And that Christmas Eve—the first one they shared as a family, when things were still a little new and a little wobbly but so, so good—Charlie and Meg came over to help them trim the gigantic and mostly tasteful (but rather ostentatious) tree; Deb and Jason piled in, too, with a newly knitted afghan and a hand-carved table and hugs which Jack accepted, finally, as a sign that he was theirs. It was loud and messy and chaotic and it was—it was just right.

They sat on the fluffy velvet couches, recessed lighting off but fairy lights on, and the kids rolled around on the carpet, making a mess, tickling and yelling and coming up with alarming plans, and—

“Ask me again.”

Jack paused, fingers sifting through silky strands of hair. “What?”

“What you asked me, in Cork. Ask me again.”

“I—” Oh. Oh. “Will you—”

“Not now, you lunatic. But—in a year. A year and one day. When you’ve...stayed with me. Ask me then.”

“A year and...”

“One day.” Theo looked at him, eyes a little wide. Innocent, almost, like the child he never got to be. “Like Lughnasa.”

Jack felt his face soften. He tucked a strand of hair behind Theo’s ear. “All right. A year and—next Christmas. All right.” Jack looked at Theo’s profile as he stared into the fire, an uneven flush on his cheeks. “I love you very much, you know.”

Theo raised one delicate eyebrow and scoffed. “I love you too, you abject disaster. Now shut up and grab me some champagne.”

Will had been right.

It was good, being all the way happy.

Epilogue

All of our stories have what-ifs. We cannot go through life without them—without the paths we didn’t take, without the paths our parents and lovers and friends took. We’re strung out on a line, decision after decision tumbling down our lives, triggering the next, the next. We have all of the control and none. Jack and Theo—this has been their story, their choices, their consequences, unalterable as it was told. Lived. But—

This is how it could have been different.

In second grade, Jack’s teacher—who was always tired, tasked with caring for children who could barely care for themselves, grading to do and benchmarks to meet and her own burdens to bear—had one extra cup of coffee per day, prepared lovingly by her attentive partner, and she noticed that Jack’s clothes were never clean. She considered the way he ate school lunches, the way he tried to take his time, savoring, but how he always finished before the other students and always asked for seconds and never seemed to gain any weight.