EPILOGUE
Two months later: Royal Gala Dinosaur Jubilee
I told Mom we were planning something simple for Noah’s fifth birthday.
Cake, juice boxes, maybe a pinata shaped like a moderately accurate stegosaurus.
Although Noah’s starting to show signs of growing out of the dinosaur phase.
Ever since Xaden moved in with us, Noah’s been having a Xaden phase.
Yesterday I caught him trying to do push-ups.
This morning he honest-to-God winked at me.
I’m standing in my parents’ yard in the middle of what can only be described as Prehistoric Extravaganza. In hindsight, I maybe should have told Mom: “Please don’t book a bagpipe quartet. Also, color-coded welcome stations? Not necessary.”
There’s a sign that reads ‘NOAH HUDSON’S ROYAL FIFTH: A Dino-Majestic Celebration’ in gold foil letters.
Caspian strolls past with a crown on his head and a bite-size cucumber sandwich in one hand. “Somebody just told me the Fossil Cake has been unveiled. I’m scared,” he confesses.
Noah’s soaking up the attention, reminding me so much of Lizzie.
He’s already received three presents, each more overindulgent than the last, and he’s currently shouting “I’m King of the World!
” from a gold-painted throne Mom commissioned from a theater rental place.
Sammy bows to him, offering him oak leaves.
I don’t even ask. But I do make a mental note of making sure Noah realizes this extravaganza has nothing to do with the real world out there.
Also, I’m going to have to have that same talk with Mom.
“I thought you said this would be a small gathering,” Antonio mutters as he joins us later, coming straight from work.
“That’s what I ordered,” I sigh. “But I also explicitly said I didn’t want a snow globe collection when I was ten and I got twelve.”
Antonio squints at a “Tea-Rex Table” where scones are being served on fossil-themed china. “Is this what your childhood looked like?”
“She wasn’t quite this bad. She had too many social obligations and not enough time to go over the top every time we had a birthday. But now? She’s unstoppable.”
“Oh look, it’s your friend Ken,” Antonio says, and I turn around to greet James.
We are not the best of friends and never will be, but the more I get to know him, the less insufferable he gets.
I might even like him after a few more years of acquaintance.
He’s carrying an alarmingly large box that either has only feathers in it or James’s much stronger than he looks.
He steps through the balloon arch with a flourish, dressed in some sort of cream linen ensemble that looks wildly impractical.
“I’ve brought Noah a gift,” James declares, lowering the box carefully on the ground. “It’s a limited-edition, lifelike animatronic triceratops imported from Germany. It roars in six languages.”
“I’ve lived my whole life thinking all the dinosaurs roared the same,” I mutter. “Live and learn.”
James sighs dramatically. “Someone gave me a fruit skewer with grapes on it that were not uniform in size. Don’t worry, I’ve spoken to the caterer.”
“Phew!” I say.
“You’re welcome. Presentation matters. We’re not cavemen. Speaking of which, Brett says hi. He couldn’t make it, because he’s bound elsewhere.”
James has that certain gleam in his eyes, which makes me think Brett really is… bound. Oh my God.
“Speech in five!” Mom sings as she floats past us in her designer heels and dinosaur brooch.
“What speech?” I call after her, but she’s already halfway to the gift tent.
Yes, there’s a gift tent. No, I don’t know how to stop her. And yes, Harold’s gift was a mini bulletin board. Noah has already banned bedtime and broccoli.
I look at Noah climbing onto the little stage Mom built with the sheer force of her will. He announces without an ounce of shyness: “Thank you everyone! I’m five now! For the whole year. Bye!”
In the distance, I spot Xaden. He’s wearing a paper crown Noah forced onto his head. On his left arm, a dinosaur sticker tattoo matching the one Noah has. A gift from Xaden. I’ve never seen Noah more proud.
Xaden must sense I’m staring, because he turns and winks. Heat curls in my stomach instantly, and butterflies, too. I blush.
So: nothing’s changed, and yet everything has.
Caspian clinks his mimosa glass against mine. “I have an idea for the music festival’s fashion booth,” he says.
“Oh yeah?”
“A t-shirt that says I Survived the Royal Gala Dinosaur Jubilee.”
I laugh. Because honestly? That shirt would sell out. Baywood always survives its own madness. And so do we.