Epilogue
September, Nine Months Later
“Tuck the shirt in,” Bridget insists. “Show off your waist.”
“Tuck it into what?” I ask. “There’s no room for anything but my ass in these shorts.”
We stand in front of the cracked mirror in the Curly’s bathroom, both of our brows furrowed as we assess our glimmering reflections.
Over the weekend, we found iridescent “shorts” at a clubwear store, and while the sparkle factor matches my imagination, they look more like polyester underwear.
Between the shorts, the knee-high socks, and our white button-ups, which I decorated with iron-on disco-ball patches, I’ve successfully re-created my roller-rink uniform for tonight.
Penn and I joke often about the seventh-grade MASH game that predicted us living happily ever after, and it’s nice, feeling that synergy between the two worlds—the two versions of me. Which is why, with my turn to choose our birthday plans, I picked a roller-disco theme.
Bridget turns side to side, admiring the way the light reflects off her shorts. “I must say: I don’t hate this look.” She wraps an arm around me, the buttons nearly popping off her shirt as she adds, “I’m so glad you’ve come over to the shiny side.”
I laugh. “It’s definitely grown on me.”
Half my body is covered in chunky body glitter, the cheap kind that might as well be glue, and considering it’s damn near permanent, I’m telling myself it’s fine if it lasts until Halloween.
Penn and I have a running list of costume ideas in our shared Notes app, and there’s a strong chance we’ll end up as unicorns, because he likes the idea of a fleece onesie and I sometimes miss living inside a Lisa Frank wonderland.
“Sweet Dreams” is playing when we snake our way back through the bar. Earlier, Ryan loaded up the jukebox with eighties hits, and with the boys’ help, we’ve managed to transform Curly’s into The Disco Diner. Or, at least, The Disco Diner Lite.
While Bridget understands exactly where my meticulous party plans came from, Penn and Ryan have marveled at the specificity of my decorating ideas.
Colorful string lights crisscross the ceiling, where Penn painstakingly hung six disco balls in a row, just like in the game.
I’ve topped each of the sticky highboy tables with a vase full of glow sticks and lined the bar with bright pairs of roller skates—purely for vibes, because, as the bar’s new manager, Theo doesn’t want to be responsible for any injuries.
Bridget helped me with the outfits, and Penn “knew a guy” at the party store, so we rented a light-up sign, the bubblegum-pink letters big and bright: Just Roll with It.
I’m trying to do a little more of that these days.
Theo included tonight’s theme party on the Curly’s events calendar, so the bar is packed with strangers wearing their disco best. Our friends have taken over the best table, though, a big round one in the back by the popcorn machine.
Ryan, happily rocking a sequined shirt, sits beside Ethan, who’s gone more subtle with a dark button-up and an oversized collar.
Penn’s nowhere in sight. He’s probably given in to the itch to get behind the bar again.
The man loves to mingle. And I love him for it.
It’s been four months since he left Curly’s to dedicate himself full-time to PennPals, which has taken off since the app went live. Now Penn has plans to open PennPals chapters throughout the Chicagoland area and hire locals to lead each one.
His passion is infectious, and I know what it’s like to see your vision come to life, so after I helped get his business off the ground, I wanted to do the same for other people.
Thanks to Penn’s network, I’ve met several hopeful entrepreneurs, and I’ve already worked with four of them to map out business plans.
The work sits right in the sweet spot, balancing numbers and creativity, and once I have more experience under my belt, I hope to expand my offerings and brand myself as a small business consultant.
Bridget slides onto the stool beside Ethan, grinning up at him as he kisses her hairline.
Ryan’s hands flail while he talks, filling them in on his next adventure.
Tomorrow, he’s off to Italy. He plans to flit around Europe for six weeks, and I bought him a new camera for our birthday so he can show me everything when he gets home.
Home. The word carries new meaning for me these days.
Two months ago, Penn and I moved into a small apartment on the far side of town.
Something tells me a mansion will never fit into our budget, but I’d love to find a spot on our old street someday.
Not because I’m stuck in the past, but because I’m grateful for it.
Shared memories are a gift, and I never take for granted how many of mine include Penn.
