Epilogue Two
ESSIE
Six years later
“H ow loud is it going to be?” Dalton inquires, and when he doesn’t get an immediate answer, he repeats the question with a towering posture and a gentle bounce.
“In decibels?” the man in front of him responds.
“Yes,” he confirms, bouncing harder now. “In decibels.”
“Dalt.” I put my hand on his arm. “It’s one time. She’ll be fine. Babies are resilient.”
Dalton tears his glare from the literal CEO of Nasdaq to look at me. As always, his face breaks into a grin. “You’re right. I’m just—”
“I know.” I nod meaningfully before I turn my attention to the baby he’s bouncing in his arms and say in the annoying sing-songy voice I can’t stop using, “Tell Daddy we know it’s the second biggest day of our lives.”
Our daughter, Alyssa Ximena Cavendish—Lissie for short—stares back at me with her father’s light brown eyes. At only eight months old, she can’t speak yet, but the three of us are always aligned mood-wise. When Dalton and I are happy, so is she. When we’re tense, she’s always fussier. Today, all three of us are somewhere between anxious and elated.
We’re about to go public.
And when I say we , I mean the three of us plus the two-thousand employees who work for Halcyon.
When a company goes public in the United States, it becomes a part of the New York Stock Exchange, which means ownership of the company is distributed across publicly-traded stocks.
Usually, an investment bank oversees the process of going public. When we decided we’d go through the initial public offering (or IPO), Warner Hannington asked Dalton if he might consider hiring his smaller, boutique investment bank (which he founded after Hannington-Hale folded like a floppy piece of New York style pizza). In his text, Warner also confessed he missed Dalton, and since Weston had been fired and became estranged after getting too drunk and peeing on a Smithsonian Museum, he was growing lonelier as he entered his senior years.
Please. That shit obviously didn’t work on Dalton. After all, his actual father continued to text for years until Dalton finally broke his no-response policy and answered one of Frank’s many texts with, I made half a million dollars showing my dick this year.
Needless to say, my husband oversaw the entire IPO himself.
Six years ago, Dalton promised me he would make me more money than I knew what to do with. He wasn’t kidding. Not only has he made the two of us—as the founder and co-founder of Halcyon with a fifty-five percent stake—a metric fuckton, but he’s made a lot of people incomprehensibly wealthy.
We did it by selling sex.
The name Halcyon didn’t just come from the DC condo that catalyzed so many events in our lives; it’s also a word that describes an idyllic, happier time in the past. When Dalton and I were naming our company, I thought Halcyon was perfect. Over time, businesses have evolved to gig models that use labor from working class people and reap the benefits for the elite class. With my own camming site, I wanted to return to a model where people could earn money and keep it.
Halcyon’s concept isn’t complicated: It’s an open platform where any adult can create an account and upload content: photos, videos, audio, or livestreams. The site doesn’t take a cut of the profits—just a few dollars per month that all performers pay regardless of their earnings.
Our founding year was hectic. Within a year, performer and customer signups far exceeded any other adult site. Our waitlists ballooned, and within two years, all those investors who once scoffed at the idea of a website built by two sex workers were clamoring to get an equity stake.
“Do you want me to take her?” my father asks, appearing at my side and holding out his arms. As usual, Lissie’s face lights up when she sees him.
“Essie’s going to hold her,” Dalton responds—we discussed it last night. “But stay nearby. The confetti might scare her, and she’s going to want to see her grandpa.”
My dad pats Dalton on the arm in that fatherly way they’ve grown into over the last six years, and Alyssa—never too far from her namesake—beams at her son. “I’m so proud of you both,” she says, glancing between us. “Can you believe this?”
I can. Six years ago, when Dalton and I sat at our kitchen table and I officially launched Halcyon to the general public, there were just eight publicly traded adult companies on the New York Stock Exchange. Going public has always been our plan.
Now Jeremy, the CEO of Nasdaq, is standing in front of us and saying, “We’re thrilled you’re here. I don’t come out for every opening, but this one is special.”
Nasdaq is a stock exchange, and it’s a tradition for companies to ring the opening bell on the day they go public. By “special,” Jeremy means people are going to be watching: investors, other companies, and hundreds of thousands of people around the world curious about our lucrative little sex company—except it’s not so little anymore.
“We usually do CEOs and family up front by the bell,” he explains, gesturing to the white desk at the front of the stage, “board and key staff close by, and anyone else in the back.”
“Family is going to be us three,” Dalton says, motioning at Lissie and me, “plus Mom and Dad, Christian and the twins, Lander and Valeria and their kids, Cora and Everett, and Claudia.”
Jeremy’s eyebrows rise. “That’s a big family.”
“You’d understand if you could trick someone into procreating with you, Jeremy,” Claudia snaps, stepping forward in her usual flurry of designer clothes and the most gorgeous glare the world has ever seen. “Let my girl celebrate with whoever she wants.”
