Epilogue
Beck
My mom sits on my left and Marie on my right. We all stand when they call Gracie’s name. Everyone claps, but I clap the hardest, my heart nearly bursting with pride.
Gracie steps forward, her hair spilling from beneath the square blue cap perched carefully on her head. The gown brushes mid-calf when she walks, swaying around her legs. A gold braided cord hangs around her neck.
Gracie graduated with honors.
Of course.
She’s Gracie. I expect nothing less.
Behind her, the steps rise to Low Memorial Library, with its famous domed roof.
It’s a warm day in New York, bright and clear.
Most graduates wear sunglasses. I made sure to get Mom and Marie bottles of water to bring with us.
Sitting out here for three hours listening to speeches and awards isn’t easy.
But I’d sit here all day.
I’d sit here forever.
Just to see her shine.
Gracie walks across the stage with her head high and her smile adjusted to megawatt as she accepts her master’s degree.
Biomedical engineering. I know she’s thinking about how tough the past year has been.
All the late-night study sessions. The failed experiments.
Fighting for that top internship and getting it.
I know how hard she worked because I was right there for all of it.
I took that New York job. Moved here with Gracie. We picked a tiny apartment in Washington Heights. It’s a walk-up, and of course we’re on the fourth floor. The radiator clangs at three a.m., and Mr. Lewis downstairs likes to blast polka music, but still—
It’s ours.
Our first place together.
We’ve laughed in that apartment. Fought in that apartment. Made love in that apartment. Burned toast. Studied on the kitchen floor. Talked about futures that used to feel too big to say out loud.
Someday we’ll move somewhere less crowded. Easier.
But right now, our place is a thirty-minute ride on the A train to my office in Midtown. Close enough to the lab job Gracie got at NYU.
Gracie’s almost to the end of the stage now. She pauses, scans the crowd. Even from this distance, I see it. The moment her smile shifts. Softens. Turns private.
For me.
I smile back, hoping it shows how proud I am of her. How much I love her.
When the ceremony finally ends, it’s chaos. Caps flying. Parents shouting names. Cameras flashing.
I push through the crowd before she even makes it halfway down the steps.
“Gracie!”
She turns at the sound of my voice, and then she’s laughing, really laughing, the kind that lifts her whole body.
I catch her around the waist and spin her, right there in front of everyone.
“You did it,” I say against her hair.
“We did it,” she corrects softly.
We.
She links her hand with mine, and we walk across the brick sidewalk toward our moms waiting in the shade.
“You know what I was thinking about earlier today?” I tell her as she swings our joined hands.
“What?”
“About how when you were younger, it felt like there were two sides of you sometimes. Cheerleader and science nerd.”
She glances at me but doesn’t argue.
“You were like a coin,” I continue. “Flipping one side up for the crowd and the other for the classroom. Like you had to pick which version made people more comfortable.”
She’s quiet now, listening.
“But I always felt lucky,” I say, squeezing her hand. “I was the only one who got both. The girl who loved Friday night lights and the quadratic equation. Glitter and lab goggles. Pep rallies and problem sets.”
Gracie laughs softly at that.
“You’re right,” she says. “I guess now I pick both.”
She taps the gold cord at her neck, then points down at the tall, bright pink heels peeking out from beneath her gown.
Right before we get to our moms, I pull her to the side.
“I got you something.”
“You did?” Gracie claps and bounces on her toes.
She loves surprises.
I slip my hand into my pocket and pull out a small box. Her eyes widen immediately.
“Beck—”
“Relax,” I laugh. “Not a ring.”
Then I lean forward and whisper in her ear, “Not yet. But soon.”
Her eyes shine when I pull away.
“This,” I say, popping the lid open, “is a necklace.”
Inside is a delicate gold chain with a tiny four-leaf clover charm.
“Beck!” Her hands fly to her mouth, then down over her heart. “It’s beautiful.”
I fasten it around her neck. The tiny clover catches the light. It glimmers.
“For luck?” she whispers.
“For the girl who makes her own.”
She blinks fast, trying not to cry. “Remember that St. Patrick’s Day when I said I wanted to get lucky?”
I grin slowly. I’ll never forget. “Yeah?”
Gracie leans up, her lips brushing my ear.
“I had no idea how lucky I already was.”
THE END