Two weeks later, Mildred the cat, whom Justin had renamed and decided to call “Millie” for short, was pretty much a full-fledged member of our family. If I needed anything else to confirm I’d made the right decision, the peaceful, calm, totally content expression on Justin’s face anytime he pet her was it. Sometimes it was like he was in a trance, his thoughts clearly elsewhere, as he stroked her fur.

Millie was in love with Justin, and Justin was in love with her. Millie and I, on the other hand, had a bit of an adversarial relationship, especially in the beginning. She wasn’t exactly mean, but the fact that she meowed endlessly every single time Justin left her alone with me and took up lounging in my wheelchair any time I wasn’t in it, giving me a look that practically dared me to make her move, didn’t exactly make us the dearest of pals. But we got along okay, and it didn’t really matter what I thought anyway -- this was about Justin. If having Millie helped Justin, I’d figure out a way to make it work. Cat hair and all.

Justin still hadn’t been back to his studio since the day we adopted her, but his return didn’t seem to be far away, now that it had been cleaned out and anything that might have reminded Justin of one of the darkest times in his life had been put away. He was continuing to work on his pottery, while I tried to figure out how we could cram more equipment into his studio so he could work on it there. I’d seen him sketching a time or two also. Still with his right hand, but he seemed to be managing just fine. And if he never touched those old projects again, that would be okay. All I wanted was for him to feel happy and fulfilled, no matter what it was that brought him that.

I left Justin in charge when it came to our Thanksgiving plans too -- whatever he wanted to do, we would do. Jennifer and her new beau had a vacation planned to a bed and breakfast somewhere in South Carolina, so it turned out there wasn’t much draw for Pittsburgh, now that Debbie was gone. (Though, honestly, I did kind of miss her calling to threaten us within an inch or our lives if we even considered not coming home for any major holiday.) We thought about going to Michael and Ben’s, but in the end, we decided to stay home and celebrate the holiday with the friends we thought of as family -- a “Friendsgiving,” as Justin called it.

He tried to suggest making the whole meal from scratch, but I vetoed that idea quickly because I knew it would be overwhelming for him, even as much as he enjoys cooking. Too much, too soon. Particularly since we were expecting eight people in addition to the two of us -- Rob, Adam, and their girls, Cynthia and her boytoy, plus Gus and his boyfriend, whose family was all the way out in California, so he was waiting until winter break to go home.

Eventually, we compromised on Justin making his favorite Thanksgiving dish -- his grandmother’s stuffing -- and having the rest of the meal catered, so we could wake up on Thanksgiving morning and enjoy each other’s company, instead of stressing out and rushing around trying to pull together every aspect of a totally perfect Thanksgiving meal. And I knew that with Justin’s upbringing and the way he normally acted when we hosted just Rob and Adam, he would want everything to be perfect. I also knew that the less stress he put himself under, the better.

Even though Justin agreed to relinquish the cooking duties to the caterer, he still spent a lot of time planning and, yes, making sure everything was perfect. I could tell he was enjoying it though, so I made up my mind to just quietly observe and keep my mouth shut, unless I started seeing warning signs that Justin was stressing himself out.

I came home from work a little later than usual on the day before Thanksgiving -- because the advertising business doesn’t stop just because everyone is getting two days off, especially during the holiday season -- and I wasn’t the least bit surprised to find Justin standing in our dimly-lit dining room, putting the finishing touches on a floral centerpiece that hadn’t existed when I’d left that morning.

“What’s all this?” I asked, brushing the snow off my legs as I shed my wool coat and scarf and hung them up by the door, then took off my gloves and stuffed them in the pockets of my coat. I could have done without the unseasonably cold temperatures for November, but it was what it was. And Justin liked snow, so I tried to use that to look on the bright side, even though I was freezing my ass off and I knew it was going to take me forever to get warm.

Justin smiled -- that genuine, serene smile I’d been seeing a lot more often -- and used the remote to turn down the music he had playing on our sound system. “I want it to be special,” he said, and I felt like I could hear his smile in his voice too. I wasn’t sure if I’d just been noticing that more, or if it really was happening more often. Either way, I liked it.

