Bonus Epilogue Evie
Bonus Epilogue
Evie
Five years later
Emerson swings between Chase and Noah as Goldie and I trail behind in the park.
“Again,” Emerson says to her dad, beaming.
But Noah laughs. “You sure you’re not tired yet? Because my arm sure is.”
He’s teasing her, but Uncle Chase is nodding. “Yeah, what’d you put in that little pink backpack? Bricks? You’re strong, girl.”
She giggles, shaking her head and the white bows that are in it. “I already know that, Uncle Chasey. Daddy says when I grow up that I’m gonna play for the Parrots.”
“Patriots,” Noah corrects, making me and Goldie laugh.
Her daughter might look like her, but she acts just like me. A little spit ball who’s more professional wrestler than princess. My niece is amazing, what can I say?
“I still can’t believe she wanted Chase to pick her birthday brunch venue,” Goldie whispers to me. “It’s unfair that she likes him more than the rest of us. I’m the mom, for fuck’s sake.”
“Swear jar,” Emerson, or Emmie, yells over her shoulder as Goldie gives me a hard stare.
They named her after Noah’s mom, something our mother loved beyond words and promptly got to monogramming every piece of fabric around her.
I chuckle, remembering my sister showing me a frilly custom diaper cover. Why? she’d said.
God, watching her become a parent has been so surreal, especially after everything we’ve gone through. But over the last five years, life’s been the healing we all needed.
It’s like that nursery rhyme, first comes love—Emmie—then came marriage . . .
Chase and I got married back in the village his grandma was from. The whole town came out, which made for a helluva party.
Thankfully, this time, he didn’t set a grease fire. But watching my family mix seamlessly with the one we’ve created—Golden Girls, kitchen sous (I even like Eddie now), rowdy sommeliers, and even my favorite Italian Stallion . . . it was honestly to date some of the highest of highs.
Then came a baby . . . as in another restaurant baby, back in Boston. Which was perfect because I finally felt strong enough to go back to work, with the help of my favorite honorary great-grandma to our future babies, Joyce.
So now we get to be bi, as Chase loves to tell people, until I interject with coastal . . . He’s never stopped being a jackass. And I’ve fallen deeply in love with it. So it works.
Life feels beautiful and the good kind of messy again, surrounded by people we love, our family, no matter where we are.
Goldie hooks her arms through mine. “You’ve got that wistful look on your face again.”
I smile. “Can’t help it. I’m happy.”
The moment I say it, the universe conspires to drive home the point because “Work Bitch,” the clean version, starts playing loudly from the brunch restaurant we’ve been walking toward. One by one, drag performers, donning all the different Britney eras, file out.
Emmie screams and starts jumping up and down in a circle, her little arms moving like dance is her life.
Oh god, he called it . . . he’d said, The holy trinity for every little girl is hair, makeup, and a dance party. What’s better than a drag party?
Chase starts dancing with her, singing every word, covering her mouth when she starts to say bitch, while Noah laughs. Goldie’s smiling ear to ear as I stare at my husband.
We’ve been through hell, and maybe it took that to get here. I don’t know. And I don’t care, because either way, I’m going to love him for the rest of my life.
And one day, he’s going to make an incredible father. A smirk plays out on my face as he locks those gorgeous, sexy green eyes with mine.
On second thought, maybe we’ll take Britney Jean Spears’s advice and get to work on those babies . . . starting tonight.
A little version of Chase fills my mind, and I shiver. I’m not sure that’s a jump scare anyone’s ready for.
But you know what? Hell yeah.