We remain statuesque and unblinking.
“Yes,” I whisper.
In spite of the emotions reddening his eyes, he narrows them a bit as if he can’t believe I just said yes. “Yes to which one?”
Tipping my chin up to let him know I’m no longer his secret, his forbidden, his undeserving indulgence, I draw in a shaky breath. “All. I want it all. I deserve it all. You said SafetySuit, ‘Never Stop.’ Do you know the lyrics? Because I do and they’re big. They’re begging and pleading; they’re lassoing the moon and capturing the stars. They’re endless.”
He nods slowly, blinking away his emotions as the corners of his mouth turn up a fraction.
“You’d better make this matter, Mr. Malone. You said you can do the right thing, or you can love me. I will always choose love. I will always choose you.”
Bodhi’s hint of a smile turns into the real deal, and he drops one knee and then the other. “Forever, Bodhi and Henna,” he whispers, bowing his head to my stomach as he rests his hands on my hips.
“Dave Matthews, ‘You and Me?’” I whisper, running my hands through his hair.
He eases his head side to side. “No … Train, ‘Marry Me.’”
My breath hitches as I shake my head. “Don’t say it unless you—”
“I mean it.” He looks up, those blue eyes shining like the sunset on the sea. His hand reaches into his suit coat pocket, pulling out a ring. “Henna Eve Lane—”
“Yes.”
He frowns. It’s adorable, especially when he’s on both knees. Looking over his shoulder toward the crowd gathered on The Juniper watching us, he sighs. “You’re killing me, babe. I had a whole big speech planned out. They’re over there waiting for the big proposal.”
“They’re waiting for you to slide that ring on my finger and kiss me. They’re waiting for you to carry me to that smaller yacht. They’re waiting to see us sail to the end of the world because that’s our happily ever after.”
Bodhi slides the ring on my finger, twists my hand, and presses his lips to the inside of my wrist. “I think they’re finally one and the same.”
“What is?”
He stands.
The crowd cheers. We grin.
“Loving you is the right thing to do. It’s the only thing to do.”
I slide my arms around his neck and pull him down to me so we’re a breath away from kissing. “You smell like lemon.”
Bodhi grins. “This girl told me I needed to come to Italy for the best lemon drops.”
I ghost my lips over his. “Take me to the end of the world, Bodhi. Let’s make little rock stars. Let’s be limitless.”
“Bodhi and Henna,” he whispers. “Sounds like my favorite kind of Hell.” Blue eyes come to life, and his white teeth peek through his grin two seconds before he kisses me, sweeps me up into his arms, and takes me to our forever.
The world is big, but our time here is small and precious. Life is meant to be lived, not solved. And love … well, it’s like a white T-shirt with french fries and ketchup. It’s messy, but worth the risk.
EPILOGUE
Bodhi
“Put me on your shoulders so I can see!” Henna tugs at my hand as everything goes dark for the band to take the stage.
“If you wanted a better view, then we should have stayed backstage.” I smirk, knowing there’s no way Henna wants to watch this performance from anywhere but immersed in the middle of the sold-out venue. “Baby, I’m getting too old to carry you around on my shoulders.” I lift her up, and she ignores my comment.
A single spotlight shines on a beautiful, seventeen-year-old girl from India. The crowd goes insane screaming “Zoya” as she remains statuesque with perfect posture, left hand high on the cello neck, bow in her poised right hand. When the bow hits the strings, it silences the crowd, except for my wife.
“Oh my god, Bodhi … that’s our baby.” I don’t have to see her face to know that it’s marked with streams of happy tears.
After a classical solo, the rest of the stage lights up, and the other three band members join in, bringing the rest of the venue to their feet. It feels like the most incredible Bach and Mozart mashup with edgy rock undertones of Metallica and The Rolling Stones.
The world of Bodhi and Henna has been filled with tragedy, obstacles, and a whole lot of life. After years of failing to conceive a child, we decided to adopt a three-year-old girl from India, who we met on our travels when she was two. Her name was Zoya which means shining or life. She instantly took a liking to Henna. She even cried when we had to leave—so did Henna.
