Epilogue
Danni
I grab a handful of books off the bookshelf and stuff them into one of the many boxes Morgan, Kayla, Willa, and I are using to carry stuff downstairs. During our Wednesday night video chat a few weeks ago, Willa announced she was ready to leave Indiana behind for Charleston’s charm, milder winters, and beaches. I was shocked speechless for two seconds and then I dove right in with logistics. How soon can I transfer my lease to a two-bedroom apartment? When can I take time off to help Willa pack up the house? That sort of stuff.
Our childhood home sold the day Willa put it on the market, bolstering her confidence that she was making the right decision despite how hard it was to say goodbye to all the memories associated with that house. I suspect she’ll soon realize how freeing it is to leave the bad ones behind.
I drove up to Indiana last weekend, we spent the week clearing out the house and packing up a U-Haul, and then I followed her to Charleston with Molly perched on the passenger seat. The empty U-Haul is still parked downstairs. Chance and Drew emptied it first before working on my apartment.
“Left!” Drew hollers.
The front door is wide open to the muggy afternoon. The guys are headed down the stairs with my couch and Drew is calling the shots. “Stop moving! The ninety percent humidity is making my hands slip!” The entire apartment complex can hear him.
He and Morgan have been a thing since we returned from Chai World. I’m starting to get used to it, but I can’t imagine those two lasting long. Pretty soon, he’s gonna shred Morgan’s last nerve.
“Left!”
Morgan rolls her eyes while smiling.
“He’s yours,” I say.
“I know.” She ends it with a swoony sigh.
“I cannot–can’t feel my pinky finger. Set it down. Set it down!”
Morgan giggles. “I’m teaching him to use contractions.”
“I’ve noticed,” I say.
“His whole family talks like that,” Morgan says as she deposits a handful of books into a box. “It’s so weird.”
“Drew’s weird,” Kayla says lightly.
No one argues, not even Willa who just met him a few hours ago. She’s been quiet, though. My sister is always shy at first. She needs to get to know you, and when she does, she’ll talk your ear off.
“Oh, wow.” Willa is holding an old photo album, one I took when I moved out of Mom’s. It contains our baby pictures and the first few years of our lives, when Dad was still on the scene. I’ve been carrying it with me from apartment to apartment, a way to keep their memories alive, except I can never bear to open it.
She carries the album to an empty spot on the floor and sits. I settle next to her as she carefully opens its ragged cover. Molly ambles over to us, curls up, and rests her head on my foot. Her eyebrows take turns arching as she looks from Willa to me. The vet declared her cancer-free. We’ll monitor her carefully for new spots to be safe.
When we cleaned out Mom’s house, we didn’t have time to look through albums and scrapbooks. We just piled them onto the U-Haul. This photo album will be the first of many that we’ll pore over in the coming days and weeks.
Morgan and Kayla claim the spots on either side of us and lean over for a better view. It feels magical. My three besties in the same room. Finally. Their presence gives me the courage to really study the photos, including the family photo when I was five and Willa was three, before Dad left us. Mom looks gorgeous with her sleek brown hair and dark-rimmed glasses that compliment the lines of her squared-off, but still feminine, jaw.
“Your mom was beautiful,” Kayla says in awe.
“She really was,” I say.
“You both look like squirrels with cheeks full of nuts,” Morgan says.
“Gee, thanks.”
“Your cheeks look so squishy. I want to pinch them.” She forms crawdad pincers with her fingers.
“Are you gals going to help us or just sit there?” Chance asks.
“Just sit here,” Morgan answers.
“I am–I’m not carrying all those boxes,” Drew says. “My biceps are already in a state of atrophy from transporting several thousand pounds of wood, metal coils, and upholstery along with a myriad of unmarked boxes that weighed between thirty and forty pounds each.”
“Is he always so specific?” Willa whispers.
“Yes,” the three of us say in unison.
Willa gently closes the photo album. She places it in a box while the rest of us get back to work. Chance and Drew go for the chaise lounge next. They fight about who gets the heavy end. Drew wins, citing his superior quadriceps.
I grab a box of books and follow them down the stairs.
“Left!” Drew hollers when he reaches the bottom step.
“I can’t turn yet,” Chance says. “I’m still halfway up the steps.”
“Left!” Drew yells again.
Chance pauses, forcing the bulk of the weight onto Drew’s superior quadriceps. Drew’s face turns red. He jerks his head to flick his bangs out of his eyes but they’re plastered to his forehead with sweat.
“You realize your left is my right?” Chance says.
Drew heaves the chaise to his shoulders like a powerlifter. “Left!” he squeaks.
