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Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us.
These, our bodies, possessed by light.
Tell me we’ll never get used to it.
—“Scheherazade,” Richard Siken
To his own surprise, Laurie took a step back.
The look on Amy’s face was blistering, raw hurt and crushed hope seeping from an open wound. Laurie felt a sharp stab of guilt, but it was followed by relief, not regret. He had thought he could want this. He had thought that Amy’s headstrong ways would be enough to entice him. He had thought all these aimless, liquor-filled years in Europe would erase the desperate longing in his heart for an unbridled laugh, unkempt hair, and ink-stained fingers.
“I’m sorry if I’ve misled you,” he said. “But I think you’re looking for something I can’t give you.”
*
Long and arduous, the trip back to Massachusetts was awkward, and they barely spoke to each other. Amy glared at him in hatred and longing alternately, and Laurie spent most of the voyage thinking about what she had said to him that day: “It’s Jo, isn’t it. All this time, it’s still Jo. I’ve loved you for so long, but nobody will do but stupid careless, rude, loner Jo.”
Unfortunately, she was right. From the day he had met Jo, Laurie had been entirely enchanted and helplessly drawn into her orbit, as all things were—into the whirlwind of witty banter and easy affection and endless clever ideas. Not to mention the unrestrained disdain for everything that the other people in his life couldn’t seem to get enough of. Laurie had always been different from his peers, and he had found a kindred spirit in Jo.
At the bottom of his suitcase sat a bundle of letters, creased with multiple readings but unanswered. He didn’t regret fleeing to Europe after his graduation, after Jo moved to New York. He had needed a break from all the unresolved tension in Massachusetts. But the thrill of being back in Paris had been undercut by the pang in his heart, the ache of always missing her.
Despite the mess they had made of everything, he couldn’t wait to see her.
*
The Marches welcomed Laurie back warmly, and Amy doled out presents for everyone. The entire time, an unopened letter sat heavily in Laurie’s pocket.
On the walk to the house from the train station, he had gotten the urge to the check the mailbox from their childhood. Amy had complained loudly of her aching feet and sore shoulders, but he couldn’t explain it to her. Perhaps it was a long-abandoned hope returning to life in the familiar locale. Perhaps it was his sentimental heart, always getting him in trouble. Or perhaps he was just losing his mind. But following his instinct, he had trudged through the dirt to get to the tree. He had withdrawn the keyring he always kept on himself and turned the little key in its lock.
The sight of the letter had made him inhale sharply. He would have recognized that handwriting anywhere. Pocketing the letter, he had closed the mailbox and made his way back to Amy, relieving her of another one of her many bags.
Now he stood in the living room of Orchard House, disappointed Jo wasn’t there to greet them. His eyes flickered helplessly around the room, searching for signs of her. At her absence, he wondered if he had been mistaken. Maybe she had already returned to New York. Maybe the letter in the little box was from many years ago, before he had lost his patience and ruined everything.
But then he heard a loud noise from upstairs. Heart pounding, he rushed up the stairs.
*
Laurie had been hoping for a hug, but he knew the moment that he saw Jo that she wouldn’t give it to him. Not now. At the sound of his footsteps, she whipped her head around from where she had been staring out the window, likely watching their arrival. Her eyes gazed at him skittishly, like he made her nervous, and the thought made his chest tight. Gone was the familiarity that had bound them together for so many years. But after all this time away, she seemed more beautiful than ever, disheveled hair falling in her face and clear eyes full of carefully buried emotion.
“Jo,” he breathed, a lump in a throat.
“Hello, Teddy,” she said, hands twining anxiously in her lap. They were clean, and he resisted the urge to take them and ask her what was wrong. She had moved to New York to write, but there were no signs of paper in the room. And the Jo he knew never sat around; instead spending her time pacing and talking. But this Jo was quieter. This Jo was in mourning.
“I’m sorry I didn’t respond to your letters,” he said, stepping over the book that must have fallen.
Jo shook her head like it was the last thing on her mind. “It doesn’t matter.”
They stared at each other for a tense moment, Laurie standing over her.
“Jo, I…” He swallowed. “I’m so sorry about Beth.”
At the sound of her beloved sister’s name, Jo’s face crumpled. Without thinking, he darted over to the small sofa and wrapped his arms around her. The tears staining her face wet his shirt.
“She was the best of us,” she choked out. She shook in his arms, unleashing a torrent of sorrow, and he could only do his best to help stem the flow.
*
It wasn’t until much later that he had a chance to read the letter. Once he had, he relit his candle and read it again. And again.
In it, Jo told him that she stood by her earlier decision to reject him, because it hadn’t been the right time for either of them. But all this time later, they’d grown up and tried to make lives for themselves apart. And, Jo confessed, she thought maybe there was a chance for them now, after she had lived in the big city and done her best to follow her dreams. And, she wondered, after years away, had he changed his mind? Did he still see her as a viable partner?
