Davinder was at “our house,” as we now referred to it, and wouldn’t be coming into Montreal until theend of the week.
I missed him. But soon, we’d be together again and far away from our families, so I’d soak in their presence while I could.
I went to the entrance and found my coat. I looked at the framed picture in my hand again and touched a fingertip to Davinder’s face.
From behind the kitchen swinging doors, and over the sound of clanking pots and pans, I heard Elsie and Dayton. They’d started on dinner.
I looked around their living room.
Maybe this wasn’t all that unfamiliar. Maybe in some way I’d been with them all along. And maybe this was exactly where I was supposed to be today, in this very spot, in this very moment.
I slipped the picture into my coat pocket.
Whatever lay in front of me now, whatever other dreams would come, I’d chase and live them with Davinder. In our home, in our own secret garden he’d built for us, we’d savor every moment and enjoy each second.