Epilogue #2
The town square is packed. Last year, word of the giant menorah got out, and a few Jewish people in the area came.
Tonight, it looks like there are even more.
It feels extra special because the two holidays are colliding, bringing together different communities that might not usually overlap.
The menorah I built two years ago stands proudly at one end, the “candles” ready to be illuminated, and the big Christmas tree sparkles at the other.
Strings of lights crisscross overhead, and tables are set up in the center, filled with tamales and latkes, hot cocoa and coffee, sufganiyot and gingerbread cookies.
Shira sucks in a breath. “Wait—is that…?”
Her friends, Maya, Talia, and Naomi, are standing over by the menorah. The moment they spot her, they start running toward us. They surround her, hugging, shrieking, and laughing.
Shira looks at me, stunned. “Did you do this?”
“He flew us out here first class, rented us a Mercedes, and got us a swanky hotel room in Dallas,” Maya says.
Talia nods. “So it was kind of hard to say no.”
“And we couldn’t miss the chance to visit you!” Naomi adds.
“I want them to see everything you’ve created here,” I tell Shira. “All your work, all the magic you poured into the bookstore…and into this town.”
My original plan was to propose in front of friends and family later tonight.
I want her to see that I’m committed to blending our lives, our traditions, and the people we love.
Carving out a space where we both belong, separately and together.
It matters even more now, with a baby—our baby! —on the way.
“Girl!” Talia suddenly shouts. “What is on your finger?”
Shira beams, holding up her left hand. “I’m engaged!”
Her friends shriek and hug her, jumping up and down with excitement. Then they’re hugging me, too, telling me I crushed it with the ring (I just followed their secret instructions from a few months ago: make it stunningly gorgeous but not too huge).
Then Shira comes up next to me. “Can I tell them our other news?” she whispers in my ear. “But no one else yet. Is that okay?”
“Of course.”
I kiss her forehead before letting go, and she faces her friends, balling her hands into fists as she takes a deep breath.
“And also….I’m pregnant!” Shira whisper-shrieks.
And then they’re all screaming again, hugging and jumping and cheering as I watch, smiling.
“We’re going to be aunts!” Maya says, brushing tears from her eyes.
“And bridesmaids!” Naomi adds.
“What was that?”
Turning, I see my mom standing behind me, eyes lit up with barely concealed hope.
I hesitate, not wanting to spill anything that Shira isn’t ready to share, but she’s already nudging me with a grin. “You can tell her everything,” she says.
So I put my arm around my mom and lean in. “We’re getting married, and we’re having a baby,” I say quietly. “But no one else needs to know that second part yet, okay?”
Of course, she immediately bursts into tears. “I won’t tell a soul,” she promises, nodding furiously.
Because sure, no one’s going to wonder at all why she’s ugly crying in the town square. And of course, that’s when I spot my older sister walking up with her husband and kids. I groan internally.
“Mom?” Bianca asks, alarmed. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Mom says, sniffing and wiping her eyes. “I’m just so happy Jonny and Shira are…here.”
Bianca turns to me, eyes narrowing. “What did you do?”
I lift my hands. “Nothing!”
Kara and Kyle arrive, their toddler in the stroller, followed by Isaac and Annabel with their three kids in tow. Then finally, Dad ambles over, carrying the cane the physical therapist wishes he would actually use.
“Jonny,” Kara says, pointing a finger at me, “what did you do?”
“Why does everyone immediately assume it’s me?” I demand.
“Because Mom is crying and you’re standing there looking guilty,” Isaac says.
“I don’t look guilty!”
“You look like you just raided the cookie jar,” Bianca says, and her husband nods.
“Out with it, son,” Dad says sternly to me. “What is going on here?”
Mom sniffles and buries her face in his chest, which doesn’t help my case at all.
“It’s nothing bad,” I say, looking around at everyone.
“Well, you made your mama cry,” Isaac says, smirking now. “So, either you screwed up…or you finally did something right.”
“Oh, just tell them,” Shira says, laughing.
I sigh. “Fine, all you meddling McKays! We’re engaged, and Shira is pregnant. Happy now?”
There’s a beat of stunned silence—and then absolute chaos.
Everyone is shouting, cheering, kids jumping around, my sisters grabbing Shira’s hand to look at the ring and squealing loud enough to be heard in the next county.
Isaac slaps me on the back, Dad lets out a booming laugh, and Mom is full-on sobbing.
When everyone’s done celebrating, we introduce my family to Shira’s friends, and then it’s time for the third annual lighting of the Azalea menorah, followed by the tractor parade.
But before that starts, I take a moment to wrap my arms around Shira, letting the sights and sounds of the square wash over me.
The twinkling lights, the laughter, the warm scent of cinnamon and cocoa, the glow of the menorah and the Christmas tree—it feels like a rare, quiet kind of magic.
A reminder that sharing our traditions is one way to see each other more fully, honor the ways we're different, and recognize all the many threads that connect us. Maybe we can’t solve every problem in the world, but in these small, shared moments, we can do just a little bit better.
This is home, I realize, as Shira leans into me.
Not a place on a map, but right here with the people we love: the family I was born into, the family Shira chose along the way, and the family we’re beginning to grow.
All of us, together, finding our way through this messy, beautiful life. Right where we belong.