I swear, every time I look at him, I feel how long life is, and how lucky we are to have spent so much of it together already.
My phone buzzes, and I know without looking that it’s another text from Mom.
Happy birthday, my loves!! Have fun! Make good wishes!!
I laugh to myself. After last year’s chaos, I’m not sure I want to make another birthday wish. And really, I don’t need one. It’s nice to finally trust where I’m headed. Believing I can handle whatever comes, even if I have to operate without a plan, or without rules.
The best things in my life have come as a surprise. Now each day feels like beginning a new book, the spine of my life cracked wide open with possibility.
I scan the room for Penn, and sure enough, he stands behind the bar, a white towel thrown over the psychedelic button-up shirt he’s paired with a backward hat, which doesn’t suit the theme, but it suits him.
I wait at the bar behind girls dressed in matching floral jumpsuits until Penn catches my eye and politely asks them to let me through. They step aside, and I drop my elbows onto the bar in front of him, resting my chin in my hands.
“Excuse me, sir. One cup of your finest meat soup, please. Extra-hot.”
He leans against the bar, matching my posture, a twinkle in his eye as his gaze meets mine. Although, to be fair, that might be the reflection of my body glitter.
“Sorry, miss,” he says. “No meat soup tonight. We only serve it on weekdays that don’t end in y. But may I interest you in some rum?”
I shake my head, solemn. “My rum days are behind me. Perhaps a lap dance?”
Penn grins and bends forward to kiss me, and when he pulls back, I smile, wondering how I got so lucky. Wondering, as I do so often, what actually happened to make this dream come true.
He rounds the bar and takes my hands, lifting them to survey my outfit again. “Not gonna lie.” He shoots me a suggestive look. “I’m pretty into this outfit, Ruby.”
Even now, still, the low tenor in his throat when he says my name—it buckles my knees.
I do a little shimmy. “You should see me on skates. I’ve still got moves.”
“Oh, yeah?” He nods at the pairs lined up on the far end of the bar. “Maybe we should take those for a spin after closing.”
“Me? Yes. But you? No. Sorry, Pennjamin. Nobody deserves to see that.”
“Such a menace,” he hisses, pressing his forehead to mine.
We kiss, and the song changes, the shimmery opening notes of “Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now” blaring through the bar.
Penn pulls away and laughs. “Ryan queued up quite the playlist.”
“A little much,” I agree. “But that’s kind of what I’m into these days.”
His lip quirks. “What else are you into?”
“You. In these jeans.” I found a pair of men’s bell bottoms and glued a holographic stripe of ribbon along each side. And I may or may not have purposely sized down.
“Good,” Penn says. “Because I plan to wear them all season. They’ll pair well with my flannels, don’t you think?”
“As long as you leave the top buttons undone,” I add. “The chest hair is crucial.”
He laughs again, my favorite sound, then takes my hand and leads me to our table. While everyone settles in, I sneak away and head back to the bar to visit Theo, returning with a tray of bad ideas.
“This round’s on me,” I announce, handing out shot glasses.
“Whoa.” Ryan nudges Ethan. “You know it’s a big night when my sister buys tequila.”
Bridget claps. “Here! We! Go!” With a wide grin, she says, “Happy birthday!”
I glance around at all the loves of my life as we clink our glasses together. After we throw back the shots, I lean in to Penn and say, “Promise you’ll carry me home?”
He tilts down to whisper in my ear. “I’d carry you anywhere.”
I flush, warm from Penn’s words, and from the horrifically cheap tequila burning inside my chest, and as everyone laughs, I think: This. This is where the magic lies.
Because I believe in it now, life’s magic.
Time and time again, it’s led me to exactly where I’m meant to be.
Messages Penn Sends Me on Our Wedding Day
I’m bouncing all my ideas off Theo. Hope it’s cool if I quote Fight Club in my vows.
On a scale from 1 to Ryan, how hard are we dancing tonight?
The hourglass emoji, plus: I’m counting down the hours. I can’t wait to marry you.
Would you rather: Watch me slow-clap while you walk down the aisle? Or give me a lap dance when you reach the end? (I choose option two.)
Reminder, Wynne: No take-backs.
I love you, Ruby. I’ll always love you. See you at our spot.