“I’m just saying, it’s nice you have a family,” he replies, visibly withering under Claudia’s glare.
“They’re everything to me,” I assure him. “And this is a family company.”
Is owning a family-run adult company normal? Not at all. It’s chaotic and weird at times, but it works for us. Included in Halcyon’s two thousand employees are the twins—both software engineers; Alyssa, who (for the first time in her life) has a full-time job in our philanthropy arm; and Christian (who did finally accept he wasn’t cut out for the FBI, but is a phenomenal Chief of Staff). My father never took a job at Halcyon, but he’s Lissie’s full-time caregiver, and his eagerness to watch her during work hours is one of the main reasons why I haven’t missed a step after having a baby.
Cora appears in our periphery, pulling Everett along behind her. She’s wearing pink lipstick—literally the only pink I could convince her to wear—and her smile is unmatched. “Ess, this is so incredible.”
“Seriously,” Everett chimes in. “And they told me the confetti is recycled. Isn’t that great?”
Before I can answer, Valeria swoops in with her middle child, Gabriela, on her hip. They’re both in Halcyon pink and they both pull me into a hug. Lander isn’t far behind with their youngest—a boy named Leo, who was born six months before Lissie—strapped to his chest. Marta, their eldest, is clutching his hand as usual.
“Ev, can you take one?” Lander asks.
Without hesitation, Everett scoops up Marta.
“Are you nervous? Excited?” Valeria asks as she looks between Dalton and me, bouncing Gabriela as she speaks.
“Honestly, I’m kind of hungry,” Dalton admits.
Laughing, I swat his arm before I rest my head against his shoulder, and he kisses the top of my head.
“We’re almost ready,” Jeremy says, motioning for us to move to the front. “Essie, you’re on in three.”
Once everyone is in place, I start with a speech.
Over the years, I’ve had to talk about sex work a lot. For the first three years of my camming career, I wore a mask to hide my identity, believing that any version of success I could achieve would be hindered by a scarlet letter if anyone found out I was a camgirl. To stand in front of countless people and explain the importance of sex work was jarring at first. Now, it’s the most natural thing.
I finish the same way I’ve ended every keynote speech, every interview, and every university lecture I’ve given over the last six years: by saying an industry built on the backs of women (literally on their backs) should not make men richer.
Applause rings through the room as I take my space in the center where our bright pink company logo decorates the bell desk. Camera flashes start up, and Dalton hands Lissie to me.
The button is small and innocuous, but every day, it’s the catalyst that kicks off a rapid sprint of money changing hands and careers being made or broken. Every day, that little button launches more than most people do in a lifetime.
With cheers behind me, I stand there with my parents and brothers, my best friends, and my husband at my side, holding my daughter in my arms. I place my hand on the button, and when I get the signal, I press it.
Pink confetti rains from the ceiling, more cameras flash, and Dalton weaves his arm around me. Stock tickers begin moving, and just like that, Halcyon is a publicly traded company.
My husband and I built this business from the ground up against every misconception and obstacle that told us we would never succeed.
We did.
And with a single press of a button, I became a billionaire.
***
An hour later, I’m no longer a billionaire.
Because fuck billionaires, honestly.
Paying off the student loans for every performer who had an account on Halcyon when it launched six years ago took a solid chunk of our liquid assets, but I won’t miss the money. Making it is the fun part.
After the ceremony, we drive back to the District with our friends, where our side-by-side row homes in Georgetown are waiting. It’s a normal Monday, maybe not what anyone would expect on such a monumental day, but we have work to do—as usual. After a few hours of calls while my dad babysits Lissie, our normal Monday turns into a normal Monday night. Our friends come over like they do most nights once the babies are all asleep.
“Do you think our dads ever imagined this?” Lander mentions absently while he checks his three baby monitors lined up on our coffee table. He’s sitting on the floor, hemming a pair of pants for Marta, and he looks exhausted but determined to finish before the wine runs out.
Over on the couch, Everett snickers. “You think they imagined Dalton would be the only one of us with a job, and that we’d all be married to camgirls?”
“Or do you think our dads ever imagined our lives would be so unbelievably happy,” Dalton replies in a rare moment of complete seriousness. “Jesus, I’m so happy.”
Lander tilts his head in Dalton’s direction while he rethreads his needle. “Yeah, that one. I don’t think they factored happiness in—ever.”
“I bet,” Dalton says, reaching over and looping his finger around a lock of my hair, “they’re probably horrified—and jealous.” His hand drifts to my neck, collaring it without squeezing. He smiles at me. The message is tacit and eternal: You’re mine. I smile back.
“I think you’re right, Dalt,” Everett says. “There’s no way they were ever this happy.”
“Do you ever wonder what our kids are going to say about us when they’re our age?” Valeria asks. She’s on the couch behind Lander, relaxing against a cushion with her wine glass. “What are they going to think of their parents?”
