Epilogue
Miriam
Eight months later
“What can I get you?”
“An Aperol spritz please.” I offer the bartender, who’s in classic black and white, a smile.
“Interested in a pomegranate Prosecco punch? It’s our specialty cocktail for the night.”
I remove my coat. “Sounds great, thanks.”
“Your dress is a mirror ball!” The bartender nods at the shimmering material that stops above my knees. Its built-in shapewear keeps me snug and my breasts from spilling out. “Forgive me for staring, but wow. I’m Leah, by the way.”
“Miriam. It’s nice to meet you, and thanks.”
She pulls a bottle of Prosecco from the refrigerator below the bar, which is illuminated by a wall of shelves. “I take it you have plans tonight? Can’t let a dress like that go to waste.”
“Coming back from a dinner,” I say.
“An early New Year’s Eve celebration?”
I smile. “Something like that.”
The Buffalo Steel is officially under new ownership.
The league agreed to let Four Kings Sports and Entertainment purchase the team.
Julian is now co-owner, along with three partners—Preston Donnelley, Miles Walker, and Terrence Reyes.
They’re all friends, and they now make Buffalo the first Black-owned professional rugby team in the RLA.
Preston, Miles, and Terrence flew in with their wives ahead of a couples’ trip in order to finalize last-minute paperwork and celebrate.
The signed agreement permits Julian to split his ownership with Antonio once he retires.
He still plans to play for the foreseeable future, but he’ll own a piece of the team he’s poured into since its inception.
Leah sets my cocktail on a napkin and slides it over. “Thank you,” I say after a sip. “This is delicious.”
She winks and wipes down the onyx counter. A spiderweb tattoo on her hand peeks out from her cuff. It matches the one behind her ear.
“Heading home after this?” she asks.
“I hope so. I’m meeting someone here. I don’t know his plans for the rest of the night, but I wanted a redo.”
“A redo?”
“I was at this very bar a few years ago on New Year’s Eve,” I say, my finger tracing the rim of my glass at the memory. “I made a promise to myself but didn’t get a chance to fulfill it.”
Traveling down to DC before the end of the year required a detour to the place that changed my life. Antonio and I came back to this bar the weekend the Steel played DC before the playoffs. But tonight feels different.
The night I stumbled in here on shaky heels and in my sister’s dress, I was nervous to take risks outside of the comfort of habit and empirical evidence.
Forsaking the tradition of pajamas and snacks at my father’s house not only led to romantic love, but it brought me to a version of myself I never imagined possible.
I gave up a life of hard wigs that night. I’m still the same Miriam with Twizzlers in my purse, but I now enjoy a softer era with more adventures and laughter. Settled and confident enough to assert my needs.
And tonight, I’m definitely sitting on someone’s penis.
My pulse quickens when the front door opens.
Tobacco and cedar drift over to invade my nostrils amid the hum of soft jazz.
Smooth steps roll over concrete to excite my attention, the same way they did four years ago.
Only this time, the shiver rippling through me is not of fear but welcome anticipation.
“Mind if I join you?” Antonio’s voice kisses between my legs.
I wet my lips. “Sure.”
He folds himself onto the stool next to me, swallowing my personal space. The swell of his thighs invades my legs, which he brings between his with a pull of my seat. He towers over me, the width of his chest and shoulders testing the flexibility of the button-down stretched over his frame.
We already tested my flexibility in his condo before the celebration dinner. No bloody noses or ER visits involved.
“Can I buy you a drink?” I offer.
He shakes his head. “We’re not staying long.” His gaze slides over my lips to my breasts and exposed thighs, which he squeezes. I draw in a sharp breath at his stare. It tingles the pit of my stomach and flares in silent expectation.
“You look edible,” he says. His husky tone skates over my lips when he leans closer. “Can I take you back to my place?”
I giggle and push him away. “That’s not how this is supposed to go.”
He frowns. “We already knew each other back then.”
“Knew of each other. What would you have done if I’d never revealed my intentions that night? Indulge me, please.”
He lifts my hand to kiss the inside of my wrist. “I would have told you what I should’ve told you four years ago: that I’ve always liked you, and I want the chance to love you for the rest of my life. Then I would have grabbed your coat, paid your tab, and asked if you were ready.”
“Just like that?” I ask quietly.
“You ready?”
I down my drink in two gulps. Antonio pays Leah and helps me with my coat.
I get a forehead kiss before he interlaces our hands to leave the bar.
A chill wind blows through the bare branches waving gently along the street.
Colorful row houses light up with nightlife in a neighborhood that barely sleeps.
Antonio dropped me off at the bar before he parked the car at his condo up the block. He told me he has a surprise for us later, but he got caught in a work call before he could give any more details. I’m tired already just thinking about staying up late in this dress.
“There go those wheels turning,” he teases.
“Can you at least give me a hint about what we’re doing?”
“That’s for me to know and you to find out. If you must know, we’re swinging by the house first. I have something in the oven.”
What?
“Are you sure it won’t be in flames when we get there?”
He scoffs and puts a hand over his heart. “I take offense. Can’t a man bake his woman dessert without involving the fire department? I made concolón, thank you. I can flambé.”
