42. Keaton On Sunset Lane
ONE YEAR LATER
It nearly killed Uncle Lon to give up the amazing offer he got on the house. And, well, giving up my commission gave me pause too. But after learning about the choice my grandparents had made, we all decided, as a family, that the house and its memories meant too much to us to sell. It had been the Saint James house for more than two centuries. And, if we had anything to say about it, it would continue to stay in our family for generations to come. Yes, we had lost something precious here, my mom and my uncle especially; but we have all found something here too. Something stronger, something better.
So much of the house on Sunset Lane has changed. But this dining room, Becks’s sanctuary, has stayed the same. It has been my respite while the kitchen has been redone, the bathrooms torn out, the shag carpeting removed, and the original floors refinished. It has been my home office and my inspiration as I began working on the book I asked Allison to help me publish, as I started the Instagram account Harris dreamed up. As @rebeccasaintjames grew to a respectable 18,946 followers, as I waded through Becks’s notebooks and cookbooks, advice and letters to my mom, and stories from her friends, I started feeling like I was making my grandmother proud. And as I worked side by side with, yes, Allison to create the thing that would preserve Becks’s legacy, I knew her grand vision and keen understanding of what makes something sell would help make it truly spectacular. Rebecca Saint James’s Guide to Entertaining. (How could we possibly call it anything else? Allison had asked. She was right, as she so often is about these things.) My book—Becks’s book, really—was released last Tuesday. A combination of her recipes, her entertaining tips, and my thoughts on how my grandmother’s traditional life helped me forge my own, modern path.
I have done eight days of shockingly well-attended signings at independent bookstores in New York, North Carolina, South Carolina, and Georgia—planned by my genius publicist brother, of course. I have heard women’s stories about following my account, about laughing at my foibles and feeling seen in my mishaps, like they could approach cooking and entertaining because I was such a mess at it and did it anyway. I think I am flattered? It’s resonated with so many people that I have already gotten emails from multiple publishers about another Rebecca Saint James book.
But tonight I can’t think about any of that. Tonight, we celebrate and, well, film. Because when you have released a book from your grandmother’s point of view about cooking and hosting, it makes sense to stream an actual party for your viewers to see. My family, bless their hearts, is here to support me. They have been by my side every step of the way.
Speaking of family, Mom seems to have found her purpose again doing something she is amazing at: furniture shopping for her new old beach house. After a buddy of Bowen’s in search and rescue was able to locate Becks and Townsend’s plane at the very spot Mom said, something broke free inside her. She seemed less afraid of the world. I would say she was like her old self, but, of course, I didn’t know her in a world with my grandparents.
She and Lon agreed that I could stay here for a year before I needed to start looking for a place of my own. None of us said it out loud, but we were all thinking the same thing: In one year, I’d know if Bowen was the real deal. In one year, I’d know if becoming my grandmother could actually be a job. In one year, I’d know if I’d be happy here. And I am. So happy that I have told Allison that I will not be taking the second year on my contract. Instead, I will be training my replacement. I found my confidence at All Welcome. But it is in tackling the world of Rebecca Saint James that I have found my voice. And I will continue to do so.
Weirdest of all, I finally figured out why I’m so afraid to fly. I have to think that some ancient part of my DNA knew that my grandparents had met their demise in a plane crash. From the minute I knew they planned it, I haven’t been afraid to fly. Not once.
As I look around the dining room table at Harris and the shockingly age-appropriate woman he brought here with him, at Mom and Dad, Uncle Lon, Anderson, and, yes, sweet Bowen by my side, I can say, with conviction, that I am happy. Violet and Dr. Scott are also here, as are, of course, Arlene, Suzanne and her husband, Wade, and Betty, who could never miss a party. And would it even be one without them? Amy and Jimmy and Alex and Clayton are here too. We had to get out the extra leaf for the table and pull in chairs from the other rooms and still it is crowded. But it’s crowded with people I love, with people who love me and want to celebrate this very exciting moment.
After dinner, we will go to the 1776 Celebration on the Historic Site grounds, to see our neighbors and friends dressed in period costumes to reenact the day we claimed our independence from England. And then we will all go watch fireworks light up the night sky and Taylor Creek.