Once I had most of the snow and the nasty muck off of myself and my tires, I pushed closer to the table, admiring Justin’s handiwork. “So you did get the gay flower-arranging gene,” I commented, smiling as I ran my finger along a crimson-colored table runner that I also didn’t recall owning. “How did I not know this?”

“You never bought me flowers.” Justin shrugged and continued changing the positions of the sunflowers, zinnias, and roses in the vase, all in deep, autumn colors, while I tried not to think about the time in our lives when he’d wanted nothing more than for me to buy him roses and I’d been too damn proud to do it. I wondered if he was still upset about that, but he was humming along with the now-barely-audible music -- some of that top-forty bullshit I was sure -- so he didn’t seem to be. In any case, I decided that was another thing that was going to change -- I was going to put more effort into being the partner Justin had always wanted. Flowers included.

Because when you've been where I've been and seen what I've seen, you change some shit, especially if it means keeping something that's important to you.

“I wish I would have.” I looked up at Justin, taking in the warm glow of his skin in the dim light and thinking about how much my old mantra of “no regrets” was straight-up bullshit. A lie I’d told myself, once upon a time, so I wouldn’t have to think about the consequences of my actions.

“I know.” He smiled again. “That wasn’t you back then. I wanted you to be something you weren’t yet.”

I wasn’t sure that statement was entirely true, since my main motivation in holding back had been fear, but I decided to let it go, instead choosing to examine the stack of dishes on the table -- another thing I wasn’t sure we’d owned earlier that morning. “Did you buy out Pottery Barn?” I chuckled, hoping to shift the mood more solidly back to lighter topics.

Justin laughed too. “Don’t worry, I used your platinum card. You got lots of frequent flyer miles.”

“Guess that means I’ll have to take you on a trip.” I let a salacious tone slip into my voice as I rolled closer to Justin, resting my hand on the small of his back at first, then letting it slide down to his ass, which was finally starting to fill back out, thanks to his appetite returning to normal.

“Guess so.” He grinned at me, then turned toward me and straddled my legs, lowering himself down into my lap before he kissed me. “How was the office?”

“Same shit, different day. But it’s better now that I’m here with you.” And it was. And it got even better when he kissed me again, and still better than that when he pinned my back against the wall, pressed his erection against my stomach, and started unbuttoning my shirt.

A few minutes later, Justin’s decorating was all but forgotten when we made our way to our bedroom and I fucked Justin from my glider chair while he laid on the chaise lounge, his legs resting on my shoulders, before I joined him on the lounge chair and he brought me to my own orgasm purely by finger and tongue action.

We ate a simple dinner that night of spaghetti and meatballs with garlic bread from Monetti’s that Nick delivered personally and refused to let me pay for, and Justin and I spent the rest of the evening on our sofa, splitting a slice of that luscious orange ginger cake -- which Justin loved as much as I had -- and watching the flames dance in the gas fireplace while the snow fell outside the window, with Millie curled up by Justin's side. The meal felt more symbolic than it probably should have, but I’d already found that I appreciated the simple things so much more at that point than I ever had in my life.

Who knows; maybe money really can't buy happiness.

We finally finished “Tales of the City” that night. Justin cried at the end, and honestly, I got a lump in my throat too, because it felt to me like yet another reminder of what was important in life: love, honesty, and being there for the people you care about. Being open to the possibilities. Four things the version of me Justin had pursued so many years before on Liberty Avenue would have cringed to think about, and four things that I now viewed as the cornerstones of Justin’s and my relationship, alongside open communication -- a new one that we’d recently added, after seeing the painful result of what could happen when we kept too many things to ourselves.

Now, we make sure communication happens. We have dinner together almost every night, with no phones and no laptops, not only talking about our days, but what’s on our minds too. Even the difficult parts. And I’ll be damned if Justin wasn’t right all those years ago when he was talking about how good a home-cooked meal made him feel.

When Justin needs to share something with me but doesn’t want it fixed, he tells me that. And I’ve been doing okay with not fixing it. (The majority of the time, anyway. I’m still not perfect, but I’m trying.) Mostly, though, we’ve both realized that we need to be partners on this great journey called life, and allow each other the opportunity to be that partner, even if sharing something is uncomfortable, because we never want to find ourselves in the same mess again. I especially don’t want to repeat history, because all I can think about is how next time we might not be as lucky. And I'm still not sure how I'd go on if that happened, because there's no one else that I trust in the same way that I trust Justin, and I don't think there ever will be.

