Epilogue #2
Regardless, what started for Jake as a one-man career-consulting firm that he largely set up as a side gig is now a three-person team—four, if you count Pastrami, who moonlights there using her training as a therapy dog.
One of those people is Iris, who, to everyone’s surprise, is quite good at it.
If he’d had to guess, Sam would have said the whole thing was more in Daisy’s line, or at least Luce’s, since the two of them are generally better with people than Iris.
But Daisy has been working in public relations for the mayor’s office since shortly after graduation and seems happy, and Luce’s art career has taken off to such a degree that she’s in New York most of the year anyway.
Regardless, Jake says Iris is good at the work, handling career counseling for students who conclude that they don’t have the inclination or skill to try to make dance their profession.
Apparently, her brand of blunt clarity and sarcasm really speaks to your average teenager, and she’s also a lot better than Jake is at telling people no, which Sam can tell Jake deeply appreciates.
Sam could point all this out, but it would take a while, and he doesn’t get the chance anyway.
They reach their destination, an anteroom where the entire wedding party has gathered, and their little traveling group is broken apart immediately by greetings and instructions.
Everyone is positioned and staged for a variety of photos and then chivvied off to their respective spots for the ceremony.
It is, Sam has to say, a lovely ceremony.
Joanie is radiant and ecstatic in her flowing champagne-colored dress, and Marty looks even happier than he did the day Sam told him the Pastrami Arnold was going to stay on the menu for good.
(This isn’t a metric Sam would normally compare against someone’s actual wedding, but Marty did say, at the time, that it was the best day of his life.) Their vows are short and sweet and heartfelt and slightly dirty, and when Joanie says, “I promise to love you when things are easy, and even more when they’re not,” Jake reaches back and grabs Sam’s hand, squeezes hard, doesn’t let go.
That’s the first moment which almost makes Sam cry; the second is when he pauses, as Joanie and Marty walk beamingly down the aisle, and glances over the assembled guests.
Luce and Joey in the front row, off again as far as Sam knows but looking like they might be on again by the end of the night.
Iris and Daisy next to them, still identical but with very different styles these days.
Talya beaming and dabbing her eyes; Eileen, freshly retired, and her boyfriend, who is perfectly lovely so long as you don’t ask him anything about his years running a professional clown school.
Alphonse and the rest of the full-time Silverman’s staff, some of whom are working the event but all of whom Joanie insisted be in attendance to see her tie the knot.
His parents and Jake’s, sitting together in the back row, having made amends with each other after a series of peace-summit dinners that were, at least on Sam’s end, a lot easier to both face and manage with Jake sitting beside him.
With a lump in his throat, he realizes that if he and Jake get married, a number of the people in this room will be in that one. It’s a nice thought, heartwarming, even if it does make Sam blink hard against the threat of tears before they can actually fall.
Jake must be thinking it, too; the two of them have talked a little, just recently, about the idea of next steps and taking the plunge.
They’re both in favor as far as Sam can tell, but it’s a new discussion still, and a bit awkward.
He doesn’t want to say anything that will tip things in the wrong direction or put pressure on the situation, but he smiles, relieved, when, as they’re dancing together a few hours later, Jake says, “Listen, Sam, I’m sorry, but I have to say it: When we get married—”
“When?” Sam says, delighted. When Jake flushes, having clearly said more than he meant to, Sam takes pity, and downshifts into a joke: “If this is you proposing right now, you’re being very subtle about it.”
“I’m not proposing,” Jake says, rolling his eyes but not totally able to suppress his smile. “I’m just saying—when, if, whatever. It doesn’t matter for the purposes of this conversation: I just need you to promise me something.”
“That is, to my understanding, what people do at weddings,” Sam says mildly, and then, when Jake glares at him, laughs. “Okay, okay! What am I promising?”
Jake straightens a little in Sam’s arms and clears his throat officiously.
“On the date, should it occur, of our hypothetical nuptials, I need to know, okay, that you are not going to say anything—anything at all!—about the Kiss of Death review. It’s not that I don’t understand the importance of the review to our story, it’s just that I believe there are some times in life that it’s better not to say the words “Kiss of Death.” That’s a phrase that has no business being in a wedding vow, Samuel!
It’s like a sacrifice laid upon the altar of divorce! ”
“Hmm,” Sam says, considering. “It’s not that I don’t see your point, and I’m definitely not looking to lay anything upon the altar of divorce, but I’m just not sure I can commit to that at this juncture. Avoiding the phrase, yes, that’s fine. Avoiding the review entirely? I don’t know.”
Jake pulls a face of comical despair. “Really? You can’t, in the event of our hypothetical wedding, see your way to not bringing up my horrifying mess of a—”
“No,” Sam interrupts, and catches Jake’s gaze. “I can’t, because I’m glad you wrote that review, Jake. I’m glad. We wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t, and I, for one, wouldn’t be anywhere else.”
“Oh,” Jake says in a small voice, and smiles. “Well, I mean—me neither, obviously.” Flushing slightly, but looking desperately pleased about it, he adds, “Thanks.”
“Sure.” Sam leans down and kisses him, letting his lips linger long enough to serve as a promise of what’s to come later tonight.
When he pulls away, he layers on the earnestness as thick as he can and says, “Although, after today’s touching events, you might be able to convince me that I should write vows in the style of Joanie and Marty’s toasts at dinner.
Those really moved me. In fact, here’s a first draft: ‘Baby, you’re the love of my life and I never want to be without you!
But for some godforsaken reason, there’s only one way I feel able to express that emotion, so everybody buckle up for my best rendition of a Creed song that’s totally inappropriate for the situation, the lyrics to which I have definitely misunderstood.
We’ve locked the doors and there’s no escape—’”
Jake’s laughter is loud and long, and he shakes his head, still beaming, as he calms down and looks up at Sam. “You know what, I might have some notes,” he admits. “But we’ve got plenty of time to work something out.”
*
If this book made you laugh and gave you all the feels, Recipe for Trouble is your perfect next read. Opposites attract in a sweet, witty m/m comedy full of delicious food, simmering tension, and a guaranteed happily ever after.
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