Page 98 of Happy After All

“Everything has a structure,” Nathan says.

“But some are more predictable than others,” says Albert.

“Let me ask you this,” Nathan says. “Why is a sad ending more unpredictable than a happy ending?”

Albert sputters. “It just isn’t realistic.”

“Why is tragedy inherently more realistic?” Nathan asks.

Given what I know about his life, I find this question to be revelatory. That he would dig into this. Into this conversation.

“Everybody dying is easy,” Nathan says. “I’m not an aficionado of romance novels, though I have now read a couple and listened to Amelia give some fascinating commentary on the topic. I have to say, both of the books I’ve read have felt pretty real. It shows people dealing with issues and living. That’s what we all have to do, deal with shit and keep going. If you want to kill everybody off and let them be dead, then I would suggest that you actually want a more digestible reality.” He pauses for a moment. “That’s the messy part. Bad things happen and people have to go on. There’s a whole genre of books that show you how to do that, and you want to dismiss them?”

I believe that. I agree with it. I have to stop myself from cheering when he says it. Because that is the truth. It’s the living that’s the hard part. He knows it. I know it.

“Well, everybody has their opinions,” says Albert.

Nathan’s mouth kicks up into a half smile. “Considering that I also write genre fiction, I would say that my opinion is founded in pretty deep understanding.”

I smile, because I know he’s going to do it.

“Have I read anything you’ve written?” Albert asks.

“Oh, you probably haven’t,” Nathan says. “I bet Gladys has.”

Gladys’s eyebrows shoot up high over her glasses.

“My pseudonym is Jacob Coulter.”

I delight in the bomb of excitement this drops in the middle of the gathering.

By the end of the evening, he has signed books for Wilma, Gladys, and a couple of our temporary residents who brought books on vacation with them.

I laugh all the way back to my room that night, hanging on to his arm. “You didn’t have to do that,” I say.

“Everyone here is going to find out soon. I’m shocked they haven’t yet,” he says.

“I guess they’re not looking at the Very Desert Christmas website,” I say.

“When the memoir publishes, I’ll probably have to do publicity. It’s going to be the real me, my real life, and there’s no getting around that.”

I look up at him. “You really love her.”

He nods slowly. “She was the love of my life, Amelia. I think her story is really inspirational and important. Even if it wasn’t, I have the opportunity to publish it. I have enough trust with my publisher, so they’re letting me do it. Treating it like it’s kind of a big deal. Who wouldn’t take that opportunity?”

My chest feels sore. “Anybody would,” I say.

“That’s what I figure.”

I don’t have to ask him why it’s taken this long, because I can see how hard it is. All of it. I reach out and touch his face, and he kisses me.

He kisses me, and the sadness of the previous moment is wiped away. All I can think about is the joy. The way he talked to everybody. The way he stood up for romance, really because he was standing up for me. He sat for a movie he doesn’t even like. He talked to my friends. It feels like freedom, that I can just enjoy this. That I don’t need to believe that this means it’s forever.

He was lovely to me, now. Just because.

He’s not earning anything. He’s not saving up points, and neither am I.

He likes me. I’m not the love of his life, but he likes me, and that matters.

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