Finding Gilbert Blythe

E P I L O G U E

:: E P I L O G U E ::

Ridley smiles at the girl in the mirror and that freckled face smiles right back at her. Ridley wonders if that really is her; the red-headed girl whose face is still as round as the moon, whose green eyes glow prettily, whose upturned nose she has grown to love. Ridley wonders if that really is her; a woman in her late twenties donned in an absolutely stunning wedding dress, a bride, a graduate of Oxford University. She sighs and turns to look at the picture of her mother that she's placed in a small frame on her dressing table. You'd be proud of me mum, she thinks.

Ridley breathes in deeply, slowly to calm herself down because she knows she's about to cry. Of course, she isn't sad or anything. How could she be? This is the happiest day of her life. Or one of her happiest days, at least. No. Weddings can't be the happiest day of your life. Not when you're getting married to someone like Ben who she knows will strive to make every day happier than the last. Ah, Ben. Ridley looks away from her reflection because she can't stand to see herself grinning like a lovestruck schoolgirl. There are those who say that the passion between two lovers eventually fades within time. Perhaps it may be so for others, but Ridley cannot say the same for herself. Is it possible? Can a man she's been with for so many years now still make her feel like a twelve year old with a massive crush?

Of course, with passion comes pain. There had come a huge period of awkwardness after they had kissed in Marcy's wedding. Both Ben and Ridley had been so used to being in the 'just friends' category, they had both tread so carefully around one another for so long, careful to try and not cross the line and their second kiss had made it difficult for them to make any decisions that wouldn't completely destroy their strange new relationship altogether. There had also been the obvious matter of distance during their last two years at University, and it isn't all sunshine and daisies, as Ridley had unrealistically hoped for it to be. There would be days in which Ridley would ache for him with all her heart and she would cry and forcefully convince herself not to call him, because she knew he was busy and he had his own life in Canada to get on with. There would be days when Ridley and Ben would have three-hour-long conversations and nearly all of them would've been filled with Ridley's self-doubt and Ben's reassurance that everything would be fine, and that he loved her, and she must always remember that.

Ben had been so patient with her. Too patient, in fact. He listened to her rave on about horrible writers' block, period pains, brief girl dramas that didn't last very long. He would give her advice and chuckle at her way of dealing with the most petty of situations. He would calm her down when she was angry and he did it in the best way. Ben would then tell her about Canada -- about his trip to Nova Scotia during one Easter, how cold it could get sometimes, how crazy Canadians were about hockey and how their accents would sometimes make him want to stuff socks in his mouth to stop himself from giggling like an immature school boy.

He would then tell her of all the times he took long evening walks around Toronto during his first year in Canada, and how much he had missed Ridley in that particular year, how badly he wanted to go home and be with her.

"Every day seemed to drag by so slowly," he said. "Every day I would think of you and how much it hurt knowing that I probably never even crossed your mind."

"That is not true," Ridley had said with a resolute tone of voice. "I thought about you too. Every day I would think about you and how badly I had messed it up between us. I would go through every single conversation I remember having with you and I would wonder if I'd ever hurt you in any of those conversations and never known it. It killed me as much as it killed you. Everything about not being with you did."

Sometimes they would stay on the phone in complete silence and Ridley would close her eyes and listen to the faint sound of his breathing and for a moment, it would feel as though he was really there, beside her, close to her. Then, her eyes would fly wide open when he spoke up to say "Well, I guess we'll have to end the call now" and she would feel that rise of panic, the sensation of being stabbed with a dozen pitchforks and she would think No, please don't leave me just yet but the reply would always be "Alright, love".