It was hardly the romantic confession he had yearned for, but did it matter? It was Jo, who had been his heart’s desire since the moment he met her and saw how dirty her shoes were and how indelicately she danced. It was Jo, reaching out for this thing that she had always run from.
Tomorrow, he would go to her. And he would tell her how, despite everything that had transpired between them and everything that had changed inexorably, he still wanted her above all others. Just a promise to be at her side for the rest of his life, and for her to be at his—that was what he really wanted.
Tomorrow, he would tell her.
*
Palms sweaty and heart stuttering, Laurie walked the familiar direction to Orchard House after lunch. The sun was high in the sky and the rolling greens beautiful around him, but all he could think about was, So I was wondering if you’ve changed your mind.
Jo’s letter was back in his pocket, this time alongside a small velvet box.
At the Marches’, Hannah was doing the washing up from lunch, and Amy was sitting at the kitchen table. Laurie said hello and asked about Jo, and Hannah directed him upstairs. The entire time, he could feel Amy’s piercing glare on him, and he hated himself a little for thinking he could have settled for her and for Jo’s sisterly companionship. He had never meant to hurt her though, and he would admit regretting that. He could take her anger, but not her sadness.
Up in the attic, Jo was sitting at her desk and staring at a blank piece of paper. She seemed lost in thought, and he hesitated for a moment.
Eventually, she put her pen down and sighed in frustration.
“Hey,” he said.
Jo turned. “Oh, hi. Back so soon?”
He nodded and retrieved the paper from his pocket. At the sight of it, her face tightened. “I received your letter,” he said needlessly.
Jo turned away for a tense moment, seemingly gathering her nerves, and then in a flurry of motion, grabbed her coat.
“Let’s go for a walk,” she said.
*
Once they were out of earshot of the house, Jo turned to Laurie and said, “Well?”
“I haven’t changed my mind,” he said.
“Oh,” she said, and kept walking. “You haven’t? I thought—all those years in Europe, women must have been throwing themselves at you.”
“I compared each to you, and every one of them fell short.”
“Teddy,” she said, admonishing. Like she didn’t believe him.
He stopped walking. The wide blue expanse of the lake stretched out behind them, glimmering beneath the high midday sun.
“I mean it, Jo. I’ve never wanted those society girls and women, with their feathers and frivolity and quiet obedience. I want someone real, someone who couldn’t be like that if they tried. I want someone who has their own ideas and doesn’t care what anyone else says about them. You’re the woman I want.”
Jo winced. Then, she said quietly—quieter than Laurie had ever heard her speak, “That’s just it, Teddy. I’m not sure I am a woman.”
He stepped closer, not sure he heard correctly. At his questioning look, she shuffled her feet and said, “I’ve always felt…different. I wish that when people looked at me, they didn’t think I was a woman. Sometimes I wish they saw a man. I know I sound mad, but I don’t know how else to explain it. When I look in the mirror, I can’t help but think this body isn’t right for me. Like I’m something else, beyond what people say I should be.”
Absorbing this, Laurie nodded thoughtfully. He thought, for the first time, of how he had enjoyed playing the girl parts in Jo’s plays as a child, of the way he had always particularly enjoyed the company of attractive young men, and he decided it was likely they were not as different as Jo made them out to be. “I think I see.”
Immediately, Jo’s anxious expression warped to shock, eyes wide in disbelief. “You don’t think I’m an aberration? You don’t think I’m making it up?”
Laurie gripped her arms, brow creasing in concern. “Jo,” he chided. “Of course I don’t. You know that.”
Jo’s face crumpled. “But how can that be?”
“I love you, Jo. I love everything that you are, woman or not. We grew up together—you think I don’t understand who you are? You think I don’t know that you’re different from the rest? I told you that I compared all those girls to you, and they didn’t stand a chance. So whatever you are, I love it. I love it better than all the women in the world.”
“But don’t you see? I would be a poor wife. I’ll never cook for you or wash and mend your clothes or—”
Laurie interrupted her, surprising himself with his anger at this idea. “I don’t want a servant. I have enough of those. I want you to be my equal. I want your companionship; I want us to be family—”
“The thought of having children is abhorrent to me,” Jo interrupted. “I wouldn’t be able to help you carry on your line.”
“You know I don’t care about that,” Laurie said.
At last, Jo seemed to be at a loss of words. “Teddy, the way you love me—I don’t deserve it.”
He moved his hands up to her shoulders, caressing them gently. “I think you do.”
“You don’t understand—I love you more than I’ve ever loved any boy or man, but I don’t think it’s enough. I don’t think it’s the way Meg loves John, or the way Marmee loves Father. And I don’t know if I’m capable of anything more than what I feel.”
