He's The Boss

Epilogue

"It seems like your sister's really serious about this guy," Mom says to me one evening as I'm getting ready. "Of course, I don't entirely approve of the way they met, but they seem to really like each other."

"He'll be up for parole in a year."

Mom sighs, although I don't actually hear or feel the puff of breath. "A convict. Christ."

"Well, the past is past, right?"

"You're starting to warm to the guy, huh?"

"I can now stand to be in the same room as him, if that's what you mean."

"And your father?"

"That's going to take work. But he's different these days, ever since he met ... " I stop myself, doing a worried glance at her.

"It's OK, honey. I know about Marcy."

"You're not upset?"

"She makes him happy. That makes me happy. I'm sure you can understand."

"I'm starting to," I murmur, staring at my reflection in the mirror. "I think."

"Hey," Mom goes, coming up and standing next to me. "I need to ask – are you going to be OK?"

"Of course, Mom."

"Really? Are you sure?"

"Yes!" I tell her, smiling broadly. "Stop worrying."

She wags a finger at me. "Don't forget your family, you understand? Otherwise, fuck me."

"OK, Mom," I say dryly, rolling my eyes.

"And don't roll your eyes at your mother."

I try to think of a snappy retort, but that's when I hear the door pop open. I turn around as Nate breezes into the room, looking handsome in a crisp, sky-blue shirt and ash-gray pants. He comes over, pecking me on the lips. "You look incredible."

"Really? I'm not overdressed?"

"It's going to be fine, Cait. My mom's not going to bite."

"No, she's just going to murder me."

"Why would she want to murder you?"

"I don't know. Because she can."

"Listen to me," he says, putting his arms around me. "You're with me, and I love you. She's just going to have to respect that."

I smile, telling myself to get used to this – the warmth, the affection, the feeling of having someone in my life again.

I look around the room – Nate's room, which I moved into a few months ago – and I am surprised at myself. Or maybe I should say, I'm surprised the effect Nate has had on me. On what he's helped me believe.

"Come on," he says, taking my hand. "We don't want to be late."

He turns off the light as we leave the room, and I whisper goodbye to Mom, wherever she is. I meant what I said; with Nate at my side, I know I'll be just fine.