We moved to our bed just past midnight and fell asleep with our bodies tangled, and Millie curled up by Justin’s feet on top of the duvet. Probably getting cat hair everywhere, but that was the reason I paid someone to clean the apartment once a week -- so I wouldn’t have to worry too much about it. It wasn’t my favorite thing then, and it’s still not, especially with a white cat, but seeing how much Justin loves her and enjoys having her around makes it all worth it. I know that sounds sappy, and I’m sure some previous version of myself would probably want to jump out a window for even having that thought, but when I look back now, I can see that I’ve always been willing to do things for Justin that I wouldn’t do for anyone else, even if it sometimes took a fight to get me to do it. I guess I knew, even back then, that Justin was different.

I woke up alone in bed, and I could hear the sounds of pots and pans being banged around in the kitchen. By the time I got in there, craving coffee and hoping Justin had already made some, the kitchen looked like Debbie Novotny had been cooking in it, with pans, utensils, and various ingredients -- some of which looked like logical parts of stuffing, and others that didn’t -- strewn all over the countertop, and Justin was digging in the back of the pantry.

“Dammit.” I heard Justin curse, his head still in the cabinet as he pushed several spice jars aside to peer all the way into the back.

“What’s wrong?” I stifled a yawn as my gaze fell on the still-empty coffee pot.

“I either forgot to buy dried sage, or I forgot where I put it, and I’m not sure which. Fucking brain injury.” He kept rummaging around in the cabinet, cursing under his breath as he moved ingredients out of the way. “Fuck,” he muttered as he stood up, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut.

“Hey,” I said, keeping my voice calm and even, hoping it might help prevent Justin from becoming any more agitated than he already was. I came closer and laid my hand on the small of his back. “It’s okay; I can get more. I’m sure at least one of the little corner stores around here is open today.”

“I swear I remember buying it, though. I just don’t know where the hell I put it, and I thought I remembered the recipe, but the more I think about it, the more I’m not sure I do, or if I’m missing pieces of it, like I’m missing pieces of so many other things that I used to remember, and I don’t realize it until--”

“Justin,” I interrupted, because I could hear the anxiety in Justin’s voice as words poured out of him in a breathless torrent. I could also tell by his unsteady inflection that he was getting close to tears, and we were going to be punching a one-way ticket down panic attack street -- headed straight toward migraine territory -- if I didn’t do something. I took his hands in mine and pulled him around to face me. “Look at me.”

He did, but I could see in his eyes how much he didn’t want to, probably because he knew I’d also see how close he was to panic, and I knew how embarrassing it was for him when his thoughts ran away with him like that, leaving him powerless to stop them. “I have to find it,” he said, his voice still unsteady, though it was much softer this time, barely above a whisper. “It’ll fuck up the whole recipe if I don’t find it.”

I could tell that he wanted to say more, but he stopped himself. His internal fight was clearly visible, though, in the way he chewed his lip, as if he was trying to keep himself from continuing.

“We’ll find some,” I said, still making an effort to keep my voice as calm as possible. “But right now, you need to sit down and breathe. Take a break.”

I stopped short of telling him he needed to calm down, since I knew from experience that only made him more agitated because he felt like he couldn’t.

I hated making him sit, especially when he didn’t want to, because he wasn’t a child; he was an adult and he could make his own decisions. But I knew it was what he needed, and I also knew that on some level, he probably did too. Eventually, I got Justin to come over to the sofa with me, where Millie immediately jumped up in his lap and pushed her head under his hand in the way she always did when she wanted him to pet her. I wrapped my arm around his shoulders and reminded him to breathe, slow and steady, as we waited the several minutes that it took for his breathing to return to normal and for the noticeable nervous tension in his body to fade.

“I just want everything to be perfect,” he said softly, still stroking Millie’s fur as she purred quietly.

“I know. But it doesn’t have to be. It’s okay if it isn’t. Remember the year after we moved to New York, when Deb took the turkey out of the oven and the fucking foil pan collapsed and the turkey ended up on the floor?”

Justin huffed out a laugh as the corners of his lips turned up into a smile. “Yeah, and the kitchen floor was basically a grease slick for the rest of the night because of all the drippings, even after Carl mopped it three times.”

