Page 111 of Filthy Goalie
I let Banks lead me through the dance and then I let him go back to his daughter and I understood that there were stories in this town that I would never know, and that was okay. There was space in Frostbite Falls for every kind of love, every kind of grief, every kind of joy.
At midnight and five minutes, the diner started to clear. The night had turned cold outside. The snow was coming again. But inside the diner it was warm, and we were married, and nothing else mattered.
People said goodbye. They hugged us. They left with boxes of pie—Sue had insisted that everyone leave with pie, like it was a blessing instead of just dessert.
By 1:47 a.m., it was just Knox and me and the ghost of my grandmother, who was as much a part of this wedding as anyone else in the room.
The diner was full of dirty dishes and the smell of pie and coffee and flowers mixed together, creating something thatsmelled like home. The lights were still on. The “OPEN” sign was dark. It was midnight and they were married. It was midnight and everything had changed. It was midnight and the diner was theirs and the future was theirs and the rest of their lives was stretching out ahead of them like a road they would walk down together.
He said, “Dance with me.”
I said, “There’s no music.”
He said, “I know.”
We danced anyway—in the silence of the diner, in the middle of the floor, in the space where my grandmother had stood for over forty years and where I would stand for the rest of my life.
He said, “I love you, Maple. I loved you from the moment you served me bad coffee and I understood that you were the person I had been waiting for my entire life without knowing I was waiting.”
I said, “I love you too. I loved you from the moment you said you would come back tomorrow night. I loved you because you kept your promise. That was the whole thing—you kept showing up. Day after day, you kept showing up for me.”
He said, “I am going to wake up every morning and be grateful that I came to this town and that I found you. I am going to wake up every morning and choose you. That’s my vow. Every single day for the rest of my life.”
I said, “I’m going to wake up every morning and be grateful that you stayed.”
He said, “I am not going anywhere.”
I said, “I know. And I’m grateful. Every single day, I’m going to wake up grateful that you stayed. That you chose me. That you chose this town and this diner and this life.”
30
MAPLE
4:58 a.m. Exactly one year. Three hundred sixty-five days.
He sat in the booth nearest the door. The booth where he always sat. The booth I had been saving for him.
I was making the next cup of coffee. My hands moving. My hair in its knot. My apron stained with flour and butter.
In the back booth, baby Caleb slept in a Moses basket, one small fist curled against his cheek.
I looked at him.
He ordered pie.
I warmed it. Cut it. Slid it across the counter with ice cream on the side.
“Best pie in Minnesota,” he said.
What he meant was: I know that you came to this town terrified. I know that you almost lost everything. I know that you kept fighting. I know that you let me help you.
I said, “I know.”
What I meant was: I know that you could have left. I know that you stayed.
He took a bite. The pie was warm. The crust was flaky. The apples were tart and sweet. This was the pie that had saved my diner. This was the pie that had saved me. And in being saved, I had saved him.
“Best wife in Minnesota,” he said.
