Page 114 of Adrift

We’re staring at each other in a comfortable silence, his hand over my cheek when I remember something I’ve been meaning to ask him for a while. It slips my mind even though he gifts me a new bouquet every Friday. “You told me one time that each color of lilies has a meaning.”

He nods, his lip lifting on each corner ever so slightly.

“What do they all mean?”

He holds my gaze. “The white ones mean purity, but they also mean the start of something new.”

“You had those sitting in my room the first day I came to live with you. I thought they were there from when your mom used to stay over once in a while.”

“They were always for you.”

The warmth I always feel inside his arms spreads throughout my chest. “And the pink ones?”

He tucks a strand of my wayward curl behind my ear. “It means admiration, but it also can be used to say, ‘I’m sorry I was an ass.’”

I chortle. “That you were.” Burrowing myself further into his arms, I recall the next color. “What about the orange ones?”

“Passion, devotion.” He looks like he travels somewhere in his thoughts for a moment. “It wasn’t just the way I was starting to feel about you, it was also the representation of . . . you. The way you loved Arman, the way you sang to him and cared for him. I was enamored with you, the passion you showed for everything from your blog to the way you tackled new challenges . . . including me. You broke my walls before I even knew there was a breach.”

My eyes shine with unshed tears and I’m left speechless.

“And while the orange lilies expressed your passion and your devotion, the burgundy ones express mine. They represent my devotion to you. You unarm me, Rani. You make me powerless, and I can do nothing but concede my heart to you. And you own it so completely, I really can’t call it my own any longer. It beats only for you.”

I pull in a breath, releasing it with a whisper, “Darian.”

“It’ll always beat only for you.”

Epilogue

Rani – Three Years Later

“Rani,” she takes a short breath, saying my name on the inhale, “you look absolutely beautiful. Perfect.”

I look down at my white bridal lehenga with the burgundy trims, the maroon henna on my palms holding the tightly packed stems of my burgundy lilies, and the long gold necklace and clinky bangles Mom gave me this morning to adorn my outfit.

Perfect.

It’s a word I’ve never really cared for; one I stopped worrying about–or tried my best to–when I realized it was just an illusion, a forever-moving target.

But today, on the most important day in my life, I don’t mind it from the mouth of the woman who’s used it in her life almost as sparingly as she uses saffron in her rice dish because in her words, “No one is worth spending that kind of money on.”

Despite the two decades my mother and I spent disliking each other’s company, I can’t deny the work she’s put in over the last three years since Dad’s heart attack. But because I’m a firm adversary of the word perfect, I have to remind myself that I can’t expect from her what I don’t require from myself. She’s working on herself, taking feedback and trying to be there for me now. And right now, that’s enough.

“Thanks, Mom.”

I thought I’d be a nervous wreck today. It always seemed to me like brides were required to be so worried–about the weather or the food, about the photographer or the guests, or just plain and simple worried. But worry is the last emotion I feel on the ever-growing list of emotions I’m feeling today.

I’m marrying the man of my dreams. Someone I’ve come to call my best friend and confidant. I’m not only marrying him, but I’m promising my love and devotion to his son, my nephew. So while my mind feels calm, prepared for this next stage in my life and unconcerned with the various things that could go wrong on this day, my heart pounds at the prospect of seeing my two favorite boys in the next few minutes.

They’re the todays I want to live. They’re the tomorrows I know I’ll cherish.

Dad squeezes my bicep, and I look up at his lean frame. His watery smile pierces my resolve and I feel the prick of tears against the corners of my eyes. He’s silent, but his quiet encouragement and tenderness speaks volumes for the love I know he’s always had for me–for both of his daughters.

Mom shifts on my other side and when I look at her, she also gives me a smile. She’s wearing one of her expensive silk saris and her diamond earrings, appearing more like the mother I’d always yearned for–proud . . . satisfied.

With affection gushing from her gaze, she pulls my hand to her mouth and places a quick kiss on the back. Her chin wobbles before she presses her lips together to control her emotions. “I haven’t been the mother you deserved, but you’ve always been a daughter only the luckiest few receive. I’ve made a million mistakes, Rani, and I’m sorry for all the past hurt I’ve caused you, but I promise to never be the cause of any more in the future.”

I pull my mother into my arms, placing a kiss on her forehead and feeling my heart lift even further. “I forgive you, Mom.”

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