Page 125 of Wistful Whispers

“You’re sure? You’re happy?” my mother asks, wiping at her eyes.

I nod, unable to speak. My throat is tight and my heart’s too full to form words, so I hold her gaze and hope she can see it—how much I mean it.

She smiles like she does.

The conversation starts to flow again in gentle waves—softer now, like the intensity has passed and left only the glow. Plates are half-finished. Wine refilled. Bit by bit, laughter returns to the edges of the room.

Eventually dinner winds down. Wine glasses are half-full. Plates scraped clean. My mom’s leaning against the back of her chair, flushed from Rioja and joy. Rosa’s still seated—finally off her feet, watching everyone like she’s trying to memorize the scene before it shifts. My dad is retelling a story he’s told at least three Christmases in a row. No one interrupts because no one minds.

The energy is soft. Wistful, even. Like we’re all suspended in a beautiful evening we don’t want to end.

Then Seamus stands.

Not abruptly. Or dramatically.

Purposefully.

I look up. “What are you doing?”

“Something important.” He leans down, presses his mouth to my hair, and murmurs, “Trust me.”

Then he turns to my dad. “Mr. Delgado?”

“Yes, Seamus?” My father’s head tilts slightly.

“I’d like to ask for your blessing,” he asks earnestly.

Every fork stills. My breath stills.

“I love your daughter,” Seamus says. “Not because of this baby, or because our lives collided at the wrong time in all the right ways. I love her because when she walked into my world—demanding, brilliant, impossible—everything shifted.”

He breathes in. Steadies. “She didn’t make it easy and I'm glad because nothing worth it ever is. She challenged me. Called me on my bullshit. Made me question every rule I thought I had to follow. From the second I saw her there was something between us. Even when we were on opposite sides.”

His voice catches—slightly—and Rosa reaches over and gently touches my mother’s arm.

“She makes me better. Not by fixing me. Byseeingme. Completely. Loving me anyway.”

No one moves.

“I know things are happening fast. I also know what matters. So does Marcella. She’s it for me. The loud moments, the quiet ones, the way she whispers 'I love you' when she thinks I’m asleep. The way she holds our future like it’s fragile and fierce all at once.”

He looks at my dad, steady. Strong. “I want to marry her. Not because we’re supposed to. Not to make anything right. I want to marry her because she’s the only life I want.”

Silence folds over us, full and still and reverent.

My dad stands, walks around the table, and stops in front of Seamus.

“You love her,” he says quietly. “I believe you know what that means to me.”

“I do.”

My father places a hand on his shoulder, nods once. “Then you have my blessing.”

He pulls Seamus in for a brief, firm hug.

My throat burns. My heart pounds. I don’t even realize I’m crying until Rosa hands me a napkin across the table and says, “You always act so tough and you’re the softest one here.”

Tonight, maybe I am.

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