Page 93 of A Beginner's Guide to Forever
Adongo’s prophetic words aside, there were signs. Each time I prayed about needing direction for my life ... I didn’t want to see that God kept placing Hart in my path. Didn’t want to believe that he was my future. I discounted him, and my own feelings. Refusing to see what I felt couldn’t possibly make sense.
Even when Scarlet pleaded with me during a phone call—He’s the love of your life. They only happen to us once. Go be with him—I told her all the reasons we couldn’t possibly work. I’m so glad I was wrong.
“Pregnant yet?” Adongo asks next.
Hart’s grip on my waist tightens protectively.
It’s a sore subject right now. I shake my head, thankful for the dark sunglasses shielding my eyes, and the emotions her question has stirred up.
“Soon then,” she says knowingly.
A stinging ache burns inside me.
If only she could be right about this too. I’ve seen all the best specialists and am taking all the prescribed vitamins and drugs. Hart, of course, has been very sweet and supportive.
Just last night, he held me in bed while my tears dampened his chest.
“Maybe you’re too stressed with work. Maybe you should take a break,” he said calmly.
“I can’t take a break,” I whined.
He gathered me close, making me feel safe, sheltered, and pressed his lips to my temple. “I know, but I wouldn’t be a good husband if I didn’t at least suggest it.”
“You are an incredible husband.”
And he really is. Strong when I need him to be, but also able to stay on the periphery when I need some space. I’ve been on my own for so long that living with a man has been an adjustment. He’s risen to the occasion beautifully, working alongside me in Nairobi to start an extension of the programming courses he’s still sponsoring in New York, Chicago, Houston, and now St. Louis.
I’m not foolish enough to believe our love or his wealth could shield us from the growing pains of life ... of being newlyweds in a foreign country, or navigating fertility struggles, or how things would go introducing our families, but I know we are both up to the challenge.
But we also haven’t fully faced the real world together yet—our parents, friends—and haven’t determined where we’ll live once we move back to the States. I vacillate between worrying it’s a ticking time bomb ready to go off, to believing everyone will be as accepting of me and him as Scarlet has been.
Most nights he silences these lingering doubts by cooking for me, making love to me, and holding me until my worries are nothing more than a barely audible whisper, which works for the most part.
Epilogue
Forever Starts Now
Two Years Later
“How are youreally?” Scarlet gives me a pointed look over the rim of her second glass of chardonnay. She waited this long to ask me because she knows me well enough to know that wine is my truth serum. The honesty that would come flowing out of me after the second pour isn’t exactly a secret. We’re seated in plush chairs on the back patio of my house, gazing out at the horizon.
“I’m conflicted,” I admit, setting my own glass of wine aside. “On the one hand, we have a good thing going here. And part of me is afraid to change that. The kids are happy. We have friends, a home we love. A great pediatrician.”
She nods, shifting her two-year-old son Cullen where he rests on her lap. “A good pediatrician is hard to find.”
“And on the other hand, I feel guilty for even thinking like that. If we’re needed back in Africa, we should go.”
She inhales slowly, weighing my words. “You’ve always been the type to run off to try and save the world, without giving your own life a second thought. But it’s not just you anymore.”
She’s right. My gaze cuts over to where Hart and Will are playing with the kids. Our two-year-old daughter, Faith, adopted from Uganda, clings to her daddy’s shoulder like a little koala bear, and our fifteen-month-old son, Teddy—Theodore Fitzgerald—is plastered to one of his legs. I love seeing them like this—climbing all over him like he’s their personal jungle gym—and a smile lifts my mouth.
I turned forty this year, and arriving at the school car line with a twenty-eight-year-old husband has been quite the talk of the preschool. We turned more than a few heads.
“My looks are going, you know,” I warned Hart later.
“Good thing I didn’t marry you for your looks.”
“Hey!” I swatted his chest.
