Out in Spring (Out in College 6)
Epilogue
“I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.”—Pablo Neruda, Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair
Logan
My family was loud and kind of crazy. The noise level at my parents’ dining room table could have been measured on a Richter scale. My brother and my dad were analyzing the 49ers roster and their chances of making it to the Super Bowl again anytime soon. My sister and her husband were in deep conversation with my aunt about real-estate prices while my mom and grandmother talked my boyfriend’s ear off at the other end of the table.
I tuned everyone out and concentrated on Ned. I had no idea what they were talking about, but I loved the way his eyes twinkled. His happy aura was contagious. I couldn’t look at him without smiling like a fool. I guess we both had a lot to be grateful for.
Ned and I moved to Nor Cal after graduation. We found a cool apartment in Santa Clara that was reasonably close enough to his new job. He’d only been at EN Tech for a couple of months, but he loved it. His bosses were smart as hell, and they were big on team-building. They hosted fancy dinners in the city and supposedly, we had a big weekend getaway next month at Conrad Winery in Napa. No complaints here.
Although I have to admit, it took me a little longer and some serious soul-searching to find a career direction I could get excited about. I worked some odd jobs over the summer to help pay my share of the rent and realized I freaking hated the idea of never playing hockey again. So, I joined an intramural team, volunteered to coach a juniors program, and enrolled in an Intro to Sports Medicine class at the local community college. I figured if I liked it, I’d consider getting another degree. And in the meantime, I worked as an assistant at a doctor’s office. So far, so good.
Scratch that. So far, so awesome. I loved being close to home again. I knew my family would be supportive, but they’d gone out of their way to welcome Ned. I worried sometimes that it was overkill. He seemed to like the St. James brand of nonstop chatter and manic activity. There was talk of playing touch football after dinner.
“Hey, Grams, are you playing football with us?” I called across the table.
“Damn straight I am! But only if Ned’s on my team.” She patted his hand affectionately.
I grinned, then skirted the table, pausing to bop my brother upside the head before circling my arms around Ned from behind.
“Hey, baby, are you—whoa! What is this?” I pointed at the ancient family album lying flat on the table and let out a pained moan. “Mom!”
“You were so cute, honey. Look at this. You’re two years old here. He wouldn’t go anywhere without a ball.”
When Mom slid the album toward Grandma, I bent to whisper in my boyfriend’s ear. “Now I like to have two balls in my hand. Preferably yours.”
“Same.” Ned snorted, turning his head to kiss me. “Hey, Logan?”
“Hmm?”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.” I ruffled his hair and planted a sloppy kiss on his cheek.
My mom cooed, my brother fake-gagged, and my sister and dad clapped. Everyone else chuckled. The conversation switched to dessert or hockey or traffic or fuck knows what.
I tuned out the background noise and reveled in the feeling of underlying peace and the “rightness” of being with my family and the man I loved. Ned and I might not have our path mapped out, but I had a good feeling about us. We balanced each other. I’d meant it when I said he was my compass and all the best parts of my future. I couldn’t help thinking that with him at my side, anything was possible.