Epilogue
WYATT
October 14
The birthday girl is wearing her cake. As a birthday girl should when she turns one year old and her mother places a cake decorated to look like a botanical garden in front of her.
“Don’t worry, this is just the smash cake!” Hazel says to the crowd, laughing as Eden shoves green frosting up her nose. “I have a whole cake that’s just for eating.”
“I wish smearing frosting all over your face was socially acceptable for adults, because that looks fucking fun,” I say to Owen, who is standing behind me, his arms around my waist, his fingers hooked through my belt loops.
“Wyatt, you can smear frosting anywhere you want,” he says, his voice low and delicious in my ear. “I’ll happily help clean you up.”
“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” I reply.
“Last time you said that, we ended up fucking in a bathroom during a party,” he replies.
“I’d hate to break tradition.”
I’m just starting to drag him toward my room when Carson comes skidding over, holding up her phone.
“What do you think this means?” she asks, shoving a text message in my face. I have to grab her wrist and physically restrain her so I can make out what she’s trying to show me. It’s a photo of a Florida lottery ticket, and beneath it, it simply says We won .
“It looks like a scam,” I tell her.
“It’s from my parents ,” she says. “They’re down in Boca visiting my aunt. I called my mom, but when she answered she was drunk. Drunk , Wyatt. I’m, like, freaking out. I looked up the numbers, and if this is real, my parents just won fourteen million dollars .”
“Holy shit.”
“Seriously,” she gasps. “They’re supposed to come home next week, but now I have no idea what the hell is going on.”
“Whatever it is, it sounds like it’s going to be wild!” I tell her, patting her on the back. Then I sink back into Owen’s arms, my head pressed back into his chest, happy that my wild times are behind me.
Unless you count the rapidly stiffening erection in my boyfriend’s jeans. Feels like there are some wild times happening literally behind me.
“You know, if your family is about to come into some cash, I know who you should talk to,” I tell her.
“Who?”
I point at the broody finance bro in the corner. Hazel is handing Dan a plate holding a comically large slice of bright green cake, and he’s looking at it like it might try to steal his money.
Carson’s cheeks flush.
“C’mon, don’t be scared, Carson! I’m sure he doesn’t bite.” I lean in and wink. “Unless you’re lucky.”
“Have you been drinking?” she asks.
“Just happy,” I reply, gazing up at Owen.
“Ugh, you guys are gross,” she grumbles, then stomps away, probably to find Grace and shove the text in her face.
“Are we gross?” I ask Owen.
“Well, we spent this morning making a mixtape of songs about sex and then seeing if I could make you come once for every track, so…maybe?”
It’s been a month since I found that box of tapes in Grace’s bookstore. (“Dog-Eared Books is now officially the site of the grand gesture—I should put that in an ad!” she told me when I talked to her about the scheme.) Since then, we’ve filled four more tapes. I have a feeling Owen is going to be ordering a new case of them before the year is out.
I’ve decided to join Romy for two weeks of her tour in the spring, and Owen will take a week of vacation to come along for half of it. When I return, Carson and I are going to look for an apartment together. Owen asked if I wanted to move in with him, but I worried it might be a little too soon. Therapy and medication are doing wonders for him, but healing is a long journey, especially when you’ve been dealing with anxiety for your whole life. I want him to keep focusing on that.
But I do use the key under the mat to slip into his bed most nights.
“Grammy’s incoming with the wipes!”
Libby flies through the crowd, a package of baby wipes held aloft. She pulls Eden from her high chair and begins to wipe her down.
“You know, this is called a whore’s bath,” Libby whispers with a wink.
“Mom!” Hazel cries. “Can we not?”
“In front of the baby or in front of your friends?” Libby asks innocently.
“In front of anyone ,” Hazel admonishes.
Things with Libby have improved a little. She still makes me want to roll my eyes most of the time, but I’m working on trying to see her less as a villain in my story and more as a character with flaws. Flaws she’s actively trying to overcome, I often have to remind myself, because her flashy clothes and garish makeup and sass mouth and just general Libbyness sometimes make it easy to forget.
The doorbell rings, and Libby cries, “Who the hell is ringing the doorbell? This is a party!” Then she shouts, “Get on in here!”
I roll my eyes and answer the door, unprepared for the four men in suits and dark sunglasses standing on our stoop.
“Can I help you?” I ask.
“We’re looking for Daniel McBride,” the one in front with the thick mustache says.
“Uh, who are you?”
“Securities and Exchange Commission,” he says, holding up a gold badge that makes my mouth go dry. “Is he here?”
“Right here.”
I turn and see Dan standing behind me, glowering.
“Dan? What the hell is going on?” Owen appears behind him, a deep line etched between his brows. Felix and Archer are next, crowding around the door to stare down the suits.
“Daniel McBride, we need to talk to you,” the man with the mustache says. “Can you come with us, please?”
“Fucking finally,” Dan mutters.