Epilogue
GRACE
The first week of December smelled like sunscreen and cinnamon.
If she closed her eyes, Grace could hear the sound of boxes sliding across tile, laughter from the back patio, and Icarus’s low yowl of protest as Alix tried to coax him out of his carrier.
Sheila, true to form, had disappeared the second the movers arrived and was now sulking under the guest bed in their new home, likely composing her memoir about her hard-knock life.
They’d done it. They’d bought a house. Together.
They’d chosen a sprawling, sun-warmed ranch with a turquoise pool and palm trees in the backyard.
The house sat just a few blocks from Wilton Drive, walking distance to a dozen restaurants, two drag brunch spots, and a hardware store that somehow doubled as a queer community hub.
Most importantly, walking distance from the salon that Alix had just signed a lease for. Her own shop.
They’d agreed that buying a house in Florida wasn’t the easiest path for a queer couple, but it felt important to Grace to stay.
This was her home. She wasn’t going to let some fuckers in power ruin that for her.
And so they’d agreed to stay in Florida, to support their community, to never give up the fight of making their home a safe space for all.
It wasn’t the waterfront condo she’d bought back when success still felt like armor. That place had gleamed, all glass and quiet, and no one visited. This house was messy already. Lived in. Beautiful in a way that made Grace’s chest ache with happiness and satisfaction.
And it had a pool. A feature that thrilled Grace and absolutely terrified Alix.
“I’m just saying,” Alix had insisted that morning, leaning over the edge with a skimmer. “If a gator crawls in here, you’re dealing with it.”
Grace had laughed so hard she nearly dropped the moving box she was carrying.
“We live in a neighborhood, not the Everglades.” Statistically, it wasn’t likely that they’d find an alligator in the pool, but the possibility wasn’t zero, per se.
It was much more likely they’d find a giant iguana swimming laps.
She wouldn’t be telling Alix that, though.
“You say that,” Alix replied darkly, “but they’re sneaky. Gators have Google Maps now.”
Grace raised her eyebrows in mock-offense. “And what about this Gator? Is she allowed in the pool?”
Alix pretended to consider. “Yes, but no swimsuits allowed.”
Grace laughed. “Shameless.”
Now, hours later, the sun was dropping low, painting everything in orange and rose gold. The last of their friends had collapsed onto lawn chairs and patio steps, the chaos of unpacking giving way to the sweet relief of doing nothing.
Phyllis was in the kitchen, loudly arguing with Connie about how much tequila belonged in a “Christmas margarita.”
Helen had arrived with a wool blanket folded carefully in tissue paper — a family heirloom, worn soft with age, its edges hand-stitched in fading red thread. It was the same blanket she’d given her in Colorado.
“We have a tradition. Every woman in our family gets this blanket when she builds a home, to bring our family’s love and warmth into your life,” Helen had said earlier, pressing it into Grace’s arms. “Looks like it’s your turn.”
Grace had cried — of course she had. Then Alix had cried. Then Helen had cried because Alix cried, and the whole scene had devolved into a group hug interrupted only by Phyllis yelling, “Don’t cry on the fucking blanket, it’s wool!”
Now the blanket was draped over Grace’s legs as she sat on the porch swing, watching the last streaks of sunset fade over the tops of the palms.
Lola and Oscar were sitting cross-legged on the pool deck, arguing about the proper way to assemble a hammock. Ivy stood between them, sipping from a margarita and offering unhelpful but charming commentary.
Phyllis, meanwhile, had installed herself in one of the new Adirondack chairs, telling Helen and her mom a story that seemed to grow more dramatic with each retelling. Grace caught the words 1974 and snowed in with a go-go dancer, followed by her mom choking on her drink.
Somewhere down the block, someone’s radio started playing “Snowed In With You.” The tinny melody drifted through the air like fate’s inside joke. Alix looked up from where she sat on the porch steps, head tilted toward the sound, and started laughing.
“Phyllis,” Alix called. “They’re playing your song!”
Phyllis raised her glass like royalty. “Residuals, baby.”
Grace watched Alix, her messy hair pushed back, catching the last of the light.
Her legs were bare, her skin sun-kissed, her tattooed arms…
well, those never failed to entice her. And even after months of basically living together between their two condos, the sight of her still caught Grace completely off guard.
“Stop staring at me,” Alix said without looking up.
“Can’t.”
Alix’s grin was lazy and content. “Good answer.”
Grace took another sip of her margarita — lime, cranberry, a salt rim that tasted like summer pretending to be winter. Christmas in Miami was always a contradiction: eighty degrees, palm fronds instead of pine, holiday lights tangled in tropical foliage. But this year, it felt exactly right.
Alix pulled her phone out of her pocket and leaned back on the steps, idly scrolling in the quiet moment. Grace caught the familiar blue-and-pink logo at the top of the screen and groaned.
“Oh my God,” she said. “Please tell me that’s not what I think it is.”
Alix looked up, guilty. “What? I was just—”
“Breakup Buddies?” Grace said, incredulous. “You still have this app?”
“It’s just muscle memory! I wasn’t— Okay, look, I was curious if they still send out the Tuesday affirmation notifications.”
Grace set down her glass and plucked the phone straight from Alix’s hands. “You are unbelievable.”
“I’m sentimental,” Alix corrected. “We had some good times.”
Grace scrolled through the screen, a kick of nostalgia hitting her in the chest. She hadn’t opened the app since…
well, over a year. Normally, she’d feel that panicky feeling, starting to consider whether Alix wanted a new Breakup Buddy instead of her.