I interrupt the chatter around the table, tapping my wineglass. “Friends, family, we are breaking the cardinal rule of a Becks Saint James dinner party!”
“Oh, yes. Group conversation only!” Mom chimes in.
Bowen smiles and takes my hand. “I guess we’re rule breakers. But now that you bring it up,” he says, playing along, “who is most excited to see Beaufort by air with Pilot Keaton?” Mom and I decided this year that we couldn’t be the only two in our family who couldn’t fly. So we got our pilot’s licenses. Together. It is, hands down, the most fun thing I’ve ever done with my mom, and I’ll remember it for the rest of my life.
I smile at Bowen, and something clicks, something new. I’ve known that I love him. I’ve known that we have something special. But it’s the first time I feel really deep down inside that we are going to be together forever.
And, goodness knows, the man is patient. Because, between rushing to get this book out, flying back and forth to New York when I needed to be in person at All Welcome, and burning the candle from both ends nonstop, it has been quite a year. The community college student I’ve paid to film tonight says, “Oh my gosh, you guys. Can we start over? I don’t think we were recording.”
Everyone laughs. “At least I haven’t served the Waldorf salad yet.” I had to make at least one dish tonight that my grandfather would have wanted. This is, after all, about honoring his legacy too.
I go back into the kitchen to reenact walking in with the roast that, I might add, I cooked all on my own. As I do, I can’t help but smile. I hadn’t realized it—not consciously—but not knowing this part of my family history had created this dark hole in my life. Once that was filled, everything started to change for me; once I uncovered the story of my grandparents and figured out who I was, I could actually move forward. I was brave enough to find a job I really enjoy. Strong enough to be with a man I love, whose life isn’t simple. And, maybe best of all, I’ve gotten to know a really special little boy who has lit up my world in ways I never could have imagined.
I hear footsteps in the kitchen behind me. When I turn, I realize it is Bowen. And that he is down on one knee. And he is holding a small velvet box.
I can’t say I didn’t imagine this moment was coming. But I didn’t expect it to be right now. “Yes!” I blurt out without thinking, forgetting all about the roast and the cameras and the live stream and my family and my guests. (This is why, while I might impersonate my grandmother on Instagram and in cookbooks, I will never really be her. She would never forget her guests.)
Bowen laughs. “I haven’t said anything yet.”
“Right. Sorry. Go ahead then. And make sure you are filled with anticipation over what my answer might be.”
He shakes his head. “Keaton, I never, ever expected to fall in love with the crazy new neighbor who I was certain was going to turn the house next door into a subdivided Airbnb. But I couldn’t help myself. You make it impossible not to love you. You have been the most amazing partner to me, and I think the only person who loves you more than I do is my son.” He takes a deep breath. “So, will you marry me?”
He opens the box and holds up a beautiful eternity band as I pretend to ponder. “Well, did you ask Salt’s permission?”
He nods seriously. “Salt is very excited by the prospect of being a family dog.”
I laugh. “You know I’d do anything for Salt.”
“And you know I’d do anything for you.”
“Anderson!” I call.
He peeks his head tentatively into the kitchen, and I motion for him. He looks from Bowen—who is still on his knee—to me a little nervously. “Well, did you ask her?”
“I want to make sure this is okay with you,” I say. “You are the most important person in the world to me, you know.” I mean that. I know without having anything to compare it to that I love this boy as if he were my very own. The idea of things not working out with Bowen and not having Anderson in my life keeps me up at night.
“Keaton,” he says so maturely, “I picked out your ring like six months ago.” He whispers behind his hand and points at Bowen, “You should have seen the ring he wanted to get you.” I laugh. “Plus,” he adds, “I’m getting really tired of having to walk next door to check on you and Salt all the time.”
I look down at Bowen. “Well then, I think it’s settled. I think we must get married due to Anderson’s busy schedule.”
Bowen stands and leans in to kiss me, and, as I wrap my arms around him, as he dips me toward the ground, I’m so excited that I feel like my heart might burst. When he rights me, I look up to see my family, friends, and, of course, Salt, all crammed in the doorway. Bowen spins me around in a circle, kissing me for all the world to see. And I can’t help but think about that day a little over a year ago when I walked into All Welcome, asking the universe to give me that promotion or something better. This has definitely been that something better. Well done, universe. Well done.
