“I thought you were in LA. Thinking,” Lola says.
Chris walks over to her, excusing himself to get past the people in his way.
“Turns out there wasn’t that much to think about,” he says. “Not when it came right down to it. Not when the choices were you or no you.”
Lola looks at me and all the years between then and now collect in the corners of her eyes and roll gently down her cheek. Chris takes Uncle Paul’s napkin and hands it to Lola.
“Lola,” Chris says, his voice low but still audible. “Do you know how annoying it is to have people singing that stupid jingle at me all day? I go to the grocery store and the clerk sings it, the guy at the movie theater sings it, the mailman sings it. I hide in the house and wait for him to drive away before I can get the mail. I have moved four times in the same city because each new neighbor thinks they’re the first to sing it to me and they get such a kick out of it I can hear it through the stinking walls. But you—you didn’t know.”
Chris holds Lola’s hand, twisting her fingers in his like he’s trying to tie the two of them together so she won’t slip away.
“It was so liberating,” he says. “And then I figured out why you didn’t know. And I felt like a jerk. But I couldn’t tell you. Then you found out, but you didn’t seem to care. You took me for me, not the character that people think I am. You’re the only person I can be me with. I’d be crazy to let you get on that plane and fly away to Peru or Timbuktu or wherever the heck you’re going without me.”
Chris gets down on one knee and pulls out a little box.
Lola pulls in a sharp breath, and I see her wings unfurling—feathery and shimmering. She’s going to take off, against all odds—just like that owl from underneath my car—suddenly and surely as if there was never any doubt she was going to be ok.
I want Ray to see the wings, too, to know he had a hand in helping them spread open.
Chris takes out the ring and holds it up to Lola.
“If you don’t love it, we’ll get a different one,” Chris saying. “I got it from the airport. I don’t even know if it’s real. You’re the only thing that’s real. Stay with me, and please don’t let them put that jingle on my tombstone. I will stay with you and make sure you don’t buy that tea that you can’t remember you don’t like. And I won’t let you order the number thirteen special at Chai Pani because it has ginger and you’re allergic. I promise to turn the channel when the scary previews come on because I know they give you nightmares. And if you want to go to Peru, I will go there with you. What do you say?”
“That’s so romantic,” Cassie says, her hands pressed over her heart.
“That’s the weirdest proposal I think I’ve ever heard,” Lola says. “But yes, you can keep me from eating ginger and drinking terrible tea and I will stay with you and make sure they don’t put that jingle on your tombstone.”
“So it’s a yes?” he says.
“Yes,” Lola says.
“Peru?” Mom says from across the table.
“That’s who you are,” Nicole says, delighted, pointing at Chris. “You’re that guy.”
I look at Chris and expect to see a grimace on his face.
“Yes,” he says and winks at Lola. “I’m that guy.”
Michael jumps up from his chair and says, “I like the one where you ride the bathtub down the mudslide.”
“That’s my favorite one, too,” Chris says with a smile.
Mom looks at Michael and her eyes widen. “Ray?” she asks.
“Oh, come on, Mom,” I say. “Do you even have to question it?”
The tennis match restarts, and everyone looks in synchronized swivels from Mom to Ray to Michael and back to Ray. No one speaks. Finally, Jack breaks the tension and serves himself dinner.
“This looks great,” he says. “Cassie, pass me the potatoes.”
He scoops a helping onto his plate and begins a conversation with no one in particular as if there is nothing strange about this at all. “So I took a promotion at work. It’s not really more money, but the office is bigger and it’s closer to the break room. Anybody want some potatoes?” he asks, holding out the dish.
“I love you,” I whisper to him.
“I know,” he says and smiles. “It’s nice to hear you admit it.”
Cassie draws in a breath of air and sighs out too deep a worry for a teenage girl. I look at her, and our eyes meet in a way neither of us has allowed in a long time. I see her and she sees me. We see the future.
Nicole reaches out and takes the dish from Jack.
“This is Michael,” Ray says to Mom and serves him another slice of pizza. “And yes, there’s a reason he looks just like me.”
Everyone stares at Michael as he eats his slice of pizza. Cassie looks positively elated. Mom looks like she’s going to cry or dance or burst into a million points of light.
Ray points at Dad’s jar. “Did you just dig that up?” he asks me.
“There’s still dirt on it,” Lola says. “Nice to see you again, Jack. Back in the saddle, so to speak?”
Jack chokes a bit on Mom’s lumpy mashed potatoes. “Hopefully,” he says.
“Dad,” Cassie says, embarrassment on her cheeks, happiness in her eyes.
“Uncle Paul,” I say, “will you pass me some turkey?”
He does, and I take a bite, not looking up at the urn.
“Mom,” I say, “this is really tender, the best yet.”
“Thank you, sweetheart,” Mom says. “I was wondering why you were late, but, well, I wouldn’t have guessed this.” She points at Dad. “Or that.” She points at Nicole and Michael. “Or you either,” she says