“Lindsay fell and busted her ass.”

“And I thought she was going to kill you, because you wouldn’t stop laughing.”

“Hey, it was funny.”

“Until she pushed you and you ended up falling over backward,” Justin smirked.

“Then I thought I was going to have to kill her if she didn’t stop asking me if I was okay.”

“Served you right.”

“And Gus spent the whole night skating around the kitchen in his socks, no matter how many times Lindsay told him no.”

“With Grandma Debbie egging him on the whole time, telling Lindsay to just let him be a kid.” Justin’s smile was bigger now, and I could tell he was as lost in the memory as I was.

“But see? We don’t remember the years when everything was perfect,” I said. “We remember the ones when it seemed like nothing went right, but we all still had a great time, because we had each other.”

“And enough sides to feed a small army.”

“That too. But we were with our family. That’s what matters. That’s who’s coming tonight.” I took Justin’s left hand in mine and squeezed it. “They won’t care if it’s not perfect. They’ll have a great time no matter what.”

And they did.

I went and got some more sage, and Justin called Jennifer to be sure he was remembering his grandmother’s stuffing recipe correctly, and the caterer brought everything else just a few minutes before our friends started arriving. We all enjoyed a delicious meal around our dining room table -- finally using all of the extra chairs Justin had insisted on buying when we’d purchased the set.

After dinner, we spent the rest of the evening in the living room, with the adults enjoying cocktails, coffee, and conversation, while a random Christmas movie Justin had found on cable played in the background. Sophia played with Millie until Millie got tired of it and escaped to our bedroom, where I later found her sleeping on Justin’s pillow, and Esme spent a good chunk of the night curled up in Justin’s favorite armchair with her sketchbook, drawing quietly.

Gus and his boyfriend Alex were almost sickeningly sweet, holding hands and occasionally sharing a kiss, talking softly among themselves, and generally looking like a couple out of a romance novel. They were clearly smitten with each other, and if I’m being honest, it was cute.

“Why couldn’t you have been more like that when we first met?” Justin asked quietly, after Gus kissed Alex’s cheek for about the third time in fifteen minutes.

“Because I’m not half Lindsay,” I said, keeping my voice low. “She’s into all that romantic shit. Besides, I think you enjoyed the thrill of the pursuit.”

“True.” Justin nodded, his eyes twinkling, before he turned to give me a kiss of my own.

Esme was visibly (and amusingly, from my perspective, anyway) worried about Alex’s presence until Justin got her alone and quietly assured her that Gus liked girls too. Meanwhile, Cynthia and her boyfriend, the lawyer she’d met not long after her pregnancy scare, seemed to be getting more serious than I’d ever seen her get with a man. And Rob and Adam were exactly the way they always were -- never missing a chance to be squeezed in together in one corner of the sofa, with their fingers intertwined, casually intimate.

Through it all, I kept finding myself just observing, thinking about everything the past year had held for all of us. We’d each had our own changes and transitions, some because of unforeseen events, and others because they were a natural part of life. But we were all not only surviving; we were thriving. Somehow, everything had brought us right where we needed to be, just as had happened to Justin and myself so many times in our lives.

Even the parts that felt like shit when we were going through them had led us to a better place in the end, and Justin’s depression was no different, because it brought us to where we needed to be in order to appreciate each other and our lives. To live in gratitude, being thankful for each moment. Knowing that the next moment is never promised.

I only wished Justin hadn’t had to suffer through so much pain for us to arrive at that point. But there was no turning back the clock, no fixing it, and no keeping it from happening. No matter how much I wished I’d seen the signs earlier.

All I could do was be grateful that Justin was still there with me, and hope that we’d be by each other’s side for many more years to come.

One by one, we said goodbye to our guests, with Rob and Adam being the last to linger, waiting for the girls to finish putting away the board game they’d been playing with Adam and Justin at the dining room table when the wine had really started to flow in the living room. Then, we were alone.

We cleaned up the kitchen before sharing a shower and ultimately falling into bed together, unable to keep our hands off of each other. Sharing the intimate connection that had been ours from the beginning in some ways, but was so different now than it was all those years ago, when I couldn’t even remember Justin’s name when we woke up side by side after our first night together.

