The Fall - Book 2

225. Did...did you say...

JUNE 17, 2020  — AVENGERS COMPOUND — RÉA

Bucky and I have been home for three days.

We had a wonderful honeymoon; he'd even changed our plans so that we could spend more time in Loughgall. As I stand in my closet in my robe, staring at my clothes, I can't help but to replay several of the events of those few extra days in the cottage.

Bucky and I are curled up together on the large couch in the cottage den, looking through the album Maeve loaned me. Even with the weight of this, the atmosphere is cosy: there's a fire crackling in the fireplace and a pot of tea along with two teacups on the coffee table; I'm leaning against Bucky's right side, his arm draped over my shoulders and a throw pulled over our legs as we slowly turn the album's pages.

Though the photos are all of my mother and her friends—or just her friends—I only focus on her.

The pictures from before my father arrived show a beautiful woman who appears to love life and all it has to offer. There are candid shots of her smiling and laughing with the group during card games, picnics, hikes, and movie nights, along with posed photos of the entire group, and of her with Maeve and another woman—Nora, I recall Maeve saying—their arms draped around each other in the easy way of true friends.

Every photo of her is bittersweet, but the pictures from after my father arrived are the ones that have my heart simultaneously swelling and cracking, and tears—both happy and sad—filling my eyes.

In the candid shots—and even in the posed ones—their happiness and love for each other is evident. Even when their eyes aren't on one another, they're both practically glowing...and in every single photo of my mother, she appears even more vibrant and joyful than in the pictures before.

The photo that has the tears slipping down my cheeks is one of my parents that's very similar to my favourite one of me and Bucky—the one taken by Peter at the first game night in the Avengers tower. It shows my mother and father seated beside each other at a table with a board game laid out upon it, looking at each other with love shining clear as day on their faces...and with their joined hands resting on my mother's very obvious baby bump.

Bucky cups my face and tenderly brushes my tears away, then places the album on the coffee table and lifts me onto his lap. He wraps his arms around me, and that opens the floodgates. More tears roll down my face, and I cling to him while I cry; my sweet, wonderful husband just holds me close, rubbing gentle circles on my back and occasionally murmuring soothing words and pressing soft kisses to the top of my head....

"Doll, you look perfect," Bucky leans against the doorjamb of the bedroom, a small smile briefly curving his lips as he watches me change my shirt for the third time.

"But these are my mother's—my parents'—friends. I have to make a good impression. I—"

"Sweetheart," he moves to me, tilting my chin up and brushing my hair back from my face, "they're going to be so happy to meet you. They're going to adore you, just as you are...because you're sweet, and kind, and smart, and clever...because you're you."

I let out a sigh as I nod. "You're right...you're right." I cock my head to the side. "How do you always know just the right thing to say?"

"Well, I have been around for ten decades. I might have learned a thing or two," he quips, before his tone becomes serious. "I'm honest, Réa. Simple as that. I'm just glad you think I 'always know just the right thing to say'."

I stretch up and press a kiss to his right cheek, then his left, then to his lips before wrapping my arms around his waist and resting my head on his shoulder. His arms curve around me, and for a few minutes we simply stand quietly, just sharing an embrace.