This was harder to hear, and Laurie couldn’t help but brace himself to be rejected again. He said uncertainly, “In your letter, you asked if I still found you a viable partner. What did you mean, if not that?”
“I’ve been so lonely, Teddy!” Jo burst out, eyes glistening with tears. “I want so desperately to be loved! It’s so selfish, and I know it makes me a horrible person, but I want to be loved that way, even if I can’t return those feelings fully. I want someone to talk to when I wake up, someone to tell about my day and say good night to. I want someone to care about my writing and tell me I’m talented, someone to roughhouse and joke around with, someone to adore me. I used to have that here, but then Meg got married and Amy left for Europe, and you ran away, and now Beth…” She choked out her words: “And now Beth is gone.”
Jo swiped at her eyes. “This had seemed like a good idea when I was talking to Marmee before I wrote you that letter, but now I just feel awful for bringing it up.”
But Laurie found a small smile rising on his face, hope blooming in his chest. Moving closer and wiping a stray tear off her cheek, he said, “Don’t you see, Jo? We’re perfect for each other. I’ll love you, always, in my own way, and you’ll love me in yours.”
Jo sniffled, and he offered her his handkerchief. “Can it really be that simple?” she wondered hoarsely.
Laurie thought of Amy and Don’t sit there and tell me that marriage isn’t an economic proposition. “Most people marry for money and power, right?” he said. “So why can’t we marry for our own reasons—so that I can go on loving you the way I do, and you can love me however you feel capable, and we can stay at each other’s sides?”
Jo nodded slowly, and Laurie could tell that big, beautiful brain was working hard to come up with any other protests. When Jo started to smile, Laurie dropped to a knee and retrieved the little box from his pocket.
When he opened it, Jo’s mouth dropped open in recognition. It was the ring she had given him in jest at Meg’s wedding. Never being one for jewelry, she had never seemed to have given it another thought. But Laurie had held on to it all this time. Even after their big fight, even after she had turned him down.
“Jo March, I promise you’ll never feel lonely again. I promise to talk to you when you wake up, to praise your writing, to tease you, to say good night to you. I promise to never make you cook, clean, or have children. I promise to adore you and make you feel loved every single day.”
Jo yanked him up and embraced him, squeezing tightly and laughing with unbridled joy.
“Teddy,” she murmured, breath warm on his ear.
“Can I kiss you? Is that something you are interested in?” Laurie asked, heart pounding.
“Yes,” Jo said breathlessly, and threw her arms around his neck.
For a second he just looked at her, bright eyes and strong brows and thin lips curved into an affectionate smile, and he felt like his heart might burst. All these years and she was still so radiant to him, a brilliant point in a monotonous world. From childhood, she had made him snort with laughter, convinced him to take risks, invited him to be a part of a big, affectionate family. Nobody had ever made him feel so full of love and wonder; nobody had even come close.
Carefully putting his hands on her waist, Laurie leaned down and kissed Jo softly, just a chaste brush of their mouths. It was Jo who deepened it, pressing up into him and against him, warm and raw and real. He tightened his grip on her sides and returned her passion enthusiastically, tilting his head and enjoying the soft, wet slide of their lips and the feeling of her loose hair against his skin. The rest of the world and all the agonizing years of pining fell away, and Laurie knew only Jo’s precious touch.
They remained by the lake for a long time. Much later, they continued their walk, hand in hand, and caught each other up on everything that had happened in their lives while they were apart. The entire time, Laurie couldn’t keep the smile off his face.
*
Meg, Aunt March, and Jo’s parents were delighted at the news, as was Laurie’s grandfather. To Laurie’s frustration, Amy was bitter and resentful for a few weeks—leading to an uncomfortable confession from Laurie to Jo about what he had offered Amy in Europe, which Jo did not take well—but eventually came around to the idea when Fred Vaughn arrived in Massachusetts on a boat from Paris to try to woo her back.
Jo ended up asking Laurie to keep her ring. After he told her that he had worn it the entire time they had been apart, she admitted that she liked seeing it on him. But she consented to his offer to buy her a simple band to wear.
The wedding was a simple summer affair that Jo and Laurie were content to let Meg and Laurie’s grandfather plan. Laurie had a new suit made for the ceremony, and Jo wore her best dress, though she refused Amy and Meg’s offers of lending her their “nice,” toe-pinching shoes. The March sisters were resplendent in their dresses, and Laurie and Jo made joking faces at each other throughout their vows. The dinner was grand and the dancing afterward joyous and easygoing. Even Aunt March seemed to have a good time.
The newlyweds danced into the night on the expanse of grass, falling over each other in peals of laughter, even after all the guests had departed and the only music left was the song of the katydids.
Jo draped her arm around Laurie’s shoulder and squeezed him close. Grinning from ear to ear, Laurie had never been happier.