“You burned the bottom of a pot of rice, and my mother helped you save it. We had to air out her house for two days.” I crack up remembering Antonio’s first visit to Panama over the summer.
We spent two weeks with my mother, whose exact words were, “If you don’t marry this boy, I will.
” She fell in love quick with her “son-in-law” and is coming up in March for his first home game of the season.
She’s yet to visit me or Marcela in Buffalo but actively texts with Antonio throughout the week.
He’s earning bonus points for learning Spanish.
“I know what I’m doing,” he says. “I left the plantains in the skillet on three before I came to get you.”
“You what?! You can’t leave hot oil unattended.” I snatch the keys from his hand and sprint up the stairwell.
Don’t ask me why I thought this was smart. There’s an entire elevator to prevent me from wheezing or puncturing a lung. I don’t exactly have Iron Man stamina.
The triathlon, not the Avenger.
“Doe!” Antonio calls from the lobby.
Who gave him the bright idea to flambé anything?
“We’re never watching a baking show together again!” I shout back.
With sweat kissing my skin and the edges of my hair reverting back to its natural curl pattern, I reach the top floor. I made it six flights of stairs in platform heels and a wool coat that’s about to incinerate my insides.
I’m a glistening mirror ball.
My breaths come in gasps as I thrust the key into the lock.
“You’re fast as hell,” Antonio says from behind me. Of course, he’s breathing properly.
“You.” Wheeze. “Don’t.” Wheeze. “Touch.” Wheeze. “Appliances.” I push open the door and stumble inside to find pink and white rose petals.
D’Angelo’s “Untitled (How Does It Feel)” spills over the sound system into the kitchen and living room, which is somehow not engulfed in flames.
“What?” I pant.
I blink at the white floating candles in cylinder vases that line a path from the front door through the living area. Hundreds of white balloons float over the space, which is covered in rose petals. Tied to each gold ribbon is a polaroid of Antonio and me.
Our first selfie in the ER four years ago.
A photo of me laughing on the phone with my mother in the home improvement store after he broke my shower curtain.
Vegas with the Steel.
The summer vacation we took.
Apple-picking and hayrides with Bread, Kendrick, Reese, Shins, and his fiancée—who’s still hard of hearing.
Marcela and I with community after the City Council voted for the Buffalo Grows Coalition to receive 20 vacant lots.
“Keep going,” Antonio says over D’Angelo’s serenade to provide everything I desire.
I walk through a canopy of our memories. Printed-out text messages, our words of encouragement during our biggest life transitions when we lived apart. There are photos of me at his games—when the Steel dominated during playoffs, and when they won their first championship.
“H-how did you do all of this?” I gulp hard, tears slipping down my cheeks.
Antonio wipes them away. “Ella did the balloons and photos at her house. Your sister handled the rest while we were at dinner.”
“Marcela is here?”
“She’s out with her friends, but yeah. She leaves Friday.”
My sister said she was taking time for herself after her reelection.
A few city councilmembers lost their seats, but she ran uncontested.
With eyes on the mayor and whispers of more uncovered corruption, she’s been working around the clock, and she deserves the break.
We spent Christmas together, but I never expected this.
“Keep going, Doe.” Antonio takes off my coat and kisses my neck.
Fresh tears gather, and my voice catches at the images Antonio took during his visits to the community center. Me with my kids in the STEM hub, and me in my home office dedicated to designing and prototyping my patent concept. I’m in the final stages before I begin the application process.
Every memory of us together is here.
I arrive at the corner window that overlooks DC.
A white neon “Will You Marry Me?” LED sign hangs in the middle of a heart-shaped backdrop covered in white roses.
At the base are candles in vases, bouquets of flowers in soft pinks and creams, and a faux fur blanket covered in rose petals, with my high school yearbook on top.
It’s open to the page with my photo from sophomore year.
A heart is over the image. Next to it is the word “love” scribbled in the margin.
Julian’s yearbook.
“Doe.”
Antonio is on one knee with a black box in his hand. His coat is off. So is the beanie covering his waves. His smooth caramel skin anchored by a boxed beard glows under soft lights.
Jinkies.
“From the moment I saw you in the hallway, my world was never the same. I’ve loved you from afar, hoping to taste the edge of your laugh and catch the eclipse of your smile.
I never believed I would have a soulmate until I met you.
Every day we’ve spent together and all those years apart drew me to you.
You’ve been my best friend, my person, and my greatest joy.
“Every milestone, every memory we’ve shared together is a reminder of our love. You are my home, Miriam, in every universe across every lifetime.”
“Antonio,” I sob. Damn me for wearing these condom-like contacts.
His smile wobbles. “I love you so much.” He brushes away a tear and opens the velvet box to reveal a classic solitaire stone on a simple band. It’s perfect. “Will you do me the honor of being my emergency contact for the rest of my life?”
We erupt in laughter.
I drop to my knees and kiss away his tears. “Yes, I will,” I whisper over his lips.
His mouth trembles over mine as he cups my face for a kiss.
“I love you,” he repeats with each brush of his lips.
“I love you too,” I say back.
He lifts me into his arms, peppering my face with kisses on the way to his bedroom.
“Antonio?”
“Yeah?”
“Maybe lose the watch, just in case.”
A smile toys at his lips. “Good idea.”
THE END