They make it to the bottom, no thanks to Drill Sargent Drew, and drop it in the center of the living room. I still have half a can of Perfect Pink and I intend to paint an accent wall before we arrange the furniture.
We continue working in the unrelenting heat. Two hours later DoorDash arrives with large pizzas and two cold liters of Coke. Our progress halts while we hover around the kitchen island devouring the food.
“I’m bringing Reese’s Pieces next Friday,” Morgan says, referring to our ongoing Candy Pong tournament. Last week it was Nerds Gummy Clusters. The week before that, M&Ms.
The office has gotten a little crazier since Bruce took over as boss. He’s like Christopher on steroids—team building at every opportunity, including midday darts or ping pong or whatever else he dreams up.
We have a new project due in three months for Corporate Accounting. As Senior Developer (thanks to Bruce), I’m heading up the team of eight, with Chance as Lead Architect. He’s in charge of design as long as he updates my kanban board regularly, which is hard to do when he’s playing ping pong. It’s fine. He hasn’t missed a deadline yet.
“Let’s not talk about work,” I say. “I don’t want Willa to feel left out.”
“I don’t mind,” Willa says. “It’s helping me get up to speed.”
The conversation segues to Bridgerton , which Drew interrupts to talk about anime. Morgan steers him back, and then we eat too much of the complimentary brownie pizza and groan our way into the living room.
“I’d love to help you guys unpack, but if I bend over, I might throw up,” Morgan says.
“Best. Brownie. Ever,” Kayla says as she rubs her protruding stomach.
Morgan and Kayla leave with Drew, Willa goes to her bedroom to unpack, and Chance and I begin working on my bedroom. At nine thirty, he retrieves his laptop from his apartment. He sets it on my bed, and we wait for his parents to ping him on Zoom.
They call at ten o’clock on the dot while I’m arranging the closet in my bathroom.
“Danni,” Chance calls. “C’mere.”
I set a stack of towels on the vanity and join Chance on the bed. His mom, dad, and dadi are smiling at us from their dining room table.
“You both look exhausted,” his mom says worriedly.
“My sister and I moved into a new apartment today. Chance used his big strong arms to move our furniture.”
“And my legs. And my back.” He winces.
“I suppose that is an appropriate reason for him to be in your bedroom,” Dadi says.
“Don’t worry, Dadi. I sleep upstairs in my apartment.”
“You better.”
Chance’s mom discusses details about Tivri’s pregnancy, which they announced a few weeks ago. Everything is going smoothly. They have a name but don’t plan to tell us if it’s a girl or a boy.
“You’ll have to return to India in six months to see your niece or nephew,” Dadi says.
“That should work out.”
“Should?” Dadi squints at Chance. “ Will . Right, son?” She elbows Chance’s dad.
“No. I mean. It should work because…” He turns to me, drops his eyes, and reaches into his pocket. Clearing his throat, he meets my gaze again and presents his palm. On it is a small gold band encircled with diamonds.
My hand involuntarily floats to my mouth. I flit my eyes to Chance’s family. Dadi’s jaw is dropped. His mom and dad are looking on expectantly.
“I have something I’d like to ask you.” Chance clears his throat again. “I know we haven’t been together that long but–”
“Yes.”
He grins at me.
“Let him say it,” Dadi says. “I want to hear.”
I giggle, my fingers still against my mouth. Chance reaches for my left hand.
“Danni, I know you don’t believe in soulmates, but I do. And I found mine. You’re the only woman on the planet I want to be with. Will you marry me?”
“Yes,” I say with more confidence. He slides the ring onto my finger.
Dadi throws up her hands. “We have six months to plan a wedding.”
Chance squeezes my hand and then leans in for a kiss. His dad whistles as our lips linger together for several seconds.
“I love you, Danni Grasso,” he whispers.
“I love you too, Jyotiraditya Balasubramanian. You’re my soulmate.”
Chance rears back. “Really?”
“Yes. Really.” I lean in for another kiss.
“It will be a traditional Indian wedding,” Dadi says, surprisingly unfazed by our show of affection.
“Shouldn’t we ask Danni what she wants?” Chance says.
“A traditional wedding sounds wonderful,” I reply.
“You might want to hear what a traditional Indian wedding is before you agree.”
“You will be expected to eat spicy food, and you won’t be wearing white.”
“She can wear white if she wants. Or Santa’s Beard.”
“But she doesn’t have to,” Dadi says. “I think blue. What do you think?” Dadi looks at Chance’s mom.
“Blue would look marvelous. Or green. You’ll have to come visit before the wedding to try on dresses.”
Chance cups my cheek with his hand, directs my gaze away from his family. “Are you sure about this?”
I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him close. “I’ve never been more sure.”
Danni Balasubramanian.
I like the sound of it.