Epilogue Ten Years Later
“A limo? Seriously?” Win laughs, standing next to me in a tight-fitting purple dress that shows off her huge baby bump. She has sworn that this, their fourth baby, will be their last. Gus, my eldest niece, is in an equally beautiful dress next to her, grinning ear to ear as the limousine approaches from down the street. Win’s other two girls are at home with a sitter, though I’m fairly sure they’re begging Bo to stay as he’s yet to join the rest of us outside.
“Dad’s going to make us late,” Gus says, looking down the street just as their front door, only a few doors down from ours, opens. Bo comes running out, fixing his bow tie as he sees the limo and whistles a catcall.
“Run, Forrest!” Aunt June calls out toward Bo, laughing obnoxiously loud. She timed her yearly visit around this evening, and while I’m grateful, I’m also praying that she doesn’t embarrass me tonight. “Where is Caleb?” she asks me, pulling out her red lipstick from her sparkly clutch bag.
I sigh, shaking my head as I feel a lopsided smile grow. Then, I point to the limousine door seconds before it opens, and Caleb pops his head out.
“Need a ride?” he asks me, with a wink.
“You are ridiculous…. ”
“Oh, come on! We had to travel in style! How many times in my life will I get to go to the premiere of my wife’s play?”
“Is there champagne?” Aunt June asks, peering in the window.
“Hopefully we will get to do this many times so some of us get to drink next time,” Win says, leaning on the side of the car, rubbing her belly. “Now move, I need to sit down.” She shoos Caleb away from the door.
Caleb moves, opening the car door wider, and continues to hold it open for everyone as they pile inside.
“Such a gentleman.” I step toward him, pressing the front of my body into his side and tilt up to kiss his cheek. “Thank you, love.”
“Don’t thank me, you paid for it,” he says mischievously, smiling down at me.
“Ah, well, what’s mine is yours….” I say, biting my lip playfully.
Six years ago, I finished writing A So-called Little Life. A novel heavily inspired by my mother and a story that she had loved, wherein one woman, on her deathbed, is able to visit the hundreds of different lives happening concurrently in alternative universes. Since then, I’ve written three other novels and published two. But none have been quite as successful as the first, which, as of today, is a stage play, beginning its tour in Toronto.
For the leading role, we’ve been blessed to have none other than the Tony Award–winning actress Gianina Rossi, whom I know better as my dear friend, Nina. Nina and Jai got married last year in a lavish wedding off the coast of Italy, two months after she won her third Tony; and though she certainly could do much, much bigger things with her time, she’s agreed to a one-year run with us.
“Still, thank you…for, being so supportive and excited for tonight and for leaving me those minisized Kit Kats in my desk drawer to find over the last few weeks. They’re the only reason I finished edits this time around.”
“Of course, baby.” Caleb smiles, dipping down to kiss me. “I’m so proud of you,” he says, bringing his hand to my neck.
“Are we ready to go?” I ask.
He nods, slowly. “Did you feed Helen?” Helen, our now eleven-year-old rescue pup, is not as spry as she once was. The name Helen, however, is still as funny as it was ten years ago when we found her at the shelter. Human Helen, as she’s now referred to, gets a kick out of it too. So does her granddaughter, Libby, who has dog-sat for us between college semesters when we’ve gone away. We see them all often, though we never did go back to Reignite. We decided, following Caleb’s accident, that we are officially not outdoorsy people.
“Yeah, I did. Gus let her out to pee while I was slipping this on,” I say, shimmying in my tight black-velvet number. “Which took forever. ”
“I bet it’ll be easier to take off,” Caleb whispers, licking his lips as he tugs on one tendril of my hair. I return a bashful smile, leaning in to kiss him long and slow.
“Move it, you two!” Aunt June shouts, followed by the giggling of her twelve-year-old biggest fan. “The theater waits for no one!”
With one last peck, Caleb moves to help me into the limo and shuts the door behind us.
“You look amazing,” Win says, leaning back in her seat to try and take a photo of me.
“Here,” Bo says, pulling out his phone.
“Both of us,” I say, tucking myself closer to Win as we smile toward the camera.
“This is giving me prom flashbacks,” Win says.
“We didn’t take a limo to prom,” I tease. “We took Caleb’s LeSabre.”
“I had hoped it would be ready in time…” he says, grimacing. “But it wouldn’t have fit everyone, anyways.”
