I enter the house with at least twelve sacks of groceries hanging on my arms. Yeah, I’m that person. The one who will die making one trip from the car with groceries rather than go back a second, third, and fourth time.
I bet every vein in my neck bulges when I lift the sacks up and toss them on the kitchen counter. “Uhh.”
“Good grief, Frankee. Let me help you with that.”
“No way. It’s been two days since your last chemo. You should be resting, not putting up groceries.”
“Stop, Frankee.” Kit places her hand on top of mine. “Go to the bedroom. He’s waiting for you.”
“He’s here?”
Kit nods.
“But it’s Wednesday.”
She cradles my face. “Go to him, sweetie. He’s eager to talk to you.”
Porter has come to see me at his parents’ house every weekend for the last six weeks. Like clockwork, he arrives on Friday evening and leaves late Sunday afternoon. It’s been our routine.
Nothing about our lives has been ideal these last weeks. Although extreme, my disappearing act was necessary to convince clusterfuck I was in Texas and no longer in Porter’s life. My absence ended any interest she had in spinning her web around my family. Without her realizing it, her demand for me to be out of the picture inadvertently ended the only leverage she had with Porter.
Everyone in our inner circle believes I’m in Mobile caring for Kit—my mother-in-law-to-be. It’s a huge lie to tell the people we love, but we will have saved ourselves a lot of pain and grief if Charlotte’s baby isn’t Porter’s.
But all of this will have been for naught if he is the father.
Each step I take toward the bedroom makes my heart race a little faster. I simultaneously want to run to him and stand right where I am because I’m terrified of what he’s going to tell me.
‘Mama, I'm Comin' Home’ is playing, and it grows louder as I get closer to our bedroom. He doesn’t hear me approach so I stand in the doorway, taking a moment to study him as he gazes out the window.
He’s so beautiful. And I love him.
He’s mine no matter what.
He turns and smiles when he sees that I’ve entered the room and shut the door behind me. “Baby…”
One word. It’s all he gets out before we’re crossing the room to crash into each other, him clenching me so tightly I can hardly breathe. He buries his face in my hair and his body shudders.
He’s crying.
Oh no. The news isn’t what we were hoping for.
My chest aches and I shudder with him, sharing his pain.
“It’s okay. I love you. We’ll make it work somehow.”
He loosens his hold and presses his forehead to mine, cradling my face in his big hands. “Charlotte’s baby is not mine.”
“Say it again so it can sink in.”
“The baby is not mine. The Charlotte nightmare is over.”
“It’s finally over.”
I smile and Porter’s mouth crashes against mine. He grasps the back of my thighs and lifts me, carrying me to the bed. He lowers me, but we don’t fall together in the middle as an entwined mess of arms and legs. Instead, he sits me on the edge and goes to his knees in front of me. “I love you so much.”
“I love you too.”
He pushes his hand into his pocket, pulling out a black ring box. “I bought this weeks ago. I’ve been carrying it around in my pocket to give me hope. Hope that no mattered what happened, you would one day be my wife.”
He cracks open the box and takes out a white-gold and diamond ring just like the one we discussed. “Frances Ameline Dawson. You have been my constant, endless, loyal beacon. The blind faith and steadfast love you’ve given me is more than I ever expected or deserved. There’s been a thousand times you could and probably should have left me. But you didn’t. You stayed and weathered the storm by my side. And that’s where I want you for the rest of our lives. Will you marry me?”
I hold out my hand for him to slide the ring on my finger. “Yes. I will marry you and be by your side for the rest of our lives.”