“Did she say yes?” Mom calls, breathless, from the back of the group.
I want to say, If I didn’t, thanks for making it awkward.
“She said yes!” Bowen exclaims. Harris pushes through the group and opens the fridge. It’s a new Sub-Zero, although I have to say that I miss the old Kelvinator with all my heart. He pops a bottle of Dom Perignon I haven’t even noticed, its cork flying way up in the air and making a joyful noise.
“Oh, Harris! You are so sweet. You got that to celebrate our engagement?”
“Your engagement, my successful Rebecca Saint James’s Guide to Entertaining launch campaign… Tomato, tomahto.” Harris pours champagne, and I hug my four Beaufort besties.
“Well, ladies,” Violet says, “I think our work here is done.”
“Done?” I ask. “So I suppose none of you would be interested in planning a big Beaufort wedding?”
“They don’t enjoy things like that,” Mom says.
“Nope,” Lon agrees. “They’re more sit-quietly-in-the-back-seat kind of ladies.”
Harris holds up his champagne flute and says, “To my sister, who I love dearly, and whose streak of terrible men and terrible jobs has finally come to an end.”
“Hear, hear!” my dad says too loudly.
“To Dad and Keaty!” Anderson cheers, and I wrap him in the biggest hug. He’s only a few inches shorter than I am now, a fact I can scarcely believe. Kerry is still in Morehead City, working, which I give her tons of credit for. Anderson ultimately decided that he only wants his mom back in his life in small doses. He isn’t ready for overnights or a lot of solo time, and Kerry has received that decision with a lot of grace, taking her cues from Anderson. I don’t have much contact with her; I don’t feel like it’s my place. But, I’m happy to say, Bowen has consulted me on the matter every step of the way.
“Can I taste your champagne?” Anderson asks, looking up at me with those big eyes.
“No!” I say as Bowen says, “Sure.” I crinkle my nose. “It’s gross. You won’t like it.” I take a sip. It is decidedly not gross. But he can learn that for himself when he’s older.
I smile down at him. The meaning of family has changed for me since I’ve been here. I feel this deep, almost mystical connection to the people who have come before me, to the previous inhabitants of Sunset Lane. And to Becks and Townsend most of all. Getting to uncover the pieces of their lives, side by side with my brother, mom, and uncle, has given me a new understanding of who I am. Getting to re-create a part of Becks’s life, to preserve her memory, means more to me than any job ever could. I hold out my hands, admiring the new eternity band on the left, Becks’s diamond on the right. My future and my past.
I am proud that despite the hurt, the perceived failures, the difficult days, I plunged ahead to create the family I always wanted. And this precious little boy has been one of the biggest parts of that.
“Do I get to be your stepmom now?” I ask him, ruffling his hair.
He wrinkles his nose, and I feel my heart fall as he says, “Nah.”
But then he continues, “Just my mom. You always say that we choose our family, and so I choose you.”
I squeeze him to me again so he doesn’t see me wipe my eyes as I kiss his head. Bowen, seeing my face, comes to the other side of Anderson, wrapping us both in a hug. “Anderson sandwich!” Bowen teases, kissing me lightly.
“Our family,” Anderson says, his voice muffled against my chest.
There it is again, that word. Family. Our family. For better or worse, the people in this room have all shaped each other and will continue to do so as we refine what that word means.
“So is that what’s next for the toast of the publishing world?” Harris asks. “Rebecca Saint James’s Guide to Marriage?”
“If only she’d left that notebook behind,” I joke. Only, somehow, within the walls of this house, imprinted on her china, her silver, Townsend’s journals, and Becks’s words of wisdom, it’s like they did leave it behind. Uncovering these people I never knew, this part of my history that was always shrouded in mystery, has led me to this next part of my life and given me the confidence to move forward into what I have always dreamed of. It’s big and it’s scary but, most of all, it’s wonderful.
I smile at Bowen over Anderson’s head. He smiles at me. I realize that, sure, I’ve seen great examples of love and marriage. Even still, this is a chapter of our life story Bowen and I will have to write all on our own. I can’t wait to get started.