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I smiled. “I think it was me who had to come to my senses,” I replied, glancing up at Luke.
Bill’s eyes twinkled.
“Doesn’t matter how you got here. Just matters that you’re here.” He looked at his son. “Finally.”
And it went like that. I was welcomed. Into a slightly more conventional family than my own, but no less loving.
I wasn’t nervous now. I was getting dressed, slipping into my brightest red dress.
It hugged in all the right places, though a little tight maybe. It was true what they said, happiness in relationships made you put on weight.
Luke hadn’t gained a pound, the prick.
Then again, he was insane enough to go running. Every morning. Even on the weekends. To be fair, he made sure I’d gotten my workout before he left most mornings.
I didn’t mind it, the fact that the zipper was a little more difficult to deal with. I remembered back when I first got home, when my clothes hung off me, when I lost all the curves I’d been so proud of. When I didn’t recognize myself.
I looked in the mirror, running my fingers through my curls, letting them tumble wild down my back. My face was full, no gaunt cheekbones to be seen, which meant I had to contour again. Any use of more cosmetics was welcome to me. My eyes seemed brighter, more vibrant. I touched up my bright red lipstick.
Then I looked down, at the mingling of my numerous cosmetics products with Luke’s lone tube of deodorant and bottle of aftershave. He didn’t even gel his hair and it looked that good, the prick.
A glint of silver peeked out from behind my Chanel perfume. I was a magpie, so I was attracted to the shiny thing, my red-tipped fingernails fastening on it.
The steel was cold on my hands and the feeling crept into my fingers, upward so it was everywhere all at once. I fingered the lettering, seeing my warped reflection in the silver.
“Babe, are you ready to go?”
I turned. Luke was dressed all in black, slacks but no suit jacket. Black shirt, open collar.
Black.
What he was now.
And he looked good.
I’d never loved him more. Or hated myself, just in that moment.
“Babe?” he repeated, face contorted in worry. It changed when I turned and he saw what I had clutched in my hands.
“You don’t wear this anymore,” I whispered. “Because of me.”
His eyes hardened. “No—”
“And you’re not who you’re meant to me because of me,” I continued before he could speak. “You talk about killing people and you scare nurses and you don’t care because I made you different. I fucked up. Biggest one of them all. Because I forgot who you are, who you’re meant to be. The good person. The good man. I know I’m not bad or evil, but I’m not that good either. I’m somewhere in between.”
“Rosie,” he whispered.
“There are two kinds of people in this world, people who make mistakes and people who have regrets,” I continued to babble. “The people who have regrets are the ones too afraid to do something as daring as live so instead they collect what-ifs like stamps, bundle them up and inspect them in the winter of their life.” I paused. “Then there’re the others, the ones who are too daring, who live maybe a little too much. Collecting mistakes and experiences and watching them on repeat with a smile on their face. Fuck-Ups may be hard to live with sometimes, but at least it means you’ve done something. Moved. It’s no secret which camp I hitch my wagon to. What’ll yours be?” I said it in a rush, a confidence radiating from my voice as faux as my fur.
He watched me, knowing the invitation behind my words. “I’ve got enough regrets to curse and inspect in the winter of my life, babe,” he said. “But I’ll be okay inspecting them if I’ve got a thousand summers with you. Making mistakes, maybe, but one I know I won’t make is standing right in front of me.” His hands fastened at my hips, yanking me close to him. “Maybe there was a time where I was that first type of person. Actually, there’re no fucking maybes about it. I was. You were too. Because you lived wild and free, babe, that’s true. But livin’ wild when chaos is your normal is the same as livin’ normal when you know nothing else. Maybe we both did the dance of regret with each other. I’m not gonna let us do that. Any mistake I make with you will be a treasure as long as I’ve got you beside me in the winter of my life.”
“But—”
He took the shield from my hands.
“This badge.” He fingered the shiny silver item that weighed so much more than the sum of its parts. “It used to be everything to me. There was nothing more important than this. What it represented. Who it represented. Me. The man I wanted to be. The man I thought I needed to be. This badge used to be my reason for getting up in the morning. For being. My purpose.” He paused, not really looking at me but at the same time staring into whatever was left of my soul. He was choosing his words carefully. “I was doing something. Something good, maybe,” he continued. He didn’t sound sure at the last part, like it was more of a question. Not to me, to himself.
