He told me Margaret loved old movies.
I told him I’d lived in Rome for six months.
He told me Lucas once broke a window with a frozen turkey.
I stopped him.
“You cannot say that and move on.”
“Thanksgiving. Long story.”
We laughed until I cried.
Then the laughter became tears without warning.
Douglas watched me.
“I missed everything.”
“So did I.”
“Your wedding.”
He looked down.
“My father’s funeral.”
“I know.”
“Your son growing up.”
“I know.”
“Margaret.”
“I know.”
He reached for my hand.
“But we’re here now.”
I hated how simple that sounded.
And I loved it.
“Is that enough?”
“No.”
His answer surprised me.
“No?”
“No. It isn’t enough.”
His grip strengthened.
“But it’s what we have.”
I looked at him.
“And I don’t want to spend what we have mourning what we don’t.”
Something inside me settled.