“To be clear, your kids are going to talk about how energetic and hot Everett and I still are, even when we’re sixty,” Cora replies from her spot on the floor. She raises her hand over her shoulder, and Everett fist bumps it.
“Obviously,” Valeria agrees. She ruffles Lander’s hair. “But our kids. What will they say about us?”
Lander exhales slowly. “Hm,” he murmurs. “Well, I hope they talk about how we never pushed them to be somebody they’re not. Anything they want to do—whether they want to go to law school or get into camming—I support them.”
“No, don’t let them get into politics,” Everett warns. “But anything else.”
“Yeah, I second that.” Valeria faces Dalton and me. “What about you two?”
“Us?” Dalton clarifies. “Well, for one, I know Lissie’s going to say her mother is the kindest but most unwaveringly ruthless woman we know. Also unbelievably cute.” He winks at me, and I still get butterflies after all these years. “And I hope she knows we love her. Every flaw—”
“She’s eight months old,” I remind him.
“—and she already has an attitude,” he says, but he’s grinning. Lissie and I are his entire world. “I want her to know she’s everything I wished for in a daughter. Full stop.”
“And I hope she knows we did our best,” I say before pausing—and the pause lasts longer than I expected. I swallow. “You know, it’s hard. I think about how the kids at school are going to treat her one day, and I wonder what she’ll think of how we made our money.” I swallow again. “Maybe this isn’t the way most people would choose to live their lives, but we did our best, and we—”
I don’t get a chance to finish because Cora basically leaps over the coffee table to hug me as Valeria slides over on the couch and wraps me in her arms. Then I’m sandwiched between my two best friends—the two women whose friendships have given me so much more than sisterhood over the years. “She will,” Valeria promises, speaking into my cheek. “She absolutely will.”
“She’s going to be so thankful for you—and you,” Cora adds, looking at Dalton. “Like we all are.”
“Yeah, thanks, Mom and Dad,” Everett says while patting Dalton on the arm, and he’s kidding in that snarky Everett Logan way, but he’s also dead serious—and Dalton knows it. Dalton tugs him into a hug before he pulls Lander up too.
And before I know it, the six of us are hugging in our living room, laughing and sort of crying, but mostly enjoying each other’s company the way we have for the last eight years—and the way we will for the years to come.
Like I said, it’s a normal Monday.
***
In the early hours of the morning, I awaken to a masked man with his hand over my mouth.
His eyes lock on mine, focused as he works his hand under the oversized t-shirt I wore to bed. “Wet as usual. Are you ready to get fucked open, Mama?” he murmurs before he drags me off the bed, hoists me over his shoulder, and muffles my scream with his big hand.
…He also grabs the baby monitor off the nightstand and makes sure our angel is still fast asleep before he heads to the backyard with me slung over him.
Last year, we transported Dalton’s treehouse to our backyard—a mind-bogglingly expensive feat. The wood is still streaked with snow stains and the tiny carvings Dalton made when he was a boy. And yes—with the money we spent, we could have designed and built a treehouse that would have landed us in Architectural Digest , but this is the only one we wanted. We couldn’t imagine it anywhere except in the backyard we share with our friends.
Now, my husband fucks me in it while he films us. He keeps his mask on at first, but he pulls it off halfway through like he always does. My hands claw his skin, which hosts more tattoos now—our daughter’s birthday on his forearm and a band around his ring finger. The sex is messy and rough—like it always will be—and I know I prefer it that way.
Because in any mess, there’s an aftermath, and the aftermath is where we’ve learned to care for each other—to love each other.
Yes, Daddy. I can take it. Please don’t ever stop.
When we’re done, we lay side by side against the wooden floor, catching our breath and watching the baby monitor in the same spot where we made love without masks, without hiding, for the first time. The days Dalton once spent hiding in this treehouse have been replaced with better memories—of making love to me, of laughing with our friends until tears roll down our cheeks, of holding our daughter and looking out at the city we love and the life we’ve built.
“I’m so in love with you, Essie,” he says, repeating words he’s said countless times over the years. “I don’t know where this feeling ends. Maybe it doesn’t. Maybe this is it.”
Smiling, I put my hand on his cheek, draw him close, and kiss him.
For most of my life, forever was a tenuous concept. Now, it’s my reality. It’s a forever of laughing so hard I cry; of the comforting embrace of the big, chaotic man I call my husband; the security of a company we built in an industry that made me; and sisters—a family.
Dalton and I have all the money in the world, but the richest thing about us is love: for our family, for our friends, and for our daughter. And over the years, I’ve learned he’s right—this feeling doesn’t end.
Eternity looks good on us, I think.
And as I stare into Dalton’s pride-filled eyes, basking in his beaming smile, I know I couldn’t have asked for a better forever.
The end