‘I wanted so much to be married to you for real,’ I say, staring up at the house we’d been living in for the mission. Seeing as In had no need for it anymore, she offered it to us as a place to spend our vacation, and Pie and I accepted eagerly. Pie looks over her shoulder at me, half-way through unlocking the door.

‘So did I,’ she confesses. ‘After a while. At first I couldn’t stand being around you.’

I nod, remembering the pillow wall. ‘I thought you were just a huge homophobe.’

Pie pouts and pushes the door open. ‘That was the best excuse I could come up with. I’m sorry.’

‘I love you,’ I say, instead of, don’t be, or, it’s ok.

She takes my hand and pulls me into the house. ‘I love you too.’

‘So much,’ I add, because I have to make up for years of hurt and me not saying it to her. Pie frames my face with her hands and kisses me. I feel joy in it but I can also still feel fear in her kisses. She’s so afraid that one day I’ll wake up and I’ll have forgotten again. In all honesty, I’m afraid of that too. But it’s been two weeks since the attack on G.O.L.F headquarters and everything is still here, bright and clear. When I told Yam, during her visit in the hospital, she burst into tears just like Pie had, and hugged me.

The evening sun sifts in through the window and lands soft flakes of light on our shoulders as we stand in the living room, Pie’s hands clasped behind my neck, her warmth under my fingers.

‘What should we do tomorrow, do you think?’ I ask. Pie shrugs. Despite her lingering anxieties, happiness rolls off her skin like steam. It’s intoxicating.

‘Let’s get married tomorrow,’ she says.

I beam at her. ‘Yes. Let’s get married.’

+

(It’s a simple ceremony. We don’t tell anyone, but we invite Puey and Top and Jane over for dinner under the guise of being good neighbors. It’s quiet and gentle and perfect, and I will never forget, as long as I live, the look on Pie’s face when I said, ‘I do.’