Epilogue
Six Months Later
AFTER I GOT BACKto New York, I took that Monday meeting with my boss. I tried one last time to advocate for myself, but when it was clear that I wouldn’t be able to grow any further at Maywell, I put in my two-week notice. I spent the summer working on a spec portfolio, and taking networking meetings, and by August, I’d packed up my tiny one-bedroom and shipped everything back to Texas. Finn flew out to NYC to meet up with me, and we shared a much more leisurely drive through the eastern half of the country on our journey back to Dallas. It was blessedly uneventful: no runaway brides, no car wrecks, no screaming into abysses to release decades-old childhood trauma. We stopped a couple of nights to see Willow and the new baby, but otherwise, it was just me, Finn, and a rented cherry-red Mercedes convertible.
When we finally made it to Dallas, I put most of my stuff in storage and lived with my mom to save up some money. The first night we were back, my heart flip-flopped in my chest when Finn showed up on my porch with a bouquet of bright yellow butterfly ranunculus. My mom pushed us together on the stairway and forced us to take a picture. It wasn’t quite the prom photo we missed out on (I was in jean shorts and a flowy white blouse, while Finn was in his “performance fabric” chinos and plain gray T-shirt), since we were just headed for tacos and margs. In it, I’m looking up at Finn and he’s looking down at me, and we can’t keep the smiles off our faces. It’s been the background of my phone ever since.
Finn, as promised, was Emma Townsend Design’s first client, and he gave me nearly free rein to redesign his house (though he did nix my plan to tent the entire dining room in striped blue and green silk after several rounds of debate). His mom, when she moved into her new condo, was my second client. Friends from high school and college started reaching out about design help, and soon, I was able to put together a solid book of business—not enough to buy a Singer of my own (Finn’s, thankfully, made a full recovery), but enough that I was able to buy an original powder-blue Mustang. Right now, it’s parked in front the Dilbeck while I confer with the photographer who spent the day documenting all the work we’ve done on the house. Mostly I’m just glad we were able to get all my boxes unpacked and out of the way before the cameras showed up. When I told Sybil earlier this fall that Finn and I had decided to take that next step in our relationship, she shrieked through the phone for a solid minute.
“Oh my god! Moving in together after just four months of dating? That’s rather reckless of you, missy. Who do you think you are, me?”
I laughed. “No competition there, I assure you.” Sybil’s fateful wedding weekend had ended in a way that truly none of us had expected, and we were all still reeling from it—but that was another story. I was more focused on my own for once. “What can I say,” I sighed. “When you know, you know.”
NOW, THE PHOTOGRAPHER ANDI say our goodbyes, and Finn joins me in the living room. My hand lingers on a giant electric-blue vase, which is currently resting on my vintage Italian roulette table. Because yes, that needed to find its forever home here. I turn to him. “We don’t have to keep this vase, by the way. It was just for the staging photos.”
“Do you like it?” he asks.
“I love it. The color is perfect in this room.”
“Then we’re keeping it.” The warm, fluttery feeling that hasn’t left me since our kiss in Malibu rises to the surface.
I start rifling through the fridge, checking to see whether we have enough leftovers to cobble together dinner, or if we need to order in, when Finn calls out to me.
“Hey, Em? Can you take a look at something in the den for me?”
“Sure.” I follow Finn to the back of the house, but he motions me ahead once we reach the den.
Finn’s voice comes from behind me. “Do you think that painting above the fireplace is straight?”
I reach up ready to readjust the piece hanging above the mantel but drop my hand almost immediately. “Hmm, I do actually. I—”
There’s a soft sound behind me, and I turn to see Finn with one knee on the floor, holding a small red velvet box in his hand.
“Wh-what are you doing?” Finn and I have talked about getting married, and in my head, I knew this was coming. But I’m still not prepared for the adrenaline that spikes through me. I want to think of something else to say, but the only thought in my brain is a ticker tape of It’s happening. It’s happening. It’s happening.
“Something that I’ve been wanting to do for a long time.” He’s smiling at me, but there’s a thread of nerves running through his voice as he asks, “Emma Mae Townsend, I am not a perfect man, but when I’m with you, I feel like I could be. I know we’ve made mistakes along the way, but I am just glad that all the mistakes I’ve made in my life have led me back to you. Would you do me the honor of marrying me?”
This is one of the most important moments in my life, and I try to remember every detail. The way the evening sunlight filters through the sheer curtains onto the wood floors. The smell of the lavender candle I burned earlier this afternoon lingering in the air. The nervous smile on Finn’s face. “Emma, please say something.”
His words break me out of my sensory trance. “Yes. Yes, of course I’ll marry you.” I have never felt so certain of anything.
I throw my arms around him, and he lets out a laugh as he falls against the armrest of an overstuffed leather chair. Pulling me onto his lap, he slips the ring on my finger.
“I do have to have one objection to your proposal, however. A critique, really.” The diamond sparkles in the light as I brush my fingers across Finn’s face. Once again trying to memorize everything about this moment.
Laughing, he says, “Of course you do.” He catches my hand and presses a kiss to my wrist.
“I think you are absolutely perfect.” Finn’s smile widens, and then his lips are on mine, and I know I’m home.