But it had to be different, because everything we’d seen in our lives had changed us. Not just trauma, but time, wisdom, and life in general had all changed us too.

In that moment, with Justin’s body pressed against mine in the dim light, his fingers trailing lightly over my chest, I realized just how close we’d come to losing everything we’d built and everything we had together, for good. But we hadn’t. We’d been given a second chance. Or a third, or a fourth. Regardless, I knew right then that no matter what came, we’d get through it together, because that was how much we loved each other. We’d never needed rings or vows to prove it -- our love just was. Unconstrained by time or space. Transcending it all. Always.

Even before I’d realized what it was.

Those little things are nice too, though -- the rings, the vows, dinners together, holding hands. I never thought in a million years that I’d ever want those things, but I do. I want it all.

We’d been lying there for a while, not saying anything, just enjoying being with each other, when Justin’s voice broke the silence.

“Thank you.” His voice was soft as he looked up at me, his eyes glistening. “For everything. For sticking by me… for listening… for being there.”

His words hit me hard, especially in light of all I’d been thinking about, and I felt my own emotions start to rise to the surface, but I swallowed to try to push them back, making up my mind that I wasn’t going to cry, even though I’d already been close on more than one occasion that day.

“You don’t have to thank me,” I said, still unable to stop my voice from breaking. “I love you. We’re partners.” I paused, wrapping my hand around his before I leaned down to kiss him. “Promise me you won’t ever forget that. And I promise I won’t either.”

“I promise,” he whispered. “And I love you too.”

Justin let his voice trail off as his eyes slid closed, snuggling his body in closer to mine, his head resting on my chest. Slowly, his breathing changed from shallow to deep, as he drifted off to sleep. I lay awake for awhile, feeling the weight and the warmth of Justin’s body on mine, thinking about how grateful I was -- so damn grateful -- that we were both still here, and that we had the best damn chosen family we could have ever asked for. We had everything we ever could have wanted. Some of it was hard-won, yes, but we had it. Love, fulfillment, friendship. The ingredients for a good life. It might have taken us a while to figure out the recipe, but we finally got it, and that was all that mattered.

I wrapped my arm tighter around Justin’s body, catching the brief glint of light reflecting off my wedding band’s metal surface from the bedside lamp I had yet to turn off, because I liked being able to see Justin’s face as he slept -- the peacefulness of his expression, and the perfection of his fair skin and his facial features. Carefully, I slipped the ring off my finger, rotating it slowly as my fingertip traced the inscription inside, feeling its slight roughness, giving depth and texture to the smooth titanium surface. Remembering the words and what they’d meant when we chose them all those years ago.

Worth fighting for.

We’d fought in one way or another from the very beginning of our relationship -- Justin, with his relentless pursuit of me, and me, fighting my feelings almost every step of the way. Sometimes we fought with each other, and sometimes we fought for each other. We had to fight our way back to each other more than once too, but we’d made it, each and every time.

Those three words meant more to me in that moment, though, than they ever had -- maybe because of how hard Justin had to fight to still be there, in my arms. To become himself again. How hard he was still fighting. But we didn’t just fight for ourselves; we were a team. We always had been, even when I’d tried to fight that. And after all that we’d been through in the previous months, it all felt even more worth it. All of the pain, all of the strife, all of the struggle, alongside the joy, the happiness, and the love -- it had all brought us here, to this moment.

Right then, as my husband slept on my chest, his heart beating softly and steadily against my side as my own thrummed beneath his head, I knew we’d never stop fighting. And that somehow, some way, our love for each other would always win.

I slipped my ring back on my finger and reached over to turn off the light, then pulled Justin’s body in closer to mine as I let my own eyes close, feeling a single tear trace a path down my cheek to the pillow. A tear of relief. A tear of gratitude, for how fucking lucky I was.

How lucky we both were.

And how I was never going to take that for granted again.

***

And all the lies, and all the fears
Wash down your cheek and disappear
Here’s to light, let the dark be gone

Chapter end notes: The end of this chapter was heavily inspired by the lyrics to the song “I’m Not Running” by Vertical Horizon -- the song the lyrics above in italics came from. I highly recommend clicking here and giving it a listen -- the lyrics remind me so much of Brian and Justin.

Lyrics by Matt Scannell and Richard Marx