“What does that mean?”
“He says ‘we’ll see.’”
Camille smiled.
“That means maybe.”
“No.”
“With him, maybe means maybe.”
Noah looked unconvinced.
Camille became serious.
“Would that bother you?”
The boy considered.
“No.”
Then:
“But I don’t want Mom to disappear.”
Camille’s throat tightened.
“She won’t.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yes.”
Camille put down coffee.
“I would never ask you to change what you call her.”
“Or move her pictures.”
“Or act like your dad’s life began when I arrived.”
Noah looked at her.
“Good.”
“Good.”
He took a cookie.
Then:
“You can marry him.”
Camille laughed.
“Thank you for authorization.”
“You’re welcome.”
Evan proposed a year later.
Not at a gala.
Not beside the AR-7.
In the garage office.
Camille was reviewing a lease document for the heritage trust and complaining about a clause.
Evan placed a small ring box on top of page.
She stared.
“What is that?”
“Advanced negotiation tactic.”
She looked up.
He was nervous.
That made her heart race.
“You are proposing while I’m editing indemnification language?”
“You’re relaxed.”
“I am not.”
“Relatively.”
She opened the box.
Simple platinum ring.
No enormous diamond.
Camille smiled.
“Did Noah choose?”
“He vetoed three.”
“That means yes.”
Evan sat opposite.
“No speech?”
She asked.
“I had one.”
“What happened?”
“You started arguing about section twelve.”
She laughed.
Then cried.
Evan continued:
“I loved Julia.”
“I still do.”
Camille listened.
“I love you.”
“One doesn’t erase other.”
“I spent years thinking moving forward meant leaving something behind.”
“I don’t anymore.”
Camille’s eyes filled.
Evan said:
“You make my life more complicated.”
She laughed through tears.
“That’s terrible.”
“I’m not finished.”
“Good.”
“You also make it bigger.”
“Would you like to keep doing that?”
Camille looked at the ring.
Then at him.
“Yes.”
He exhaled.
“Good.”
She frowned.