EPILOGUE
PINK AND RED HEARTS, ADHESIVE CUPCAKES, and smiling snowmen plaster the windows of the shops lining Avalon Street. Our curtains frame a view of white-capped mountains and skaters gliding across the ice-covered surface of the lake. Children walk with their parents along the street, stopping to play in the snow piled at the curbs. University students trundle past with backpacks slung over their shoulders and paper cups of coffee clutched in their hands.
Dean comes out of his office, looking deliciously rumpled in faded jeans and a King’s University sweatshirt, his hair all disheveled and his jaw covered with that day-old stubble that I always find so sexy.
His eyes warm with affection as he approaches me. He kisses my forehead as his hand comes to rest gently on the five-day-old baby sleeping in my arms.
“Want me to put him in the bassinet?” Dean whispers.
Since I need to use the bathroom, I nod and shift Nicholas’s weight, soft and cuddly as a bird in a nest of cotton. Dean moves to take Nicholas from me, cradling the bundle of blankets and baby close to his chest.
My heart fills with a wild tenderness as I look at them, my husband and our son, both dark-haired and dark-eyed, already knowing that they are the best of friends. A now-familiar expression of wonder crosses Dean’s face as he looks at Nicholas, then he returns to his office where the baby’s bassinet is set up right beside his desk.
After using the bathroom, I head into the kitchen to make a pot of tea.
“Go sit down.” Dean comes up behind me, giving me a gentle pat on the rear. “I’ll get it.”
I return to my overstuffed chair beside the window, and Dean soon comes in with the tea and a plate of the Wonderland Café’s popular Home, Heart, and Courage cookies, which he sets on a table beside me.
“Anything else you need?” he asks.
I reach up to squeeze his hand. “Just you.”
“You always have me.” He rests one hand along the back of my chair and bends to press his mouth against mine. I lean in for a longer kiss, feeling that melted-honey sensation slide through my blood.
“I picked something up for you earlier.” Dean moves away from me, his palm lingering against my cheek.
He goes into the bedroom and returns with a big, white box topped with a red bow. He places the box on my lap and sits on the coffee table across from me.
I tug the lid off the box and separate the red tissue paper inside. I run my hand over a swath of thick material. As Dean takes the cloth out and unfolds it, my breath catches in my throat.
“A quilt?” I ask. “You got me a new quilt?”
“The Wickham sisters and I have been conspiring about it for months,” he tells me. “Florence’s sister Ruth is a quilt-maker, and when I told her what I wanted, she got right to work. She just finished it this morning. She said it’s called an heirloom memory quilt.”
I can only stare at the quilt. Each square is beautifully sewn with images and words that encompass my life.
The Wonderland Café sign, the University of Wisconsin logo, library call numbers, a book stitched with the title A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, Alice in Wonderland, the yellow brick road. A hot-air balloon, the Jitter Beans coffeehouse sign, a peace lily, apple pie, the Eiffel Tower, a patch from Dean’s old San Francisco Giants T-shirt, a baby wearing a blue cap, ruby slippers, a cameo silhouette, the Butterfly House, a knight on horseback. And around the border, twelve squares stitched with twelve oak trees.
“Oh, Dean.”
“Not bad, huh?” He looks pleased.
“I love you so much.”
“I love you, Liv.” He slides his hand through my hair, tucking a lock behind my ear. “More than anything. More than life.”
He’s a blur through my tears, but when I wipe my eyes, I see him watching me with a depth of emotion I can’t even begin to fathom. I know because I feel it too, a million colors that fill my heart to overflowing.
I gesture for Dean to sit in the chair with me. He does, gently lifting me onto his lap. I press my face to his chest and sink into the warmth of him. He tightens his arms around me, surrounding me with his ever-present strength and devotion that will see us through anything.
Happy. That’s what all the colors distill into. I am so happy.
Even though the unknowns are as innumerable as seashells scattered on a beach, the knowns are clear as glass and infinitely more powerful. Now, finally, I feel like Dean and I have reached the shore at the end of a long ocean voyage.
After exploring distant lands, battling unforeseen threats, learning how to navigate rough waters and emerge from storms, we have both come safely home together, fatigued but exhilarated.
I settle against my husband’s chest, into his arms, as he pulls the quilt over my legs and we watch the bustle of Avalon Street outside the window.
We’re here again. We’ve always been here, in our own private world, the space that belongs only to us. We’ve never left.
I run my hand over the quilt, knowing that one day our son will learn about this patchwork history that has shaped my life, all the people and places who have made me the woman I am now.
One day I’ll tell our son about my own mother and father. I’ll tell him about the grandmother I never knew who unknowingly helped me find my own path. I’ll tell him about the warmhearted people who lived on a California commune, about the boy who taught me how to ride a bike, about beaches and the Grand Canyon at sunrise. I’ll tell our son that sometimes people aren’t kind but most of the time they are, and you should give them a chance to prove themselves.
I’ll tell him about the day his father came to my rescue at the university, the day Allie jumped out at me in a scary apple-tree costume, the day I won Kelsey over with a hug and a plate of crepes. I’ll tell him about the aunt who took me in when I needed her help, and a man named Northern Star who reminded me that living takes courage.
I’ll tell our son to be the type of man his father is—a man of intelligence and talent, yes, but more importantly a man of deep kindness, loyalty, strength, and integrity. A man who slays monsters for the woman he loves and stands by her side when she needs to slay them by herself. A man who doesn’t give up, who believes in chivalry and codes of honor. A man who knows what it means to both love and be loved.
There are so many important lessons I’ve learned in my journey to now. Trust your instincts, follow your bliss, make plans, work hard, learn to let things go. Don’t be late. Remember that fortune favors the brave. Live. If you need to run, try and run toward something. Study for tests. Laugh at silly cartoons. Be organized. If you fall seven times, get up eight. Always carry an extra pen. Believe you can do everything. Find your key.
And the most valuable lesson I’ve learned will forever live in my heart, right beside my husband. Love the one who proves to you that happily ever after is only the beginning.
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