastian’s, then.”
“I am.” I considered saying, “I haven’t been back to the trailer in weeks,” but I didn’t. Either because she’d be happy to know that, or because she’d be upset. “What’s up?” I asked in a brisk enough tone, I hoped, to convey that I didn’t have a lot of time.
She said, “I came up to Portland yesterday to meet with a potential new client. Very last-minute, but that was the window he had. There’s a surprising amount of tech money up here. You don’t realize it at first, because they’re all wearing hoodies and jeans and sneakers. Worse than the Bay Area. At home, they at least wear designer sneakers. The closest to brand-name they get up here is Patagonia.”
“Well, Patagonia’s nice,” I said. “I have a few Patagonia items myself.”
“I’m aware,” she said, her tone bone-dry.
“So you’re here?” I asked, since I didn’t much want to get into my Patagonia wardrobe and its deficiencies. “At least wear somecolor,darling,” she’d have been wailing in about two minutes, “not just different shades of brown and gray. And before you say it, sludge green isnota color. It’s sludge.”
“Dad and I are both here,” she said innocently. “It turned out to be a good thing, as we ended up hosting quite a lively dinner with the client—whom I signed, by the way—andtwo of his partners, who are nearly there. We’re going to meet with them again tonight, with their partners—romantic partners, not business partners, which issoawkward. Why can’t people just get married and use the terms everybody understands? Anyway, we have the day, and as you’re not working now, I thought we could have lunch.”