But now? She just smirked at the new tagline: Breakup Buddies — Get Over Them, With Us. “Charon on the River Styx, was it?”
“Well,” Alix said, taking a long sip of her drink. “It worked. I met you.”
Grace snorted. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Maybe,” Alix said, leaning in, turning on the ultimate cheesy smile. “But you love me anyway.”
Grace laughed and nearly dropped the phone. “I do. And because I do…” She tapped and held the icon until it wobbled, then hit delete.
Alix gasped theatrically. “You monster! That was a historical artifact!”
“It was. And now it’s gone,” Grace said, pocketing Alix’s phone. “You’re cured.”
Alix laughed, shaking her head. “Guess it’s a good thing I won’t need Breakup Buddies ever again.”
“Damn right, you won’t,” Grace said, leaning over to kiss her, slow and smiling. “I’m your forever breakup buddy.”
“Hmm,” Alix said, pretending to think about it. “Does being my forever breakup buddy include margarita refills and emotional validation?”
Grace lifted her glass. “Yes, but only if being my forever breakup buddy includes those handcu—”
She was cut off by the sound of Connie and Helen scolding Phyllis for adding too much tequila to the new pitcher of margs, and they laughed.
“Whatever you were about to say, I’m obviously in,” Alix said, her voice lowered.
“Good girl.” Grace smiled into her glass as she watched Alix flush and fan herself.
“Hey,” Alix said after a long stretch of silence. “You know what would make this house even better?”
“If you say a motorcycle, I swear—”
“A dog.”
Grace smiled into her drink. “Oh yeah?” She pretended like she hadn’t found the absolute perfect shelter dog already — a two-year-old pit bull who looked more like a tiny hippo than a dog and was good with cats.
She pretended like she hadn’t already placed a hold on the pup, ready to take Alix to meet him tomorrow.
“I’m serious! One that hates the pool, unlike Baby, so I never have to save her.”
Grace laughed. “Then let’s go see what the local shelter has tomorrow.”
Alix turned toward her, eyes wide with an adorable hope. “Tomorrow? You mean it?”
“Of course I mean it. I’d let you bring home the moon if I thought you could reach it.”
“I’m very tall.” Alix leaned over, kissed her slow. It wasn’t a dramatic kiss — just one of those quiet, daily ones that built a life. When they pulled apart, Alix rested her forehead against Grace’s, whispering, “You make everything better, you know that?”
Grace smiled. “You make everything possible.”
For a while, they just stayed like that — the world settling around them in a haze of laughter and music and cicadas.
Lola called for another round of margaritas, Phyllis started telling a story about meeting Cher in an elevator (“She said hi first!”), and Icarus waddled proudly across the patio to demand attention from Ivy, who immediately abandoned her drink to rub his belly.
Sheila peeked out from the screen door, glaring at the general noise level.
Grace leaned back against Alix, her chest pressed to Grace’s back, the scent of sun and salt in her hair.
“Look at this perfect life,” Alix murmured against her ear.
And Grace had to agree.
Later that night, after everyone had gone — Helen was staying with Connie, mercifully, instead of Aunt Sylvia — the house had gone still except for the whir of the ceiling fan and the hum of crickets outside.
Grace stood by the sliding doors, looking out at the pool.
The reflection of the lights shimmered across the surface like melted gold.
Icarus was asleep in his new cat bed. Sheila had claimed the highest shelf in the office. Boxes were stacked by the hallway, waiting for another day.
Grace felt it all press in on her — the stillness, the fullness, the miracle of ordinary peace. The faint sound of Phyllis’s song drifted again through the night. “Snowed in with you, nothing else to do, but love you till the morning comes.”
Behind her came a sleepy voice. “Baby? You coming to bed?”
Grace turned. Alix was standing in the bedroom doorway, wearing a Roxxxy T-shirt, hair mussed from humidity, face turned toward the glow of the lamp. The heirloom blanket was artfully tossed over the end of the bed.
Grace crossed the room and let Alix tug her down into the sheets, into warmth and tangled limbs and everything that felt like home.
For a while they just lay there, the air humming with crickets and far-off laughter from down the street.
“I used to think this kind of happiness was something that happened to other people,” Grace whispered.
Alix brushed her fingers along Grace’s jaw. “And now?”
Grace smiled, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. “Now I think I was just waiting for you.”
Alix exhaled a laugh that broke halfway into a sob. “Was it worth the wait?”
Grace touched Alix’s cheek with her fingertips, a gentle, grounding touch. “Of course, baby. Was I?” Grace asked.
Alix leaned in, her voice low, steady, full of everything she’d once been too scared to hope for. “You’re it, Grace. My home, my heart, my future. All of it.”
Grace kissed her, slow and certain. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.”
Alix’s fingers slid into her hair, deepening the kiss until it became something wordless — heat and promise tangled together.
Hands roamed, slipping beneath waistbands, and eventually their clothes were flung across the room.
The rhythm of them matched the hum of the night, a slow tide rising and breaking in perfect sync.
She’d never get enough of this, of Alix’s hands and mouth and body.
Grace gasped against Alix’s skin, biting at the floral tattoo on her shoulder, the air thick with everything they didn’t need to say.
Outside, the pool lights shimmered across the water, pale blue and silver.
And for the rest of her life, Grace would remember that night. The night she realized that home wasn’t a place she’d found. It was the person she’d chosen. And this was how their forever began.