Epilogue

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

I will never get over how much New York stinks. Like, seriously. The studio? Pristine. Everyone in it? Gorgeous. Then you

take two steps outside and there’s a heaping pile of trash and a rat the size of a dinner plate wearing timbs. Lana says I’ll

eventually get used to the stench, but I don’t know. You know how in those period pieces they used to put perfume on their

handkerchiefs to cover up other people’s BO? I think I’m going to do that.

How is planning going for launch? Do not stress about it. I know you will anyway, but chill. You’ve done events before; this

one will be a piece of cake.

Speaking of cake: do not try and buy yourself one. Because I have definitely not already taken care of that.

Tell our daughter I miss her.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Ampersand doesn’t miss you at all. In fact, she’s taken over your side of the bed, and I don’t think you’re getting it back.

NYC is like that. Still one of the most magical cities on earth. I need to drop by, meet up with my publicists. They’ve been

putting in work; they deserve a dinner or something.

I am not stressing about launch. I promise. Momma, on the other hand, is losing her mind. She just asked if we need a florist

for the event.

Speaking of flowers. Guess who sent me some for the event. Starts with an R. Ends with a Kovalenko. They’re on the dining

table right now. They’re, um, a lot.

How’s Ezra? He’s done filming, right?

What time do you land again?

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

I land at 10:00a.m. Do you love me enough to pick me up from O’Hare? Or should I plan on finding a ride? (Note: no pressure

at all on this, I love you too much to subject you to that drive.) Ezra’s right here. Says he’s good, and that his mom is

going to be overcompensating for pissing you off for the rest of your life. Send me a pic. Are there ostrich feathers in it?

Pearls? If not, it’s at best a four out of ten in the Renata extraness scale.

You are definitely stressing.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Fine, I’m stressing. But all things considered, I’m doing pretty good. This is just the second most stressful thing I’ll probably

have to do in my life.

Three hundred people bought tickets. The fuck. We’re legit at capacity. How am I supposed to talk in front of three hundred

people?

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Three hundred people is a lot, but your crowds are only going to get bigger, darling. Prepare thyself.

And I did not realize you had a ranking for “stressful things you’ll have to do in your life.” What tops that list?

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Proposing, probably. Though “birth of our child” comes pretty close. Actually maybe that should be number one. The maternal

mortality rate for Black women is through the roof in this country.

Jo: ... Malcolm James Waters. I am switching to text because how dare you!

Jo: Did you seriously just ask me to marry you over EMAIL???

Jo: And you write about love. You should be ashamed of yourself.

Mal: Jesus, Jo. This obviously doesn’t count

Mal: God, does it count? It doesn’t right?

Mal: Forget I said anything. Erase this completely from your memory. I’ll do it better later

Jo: excuse you! who said I want to forget?

Jo: I’m a bougie bitch who’s hard to impress. You’re right to be scared.

Jo: Sooooo I’ll make it easy for you. My ring size is 6.5, and I want a 2 to 2.5 carat Asscher cut solitaire. Think Liz Taylor.

Lab diamond, no colored stones, nothing from the ground. Yellow gold, 18k. No dinners, no public places, somewhere pretty

and private. And I want a photographer hiding in the bushes.

Jo: If these conditions are met within the next... nine months, I will most likely say yes. Potentially.

Mal: All right, bet. Now you got me excited

Mal: How about we make it six, and we have a deal.

Jo: I think I can work with that.

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