Page 105 of On the Slopes of Tahoe
“Am not. If anything,you’resquishing Rory.”
“Am not,” she argues back.
Rory’s chuckle shakes us as we bicker, and I trail my eyes back to hers. They’re perfect. She’s perfect, and she’s mine.
The 4th of July doesn’t hold any real significance for Willow and me, but it’s Rory’s favorite holiday and she’s excited to share it with us. So here we are, gathering chairs, picnic blankets, and a big basket of food to take to the beach.
Beachis a relative term I’m coming to understand means “shore” to those who live around the lake. Is it really a beach if it’s not by the ocean? Rory shot me a playful glare when I first asked that question, so I’ve kept my thoughts on the matter mostly to myself since.
We walk from our campsite in Camp Richardson—camping two days after a trans-continental flight is always a good idea, right?—to find the perfect spot in the sand. Rory told us this is the only way to see the fireworks for the very first time and that next year we’ll go to her “secret spot,” which doesn’t require camping or dealing with the chaos that’ll ensue on the roads around the lake as soon as the fireworks are over.
Willow sits on the blanket, while Rory and I take the two chairs, and leans back against my legs as she looks out at the lake.
“It looks so different than it did when we left,” she says, eyes scanning the mass of boats on the water and people on the shore.
“Yeah. A Tahoe summer is very different from a Tahoe winter. I’m excited you’ll get to experience all of it this year.”
“Me too.” Willow smiles back at Rory.
The evening sky fades from the bright blue of a summer day into deeper hues as the sun sets. The water on the lake glitters with the changing colors and it’s a stunning sight to behold. All around us, groups of people are settling in, wrapping up their frisbee games and donning jackets as the sun sinks lower over the horizon—taking its warmth with it.
I thread my fingers through Rory’s in my lap and lean over to whisper in her ear. “Do you remember what happened the last time we were under the fireworks together?”
Her eyes snap to mine, and even in the fading light I can see the blush marking her cheeks. Her hair is pulled up, just a few tendrils escaping to frame her face. The summer sun has added a soft glow to her skin and her freckles are darker, more pronounced.
“I do,” she says before she sucks her bottom lip in between her teeth.
“I wonder if I can make tonight just as memorable?” I give her my best smirk.
“It might be difficult with no brick wall and all these people—including your daughter—looking on.”
I tilt my head back and forth like I’m thinking it over. “True, but I’m sure going to try.”
I tap Willow’s shoulder and whisper something only she can hear.
She spins on the spot, big wide dimples on display, and grabs her camera off the blanket. I can hardly get her to go anywhere without it these days, and for tonight, it was a necessity. Rory’s watching her with rapt attention, curiosity written all over her face, so she misses the split second where I slide off my chair and come to my knee in front of her.
The shutter clicks behind me and Rory’s eyes go wide when they go from focused on Willow to being focused on me. Murmurs filter in around us as others take in the scene.
“Rory,” I say, taking her hand from her lap and holding it between both of mine. “I love you. Willow loves you. We agreed this was an all-in kind of thing between us. I can’t imagine being all-in without having you by my side as my wife. Will you marry me?”
“Yes!” she shouts without a second of hesitation. She hasn’t even seen the ring yet. She grabs my face, pulling my lips to hers, and I can taste the love on them. I vaguely hear the excited whoops and hollers around us, but they’re quickly drowned out by the pops and bangs of fireworks exploding overhead. I got the timing just right.
We kiss like that for a few seconds, or it could be minutes or hours. Except, I know it isn’t that long because the fireworks are still going when we stop. I pull a velvet ring box out of my pocket and pop it open to show Rory before taking the delicate rose gold band between my thumb and forefinger. I chose this particular metal because it reminds me of how her hair looks when it shines in the sun. Rory’s gaze is locked on the two-carat square-cut diamond sitting in the middle and her mouth is open in a littleo.
Her left hand shakes slightly when she holds it out to me and our eyes clash as I slide it with painstaking tenderness onto her finger. I bought this ring the week after Rory left Sydney, and I’ve been imagining this moment ever since. I press a light kissto the ring on her finger then glance at where Willow’s sitting cross-legged in front of us, patiently watching the fireworks while we have our moment. She must sense my gaze and glances over her shoulder. An instant later, she’s lurching for Rory.
“I love you, Bug,” Rory says and hugs her close.
“I love you too…” Willow hesitates, looking at Rory. Then with a smile and tears glittering in her eyes, she adds, “Mom.”
Tears flood my eyes as well, my heart so full it could burst. To hear her use that word again, completely unprovoked, a word filled with so much love and no trace of hurt or abandonment, heals a part of my heart I didn’t know was still damaged.
The fireworks continue and we end up lying side by side, Willow in the middle, looking up at the sky.
Home. This is my home. This is my family. This is the life I always dreamt of, and I had no idea I’d find it while I was attempting to heal on the slopes of Tahoe.
EPILOGUE