Caleb has been fixing up his Opa’s LeSabre in his spare time with his dad, who retired last year. They still don’t have the perfect relationship, and Cyrus still will never comprehend Caleb’s choice to make Focal a “socialist-propaganda posterchild,” but they’re both trying their best to get along, for the sake of Caleb’s mother who has turned over a refreshingly independent, appropriately demanding new leaf. She even goes by Michelle again. With all of that progress, the car is still no closer to being fixed than it was a year ago. In fact, it may actually be worse off. Still, I let Caleb pretend to be a successful blue-collar man.
“Sure, wonder boy…” I say, leaning across the aisle to pat his knee. He rolls his eyes, smiling even still.
“You’ll see…we’ll be driving around in that car again someday.”
“Driving? No. What I’m really looking forward to is—” Win interrupts me by clearing her throat, correctly guessing what I was about to say as she flares her eyes at me in the direction of her daughter. “ Seeing… the backseat again.”
“Are Cyrus and Michelle coming tonight?” Bo asks, changing the subject.
“Yeah, they are,” I answer proudly. “I think they actually might beat us there too….” I pull out my phone to see a long string of messages from Michelle. “Yes, they’re already there…and wondering if there is a VIP section.” I chuckle.
“Tell them that the VIP section is on their way,” Aunt June says, beaming with smugness.
“Will do,” I say teasingly, typing out my reply.
Three and a half hours later, the play finishes without a hitch.
Shortly after, I’m pulled onto center stage by Nina as the audience stands in applause. The stage lights are blinding at first, and I have to squint to see the front row, but the applause only grows louder as I bow and clutch my chest as it fills with gratitude. Roses are thrown onto the stage by my aunt, Michelle, Cyrus, Win, and Gus, while Caleb throws something different that lands at my feet. He’s folded the playbill into a paper airplane. I pick it up, deciding I’ll want to keep that forever.
I smile toward him, feeling proud to be standing here, but even prouder to be his wife. For all the work he’s done to make Focal a better place, to scale back, to be more present in our lives. For everything I’ve done to get myself here too. We’ve grown so well-planted side by side.
“Here. Take this,” Nina says, removing her small taped-on mic from her forehead and holding it out to me. “Speech!” she shouts above the applause, and the audience falls quiet, ready to listen.
“Oh, uh, oh no! I didn’t expect to have to say anything—” I laugh nervously, holding the tiny microphone, still somewhat attached to Nina, between my thumb and forefinger. “Well, firstly, thank you all so much for being here tonight. None of this would have been possible without the amazing stage crew, performers, the theater staff, ticket holders, and of course, my beautiful friend, Gianina….” I hold out for applause for them all, then continue. “But of course, I also have to thank the three great loves of my life.My best friend, Win, who’s never once doubted me. My husband, Caleb, who has dutifully loved every version of me, the good, the bad, and the even worse. And my mother, Marcie, who is not only the inspiration for this story but also the inspiration for everything I do.”
Caleb puts his fingers to his mouth and whistles loudly, gaining a laugh from the audience and another round of applause.
“Oh!” I say, twisting to avoid Nina’s grasp as she reaches to take the microphone back. “One last thing! Fuck you, Cecelia Floodgate!”
The reviews hit the morning paper the next day. I didn’t dare look, I don’t read them anymore unless I want to schedule an additional session with my therapist, but Win did. She cut out a few of her favorites and left them for me to find in my mailboxthis morning alongside a note that said, Marcie would be so proud.
My personal favorite clipping read:
Toronto’s newest play based on the beloved novel, A So-called Little Life, starring three-time Tony Award-winning actress, Gianina Rossi, is off to a rip-roaring start. The evening, by all accounts, was a huge success. Both fans of theater and the novel itself are flocking to attend, with tickets sold out well into the spring. But the novel’s author, Sarah Linwood, did leave all of us in attendance with one question following her curtain call speech: Who is Cecelia Floodgate?
Caleb went out to buy a frame immediately. We decided to hang it in our office next to our degrees, a photo of Helen graduating her puppy training, a picture from our twenty-year anniversary, when we renewed our vows on a most perfect Sunday afternoon at a nearby library, and a shit ton of artwork hand-delivered by our nieces.
“We did it,” Caleb says, wrapping me up in his arms from behind as I set our hammer down on my desk. “The ten-year plan is complete and then some.”
I laugh, admiring the wall. “We’re getting old, Linwood,” I tease.
“No, baby,” he says, tucking his chin against my neck, those aged but familiar features that I love so much burrowed into the side of my face. “We’re just getting started.”