Epilogue - Kira
EPILOGUE - KIRA
One Year Later
“Remind me again why we’re in New York in the dead of winter?” I ask Ren as I rub my mitten-covered hands together, trying to get some warmth. When he’d suggested experiencing Manhattan at Christmastime, I was all for it. I somehow forgot that New York is colder than a witch’s tit in December and all the Christmas shit worth seeing is all outside.
I’m a California girl. I’m not built for anything colder than forty-two degrees. I’d much rather be at home with Pancakes, cuddled under a mountain of blankets and sharing a bottle of wine with my live-in boyfriend.
“Because, little pest, it’s magical. Look at the snow on the treetops. You can’t experience this kind of winter wonderland in San Francisco.”
I look around us, taking in the snow and the reflection of twinkling lights glistening against the pristine white blanket. I have to admit it. Even though I very well might freeze to death, there’s something hauntingly beautiful about the quiet stillness of Central Park as snow falls from the orange and purple evening sky. It’s almost like Ren and I are the only two people in the park, our footsteps the only ones besmirching the freshly fallen snow on the path.
“You’re right,” I sigh, leaning into him as he tightens his grip on my waist, pulling me impossibly closer as we stroll.
“That killed you to say, didn’t it?” He asks, chuckling softly.
“Yes, it did. Don’t get used to it, babe.”
I notice a trail of footsteps leading off the path and towards a line of trees. They’re snowed in, the imprints almost hidden. There might have been a group here earlier, but at this moment, Ren and I are the only two people in the world. He leads me towards a bench, dropping my hand as he brushes off the snow.
“I’m not sitting there, Ren. I’m not wearing any panties under these leggings. My pussy will freeze to the seat like that kid’s tongue in A Christmas Story and you’ll have to call the fire department. Do you really want the New York City Fire Department trying to melt my vagina off of dirty metal? ”
“You, my love, are ridiculous. And we’re not sitting down. Look,” he says, pointing to the plaque he’s unveiled from under the snow.
“I am much more me when I am with you.” - Unknown.
“Ren,” I gasp, covering my mouth with my hand. “Is this…”
“It’s our bench. The one where we ate hot dogs and you flirted with me shamelessly the last time we were here,” he answers my unfinished question with a cocky smirk.
“I did not flirt shamelessly. There was plenty of shame involved.”
“Fine,” he laughs. “But you did flirt. Shame or not, I enjoyed every moment of it. When we sat here, sharing secrets with mustard on the corner of our mouths, that was the first time I realized I could spend the rest of my life chatting and eating hot dogs with you. And now…”
His hand goes to his pocket as he drops down to one knee. Time slows down as he lowers, producing a black box. My hands fly to my heart.
“Kira McKenna, my darling, my love, my precious little pest. Would you like to spend the rest of your life with me? Chatting and eating hot dogs and loving each other?”
He flips the velvet box open, revealing a cushion-cut diamond flanked by two light pink, round stones on a white gold band. It’s huge and loud and obnoxious and so perfectly me .
“Are you asking me to marry you?” I ask, feeling my heartbeat thumping underneath my coat.
“Only if you’re planning on saying yes. If not, then I am simply asking you if you’d like to wear a lovely piece of jewelry while eating a street-cart hot dog.”
I roll my eyes at his ridiculousness. Only my Ren would turn a marriage proposal into something silly and fun and romantic.
“Yes, Ren. Yes, I’ll marry you, and yes, I will wear a lovely piece of jewelry while eating a street-cart hot dog,” I say, trying to joke my way through my acceptance while tears of joy spill from my eyes and freeze against my cheeks.
He’s up in a flash, capturing my lips with his while simultaneously ripping the mitten off my left hand. He pulls away just long enough to slide the diamond onto my ring finger, and then he’s crashing his mouth into me once again. When I grasp his face in my hands, I realize that he’s crying, too. He grips my hips, lifting me off the ground and into the air above him, kissing me until he can no longer reach my lips.
“You do realize that this officially makes Pancakes your stepson, right?” I ask. Ren just chuckles as he replies,
“Darling, I adopted that little slime mongrel a long time ago. He’s already my son.”
I laugh and take Ren’s face in my hands to kiss him again as he sets me back on the ground.
“She said yes!” he calls out, and suddenly our quiet corner of the world no longer consists of just us. Like clowns spilling out from a Volkswagen, Pops and IronDad, Tía Camila, Dean, The Pussy Posse and their husbands all emerge from behind the trees lining the path. That explains the footprints in the snow.
“What the hell?” I squeal. “What is it, fucking Narnia back there? Where did you all come from?”
Ren and I are swept up in hugs and handshakes. Camila, Rachel, Dottie, and Georgie all cry and shriek as they gawk at the brand-new ring on my finger. Pops and IronDad pat Ren on the back and Dean makes stupid jokes about me not wearing white on the big day.
Eventually, the twelve of us escape the snow and find warmth in a private room at The Ritz-Carlton, where we pop bottles of Cristal and celebrate the next phase of our lives.
Later, in a room twenty-eight floors above the city, Ren makes love to me in the Egyptian cotton sheets. We make vows to each other then and there, with our words and with our bodies. And when we finish, reaching our climax together, I say a vow to myself in my head. I promise to love myself as fiercely as Ren loves me. I promise to trust my gut and my heart, and I promise to trust that whenever I find myself spinning out of control, Ren will be there to help me find my bearings once again.