It was a long year of jumping through all the adoption hoops, but a week before Zoya’s third birthday, we brought her home to California. Yeah, we live in California now, just outside of L.A. so we’re close to my VP job at ZIP Tunes, close to Zoya’s grandparents, and close to her other band members.
Henna’s bracelet-adorned arms shoot up in the air. “That’s our rock star!”
Zoya has no interest in singing, but from an early age, she’s had sick talent at playing any instrument we put in her little hands. And her music-loving family has given her the opportunity to play all the instruments. Cello is simply her favorite.
So, Zach and I set out to find some up-and-coming talent who would complement her gift, and that’s how the band A World Away was born.
Four members from four different countries on their first U.S. tour, and their debut album has already gone platinum.
“Yeah,” I say, knowing no one can hear me over the music, “that’s our girl.” It’s not just my sappy wife—tears burn my eyes too as goose bumps shoot up along my arms.
How is this my life?
I steady Henna’s legs with one arm while taking some video of our daughter then turn the camera to take video of her mother on my shoulders. I send the short clip to Henna with a single song message.
Me: OneRepublic “I Lived”
A few seconds later, her fingers lovingly run through my hair.
*
Henna
We get less than ten minutes to congratulate Zoya and her band members after the concert before they’re swept onto the tour bus.
“You’re my idol, baby girl. We’ll see you in Seattle tomorrow.” I give her a big hug.
“Thanks. Love you, Mom.”
Bodhi pulls her into his arms, lifting her off the ground and swinging her around. It makes my heart do funny flips because they are so close. He’s devoted his life to her. I remind him every day that he’s a wonderful father just like his father.
“Dad, I was so nervous.”
He kisses Zoya’s cheek and sets her back on her feet. “That’s how you know you’re living. If your heart’s not racing, if your teeth aren’t chattering, then you’re not doing it right.”
She curls her long, black hair behind her ears and grins. “Then I was doing it so right.” She raises both of her arms to him for high fives.
When he lifts his arms, his T-shirt rides up enough for me to see the bottom part of his two tattoos—his world connected on his torso.
When the buses pull out of the parking lot, Bodhi reaches for my hand, and we interlace our fingers like we’ve done for the last twenty-three years together. He lifts our joined hands and kisses the inside of my wrist over my permanent tattoos.
Yeah, some things in life are permanent, like the love I have for my husband and our daughter.
“I love you more, baby,” he whispers over my skin.
I grin. The hate, the immaturity, the fear, the pain … it’s no longer part of us. Henna and Bodhi are simply more. More love. More days of living. More nights of passion. Just so much more …
“I love you always.” I turn into his body and press my lips to his sternum.
It’s been twenty years since Barrett died. Twenty years since we realized we were more than us. We are the people and the circumstances that surround us. We broke more than once, but love and time put us back together—and family.
Bodhi lived his own nomad life after his dad died, and he did it because Barrett swallowed his pride and asked for a huge favor from Juni.
“Bodhi will not understand why Henna helped me die. He will need time and distance. But … he will come back to her. I know it in my heart. So, I guess I’m asking you to make an investment in our children’s future.”
And she did. Juni made sure Bodhi got on a plane. She made sure he didn’t know it was her paying for his travels. She took him away from me, trusting that it was the only way he’d truly come back to me. Then magic happened. Fate? Maybe. Bodhi contacted my mom with an idea to do something special for my birthday … and the rest is history.
It wasn’t until after we were married that Juni told us about her conversation with Barrett, and how he had a hand in putting Henna and Bodhi back together. She did it because it bothered Bodhi that his dad watched them struggle with money, yet apparently had a greenback-stuffed coffee can hidden somewhere.
I tip my chin up. He looks down at me. We share a few moments of silence where so many things are said without saying anything at all.
He grins.
I grin.
“Hi. Remember me?”
Bodhi rubs his lips together and nods slowly. “I’m pretty sure you’re still my greatest memory.”