I Can Fix That

Epilogue

GRANT

Today marked a year since the best day of my life. An entire year. Twelve months. Three hundred sixty-five days.

June and I had big plans for our one-year wedding anniversary tonight. Last week we said we would go to a fancy dinner outside town and then to the flower field again. However, after her quick change of cravings, she said she would rather paint the nursery and eat in. Which I had no complaints about.

Her pregnancy hadn’t been easy on her. She was about four months along, and she threw up between three and five times a day. She handled it like the champ she was, though. I was so proud of what a great job she was doing already. She has read every baby book and watched every birthing video, which has given me some mental scarring. She would scroll through Pinterest for hours looking at nursery decor or showing me baby girl outfits she “had to have.” I didn’t mind a bit; if anything, it was refreshing to know how excited she was. She and Lily would talk on the phone almost every day about baby names and baby shower themes. When we told Lil about the baby, she nearly burned the house down with excitement. She ran around screaming about how she was going to be a grandma. I thought about correcting her to aunt, but I figured I would let it slide.

Walking into Cooper’s Hardware Store hand in hand, we made our way to the paint aisle, where I first saw the love of my life. I paused at the end of the aisle and watched her pull out paint swatches as she rambled about the difference between blush and pink. Her tiny bump had begun to show; her pants still fit, but there was a little pouch that pushed them out.

She was just as beautiful, if not more, than the day I met her in this aisle. Her long, light brown hair flowed past her shoulders, and her tiny fingers pulled samples out one by one.

I thought back to the day she called me to work on her house. The second she called and went on a long-winded discussion about why she was calling, I had no doubt it was her. My girl from Cooper’s. When she said her name, it rang in my ears for days. June Hart.

I stayed up that night thinking of her.

Did her parents name her June because they knew they would spring to life with just a glimpse of her smile?

This girl had me wrapped around her finger longer than she had known. I had loved her longer than I had known her name. I was foolish to believe I could ever resist her.

When I found out she was pregnant, I had my worries, of course. My traumatic history wasn’t going to stop us from being excited, though. A baby girl was coming to our family, and I refused to let myself go a day without looking forward to her arrival.

Lily had already bought baby girl countless outfits, and June’s best friend, Ashley, had even begun planning for her arrival by baby proofing the house. June was surrounded by her support systems, and I told myself I would never let her fall again.

June looked back at me, holding two identical colors side by side. “Which one?” They look the exact same—if I hadn’t seen the different code numbers on the bottom, I would tell her they were the same.

“You pick. I’m happy with whatever you choose.” It was true; whatever she wanted, I would be happy with. June could ask me for anything in the world, and I’d give it to her twice. She smiled, nodded her head, and turned around to the aisle to grab the paint can off the shelf to give to the mixer. She stood on her tiptoes, reaching her arms above her head to attempt to grab it herself. I was hit with a wave of déjà vu.

My sweet June Dawes, her petite frame reaching as high as she could to grab a can off that same shelf as almost three years ago. Only this time, I wouldn’t let myself regret not helping her for years. She grunted as she stretched, and I shook myself out of my dazed state and made my way down the aisle to her. I placed a small hand on her lower back, and she came back down to her flat feet. I planted a kiss on her cheek and whispered to her what I should have all those years ago.

“I can fix that.”

THE END