All I Ever Wanted(117)

“I…I panicked. Because I saw that you could…shit, I don’t know. Break my heart.”

“He swears like you, Mom,” Seamus said.

Ian shook his head, closing his eyes, then opened them and took my hand. “I don’t want the chair. Not unless it comes with you. That’s what will break my heart. Not having you.”

“Oh,” I breathed.

Ian swallowed audibly. “I just…you know, I have to say, you’re the last person I’d picture myself with, Callie, but I can’t…I don’t… Life is messy and hard to figure out, but all I know, Callie, is that you make me…better. Happier. You bring a lot of life wherever you go, and I…I’d be an idiot if I let you go. So please, Callie, don’t let me be an idiot.” He took a shaking breath. “I love you. Even if it doesn’t make sense.”

“Okay,” I said, and then I was kissing him, and he felt so, so good, and so right. He hugged me so hard I couldn’t breathe, and I vaguely heard clapping and perhaps Bronte saying how gross this all was, and maybe my brother whistled and Josephine saying she’d like a black dress for our wedding.

I didn’t really care. All I knew was that right here in this room, in this moment, with this man, I had all I ever wanted.

And then some.

EPILOGUE

Eight months later

JANE MCFARLAND COULDN’T come to our wedding, as she was in Nigeria. But Alejandro had arrived this morning, and tomorrow he’d be standing up for Ian as best man.

“So you’ll take good care of Manito, si, Calí?” he asked, making my name sound incredibly exotic with that accent of his. We were sitting on Ian’s porch…it was a beautiful June evening, and the birds were singing full force. The wind blew gently, and the smell of lilacs drifted to us. From the backyard, we could hear Bowie’s happy yipping as he serenaded his lady love. As Alé had to leave tomorrow night, we’d decided to skip a rehearsal dinner so he and Ian could have more time to catch up. The wedding was going to be small, anyway.

“Manito?” I asked in a somewhat dreamy voice. Just because I was in love with Ian didn’t mean I couldn’t enjoy the visual feast in front of me.

“That one,” he said, jerking his chin toward Ian. “Hermanito. My little brother.”

Oh! His little brother! Not cousin…brother. Sigh! I sat on the porch floor, leaning against the post so I could see both men. “I will, Alejandro, but let’s not talk about it now. I’m kind of crushing on you, and I want to soak it all in.” I sighed à la Betty Boop, and Ian grinned into his drink.

“Crushing on me…what is that?” Alejandro asked, and Ian answered in Spanish. Alé chuckled. He looked like Antonio Banderas. I am not lying about this.

“Your home is beautiful,” Alé said. “I will picture you here, being so happy.”

Ian smiled at me, and I reached up and took his hand. I had every intention of making Ian happy.

“So how are things with La Tormenta?” he asked Ian. “My mother,” he said to me, widening his eyes. “Yikes, you know?”

“I do,” I said, grinning.

“She’s fine,” Ian said. “Happy for us.” This may have been a stretch, but I let it go.

“She told me about the, how you say…the donation. Good move, Manito. You were always smart, for a quiet little guy.”

“Callie’s idea, actually,” Ian said.

Alejandro raised an eyebrow. “Even better.”

The thought still gave me a pang, but it had been the right thing to do. I thought so, anyway.

We sold the Morelock chair.

Colleen McPhee at the Museum of the American Craftsman had been ecstatic. “You’re sure?” she’d said on the phone. “Not that we don’t want it, of course! We do! But you seemed so…adamant.”

“I’m sure,” I said.

The museum paid thirty grand for it. Though I was granted special visitation rights, when the time came to actually say goodbye, I couldn’t help but cry a little. “You don’t have to do this,” Ian said, frowning. “Callie, if it makes you cry—”

“No. It’s fine.” I smiled and wiped my eyes. “I’m sure.”

And then I sent a check to a very good charity. Bono’s charity. Uh-huh. That’s right. And guess what else? I got a letter. From Bono! And a signed picture. And guess what else? The next time U2 went on tour, I’d be getting free tickets and backstage passes, though I’d probably take Bronte, because Ian was sticking to his Mahler symphonies and wouldn’t fully appreciate my favorite Irish band.

The thing about my beautiful Morelock chair was, well…it had done its job. All those years of comfort were deeply appreciated, let me tell you. But I didn’t need a chair that symbolized what I could have one day, because now I had it. Maybe Jane McFarland had rubbed off on me a little, too, because the chair became…well…just a chair. A beautiful chair, a special chair, but it wasn’t my happily-ever-after. Ian and I were making that on our own.

And if it was a blatant suck-up move to the woman who would be as close to a mother-in-law as I’d get, well, so be it. Ian was worth it.

“You two, you’re making, how do you say? You’re making the eyes, si? So sweet.” Alejandro winked at me. “He loves you, Calí.”