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Being with Jane is the most right thing I’ve ever done.
“Talking is my specialty.” “It’s my weakness,” I say bluntly.
Aunt Daisy has taught me to use my voice, even if the world says stay quiet. Aunt Lily has taught me fierce courage, even on days when you feel lesser than. And Rose Calloway Cobalt, my mom—she’s taught me how to walk into a room full of men and never back down.
She’s taught me familial love. And loyalty. She’s taught me how femininity is everything and anything. Harsh and icy. Soft and stiff. Boisterous and unruly. Timid and unrelenting. Oxymorons and complements and conundrums that no one needs to understand. We’re women because we say so. We feel so. And that realization freed me.
“I could just as likely die tomorrow. And I’d want to spend my final moments next to you.”
“I don’t need a career to be a smart woman.” I go on. “I don’t need a job to be talented. I am both smart and possess talent, and the love that I give is just as important as the fashion empire my mom built. I am enough just as I am.”
Very deeply, he tells me, “I am in awe of you.” Tears spill, and our breaths come fuller, timed together. “The feeling is mutual,” I whisper, thinking of his self-restraint with Tony. “You’re a good man.” “You’re a better woman.”
“A home isn’t a house, Jane. It’s the people you love, and by moving, you’re protecting them and you’re protecting yourself.”
The image…it fills me. “I could plan other weddings besides Maximoff and Farrow’s,” I say, hopeful, letting that reality into the air. My mom looks at me like I’m her daughter. Flesh and blood come to life. “You can do anything, gremlin.”
“I shouldn’t need him so much, and I find myself aching to be swallowed whole too often to be healthy.” Setting the beer aside, I hug the binder to my chest and bend my knees. “I’m scared to love him, but God, I do. So infinitely and terribly.”
“You’re not two halves, Jane. You don’t lose when you love. You gain.” She draws closer to whisper, “You have all of him.”
“I need you. I need you like the air I breathe, and I want you like ground beneath my feet. I’m not afraid—I’m not afraid, not even a little. You are the man who has respected all of who I am and protected every little piece of me.”
“You keep me whole,” I profess. “And love—that dreaded, beautiful word—love.” I breathe, “Love is two wholes. We are two-hundred percent—an illogical number, maddening, and I will forever embrace every illogical, maddening second with you.” Tears threaten to surge.
“I love you, I love you, I love you.” It pours out of me. “Je’taime, je’taime, je’taime.” He’s already clasping my face, and I’m in his arms, legs wrapped around his waist. Our foreheads nearly press together, and his lips skim over my lips.
For the longest time, out of all the March sisters in Little Women—I aspired to be Jo. Fiercely independent with career passions and desires far outside a household. It turns out, all along, I resisted against being Meg. I want to be a wife and to one day raise children, a life as traditional as they come, and that ending is as worthy as any other.
