Dolly All the Time(92)
“But now that we’re here, I realize it’s just about you. I love the way you give yourself over to the things you love. Gus, me, cake. I love the way you close your eyes every time you hug Christopher, like something sacred’s happening. You’re the only person I know whose bedtime routine includes leaving butter out to soften for the morning. I think you were put on this earth to make everything better.”
He’s not done talking, but I lean in and kiss him. “I love you too,” I say against his lips.
I place a hand on his heart and feel it beating, just a little faster than usual.
“I have something,” he says. He reaches into the rosemary bush and pulls out a black velvet box. The smile on my face. The explosion in my heart. “I was hoping you would marry me.”
Inside is a round diamond set flat in an antique setting. “Yes,” I say, over and over again. He slides it on my finger and I throw my arms around him. He squeezes me so tight and we dissolve into each other.
When we’ve kissed and smiled so much our faces hurt, I kiss him again and say, “I don’t know when I’ll ever get used to being this happy.”
“Maybe we’ll just keep getting happier,” he says.
“You’re going to be so handsome when you’re old,” I say. “I’m going to feed you and change the tires on your walker.”
He laughs. “Will you be Mrs. Whitfield?”
“I don’t think so,” I say, looking at my ring. “Is that okay with you?”
“Sure, I’d hold on to Brick too,” he says. “This ring was my great-grandmother’s.”
“It’s so beautiful,” I say.
“Maybe one day you can give it to our granddaughter.”
“Stewart.” I look at him and don’t have to say a word. We’ve talked this to death over the past year. In bed, out of bed. I don’t want to have another baby, and he has to be okay with that.
“I was just thinking Gus might have a daughter,” he says.
“Oh wow. Okay.” I feel a whole new layer of forever, Stewart and me as grandparents. Stewart here for Gus and his children.
“Which brings me to the other thing,” he says. “And this is up to you first, and then him. But I was wondering if you’d be open to me adopting Gus. I would like to be his father.”
I am speechless. This is not something I’d considered before.
“You don’t have to say anything,” he says, and pulls me close. I rest my head on his chest and listen to his heartbeat. All of this is real. “If that’s not something you guys want, I can still be who I’ve been to him. I’ve seen a lawyer about it. It’s easy to set up a trust for him even if he’s not mine.”
I don’t have the right words to say, but I do have tears in my eyes. “Gus doesn’t need a trust,” I say finally.
“No one does.” He laughs. “No one needs a sailboat either, but I’m getting him one for his birthday.”
I look up at him and he sees my wet eyes. “Don’t you dare,” I say, and kiss him.
“A little boat? Nothing fancy. He’s gotten to be a good sailor.”
“He has.” I’m thinking about the camping trip Gus is planning for next week, everything he needs in his backpack and still so much wonder in his heart. He has everything but a father. “Maybe a little boat,” I say. “And yes, please ask him about adoption. He deserves to have a father like you.”
“Really?” Stewart is smiling like he’s already planning a trip to Disney World. “Thank you,” he says inexplicably. He trails his fingers down my arm in that way he has of making me feel like I’m fashioned out of silk.
He looks around the garden. “I started to fall in love with you here,” he says. “I’ve never been the same.”
I smile at him. “Me too,” I say. I look up at Eight Oaks, the princess chapel in the distance. I’m going to marry this gentle man in that chapel and I’ll somehow involve a horse, just to get a laugh out of Patsy. We’ll eat crabcakes from the fish house under the giant oak trees, with acorns scattered at our feet, tiny little seeds of hope. Loving Stewart has given me new eyes toward what’s possible—to be put first, to be backed up. That it’s worth moving through the chest-pinching vulnerability of asking for help. That it’s an act of generosity to share something as precious as your life with someone. Love’s taught me that, and I’m at home with myself now, Dolly all the time.
Acknowledgments
Before I started writing this book, my husband and I took a research trip to Newport, Rhode Island. We stayed at a waterfront hotel and did the cliff walk every day. We went on every mansion tour, and, let me tell you, there were a lot of acorns. Like you couldn’t throw an acorn without hitting a golden acorn. In the end, getting Newport’s history right felt like an impossible task, so I made up the town of Whitfield and placed it right next door. So thank you to the Preservation Society of Newport, who gave me the best possible three-day education, and also to all the geographers out there for overlooking what the existence of Whitfield would do to the shape of Rhode Island.
When it’s time to thank my editor, Tara Singh Carlson, I try to be measured because the depth of my gratitude, unchecked, could drown us all. Let’s just say this—if I’m Rocky Balboa, certain that I’m ready for my rematch with Apollo Creed, she’s Mickey, my coach, shaking her head and saying, “Not till you catch that live chicken with your bare hands.” Tara, thank you for never settling. There’s a reason I always trust you, and I am so grateful for every way you make me better.