Page 116 of The False Flat

“That’s better.” He placed the washcloth on the edge of the sink and pulled my hand out of my hair so it fluffed out. Then he took my clean face in his palms. “I knew I’d like this face best, and where have you been hiding this hair?”

He turned me until I was facing the mirror. He wrapped his arms around me and positioned his face close to mine. And there I was, my naked face pressed next to his, my natural hair nearly suffocating him. No cover. No perfection. Just me.

“You have always been beautiful,” he said to my stripped reflection. “But you are more beautiful now than I have ever seen you.” I knew his words had nothing to do with my reflection.

My heart filled with an indescribable sensation that gathered me up and somehow, even with the future uncertain, gave me security.

We stood in silence, staring at each other’s reflections. In that time of quiet, I thought about all Grant had, all the people in his life who were there for him without question, all those who loved and cherished and appreciated him. I thought about how, as much as he did have, he still wanted me.

“I like you,” I said. “I didn’t think I liked you when we first met.”

“I’m pretty sure you hated me from that first night.”

“‘Hate’ is a strong word.”

He lifted his eyebrows.

“Okay, maybe I hated your mustache, but I think a part of me was irritated because you were the person I was trying to be.”

“You were trying to be a man with a freaking awesome mustache?”

I hip-bumped him, and we both laughed. But I wasn’t done. My feelings for him had remained tucked away, even from myself, until now, until this instant, when there was nothing left between us. The fear was still there, nipping at the edges of my brain, making the words somewhat halting, but it was now something I could overcome—because of him.

“You changed my life. You saved me. I owe you—”

He was shaking his head, hard and with purpose. And then he turned toward me, looked into my unlined eyes.

“Me?” He shook his head again. “No. Don’t you ever attribute such amazing feats of strength to me. You didn’t need me; I didn’t save you. All this”—he pointed to my chest—“was right here. Always. You did this. You are the hero. You are my hero. All you needed was someone to show you it was possible, that you could. And maybe I can take some credit for that, but everything else, Penelope, is on you. ‘Very little is needed to make a happy life; it is all within yourself, in your way of thinking.’” I squeezed his hand. “Anything is possible, to anyone at any time, but you decide if and when you believe that and what to make of it when you do. I didn’t do that for you. You did.”

“Grant.”

“That first night we met, when you hated me, you know?” I rolled my eyes, and he smiled. “You’d just left everything and started over when you realized you needed to. You were doing it all. All. And I’d been focused on doing it one way. There is more than one way to live and be happy. You taught me that. That’s why I bought Deanna’s property. You changed me.”

His words wrapped around me and lifted me off the floor, suspended above my body, immune from time and place.

I didn’t know how to respond, so I responded with an unburied truth: “I want to marry you.”

“I want to marry you too.”

I shook my head. “I’m serious. I want to marry you right now. I’ve been so afraid my entire life, so afraid to lose, that I’ve missed out on everything. And I’ve just now realized life isn’t about holding back. It’s about holding on.”

I looked around the room, a bathroom, but I was going to do it anyway. I went over to the shower curtain, unhooked one of the rings holding the fabric across the tub. I turned back to him, got on my knees, and held out . . . a shower curtain ring. I felt incredibly silly and second-guessed myself when my knees hit the bathroom rug. But I thought about him bringing me that green tea and dropping to his knees all those months ago, even though he barely knew me, even though Chad was half-naked and staring him down, just to get what he wanted, no matter how he looked.

We’d been dating for approximately two months, but we’d known each other for near eight, and it felt like so much longer. But no matter how long it had been, it was enough.

“Grant, will you marry me?”

He joined me on the floor. “Penelope, yes, I will marry you.” He wrapped his arms around me, holding on as our breathing synchronized.

He didn’t ask me if I was sure. We didn’t talk about what came next or the sorrow at the periphery of our happiness. We didn’t discuss diagnoses or treatments. We didn’t look with longing at the future we might or might not have.

Instead, I inhaled his scent, the essence of nature.

My fingers ran across his skin.

I gasped when his hands moved against mine, across my shoulders, to my upper back, to the clasp of my dress. The heat from the zipper moving down my back made me shiver.

As the dress parted, he peeled the damp fabric from my body and moaned as his eyes scanned me from head to knees—makeup-less, in the black matching bra and panty set I’d put on over twenty-four hours ago, still wearing exactly eighty-one pearls.