Epilogue
EPILOGUE
The restaurant is loud and festive, and everyone looks their best.
It’s the season for maraschino-cherry-red lipstick, sparkling jewelry, and pretty clothes hidden under big, warm coats.
It’s Christmastime in London, and everyone was right when they said it would be magical.
I quit Brilliance a week after returning home to Florida.
A week after that, I saw that the show had been canceled.
According to Vulture , which did an in-depth article on the rise and fall of the show, it’s because of my departure, but I know it’s not.
Not that I’m not going to let everyone else think that.
I ended up staying in Florida for a few months with my parents, slipping surprisingly easily back into the role of being a kid, complaining about being asked to do laundry and dishes, sunbathing all day, eating chips and dip as a meal.
I watched movies with them, my mom saying “Oh, for Pete’s sake” every two seconds whenever we watched something too artsy, my dad reliably falling asleep every time we watched a rom-com.
I ran errands I didn’t feel like running.
I went over to Aimee’s parents’ house a lot, and they came over too.
We grilled and I drank wine with the grown-ups, like I thought I would one day.
I took some time to consider where I wanted to be next.
I knew I needed a break from LA and all its milk substitutions, but I didn’t know where to go.
I wound up having my agent set up a bunch of auditions and send off tapes to different directors, but without telling her, I also reached out to a few theatre companies.
I got an audition with Les London Players for a play called With a Ribbon , a holiday show that calls itself a cross between Love Actually and It’s a Wonderful Life .
And lo and behold, I got the role I wanted!
It stars three sisters and I’m the youngest.
There’s an ensemble of truly hilarious people, and the show itself is funny and heartwarming.
As soon as I showed up on the first day, I knew I had made the right choice, and I felt truly honored to have been cast.
The other actors were excited and enthusiastic, all with the attitude that we, as a community, would be building something together.
No one seemed to even care how big or small their role was.
Everyone was in high spirits.
I became friends with all of them, meeting their equally wonderful partners or, if unattached, hearing about their bad dates.
We went out for spicy curries on chilly nights and drank cheap beer—me remembering always that I do, now, like lime pickle and never skipping the naan.
For the holidays, the streets near my little rented flat have twinkling lights and banners on the lampposts advertising With a Ribbon and The Nutcracker .
I have a new favorite coffee shop and I’ve learned that I hate Marmite but love tea with cream.
Dido—the dog, not the singer—is with me, and she trots happily along the wet streets with me when we do our morning and evening walks, as happy in London as she was in Florida as she was in LA.
She would have loved Avalon, too, I think.
She would have loved Maureen.
I feel an immense sense of loss after Avalon.
But I also feel free of the unbearable weight of unacknowledged grief that I’ve been traveling with for years, and that has offset some of the pain.
And when it hurts, I let it hurt.
I am myself, right now.
I am not hiding from the version of me who once was.
I’m the girl from Florida who, to this day, has permanent tan lines.
I lost my best friend in a tragic car accident.
After meeting Cillian and Kiera, I believe in love in the way I used to when I stayed awake at night, with or without Aimee, dreaming of what it might someday really feel like.
I believe that good, wonderful people are out there, waiting to be met.
Losing Aimee didn’t mean I’ve lost the chance at true friendship.
It only means I lost Aimee.
But I hadn’t needed to lose everyone.
I didn’t need to become an island.
I have my family; I have Aimee’s family.
I have these new friends in London.
It’s not impossible to meet new people and grow to love them as much as I loved Aimee.
No one will ever replace her.
But there are people out there who I can love and like in new ways.
And if my little brush with surreality proved anything, it’s that there are infinite lives and possibilities.
Aimee isn’t nothing now that she’s gone; her loss doesn’t need to be a black hole or even a blank space.
She just isn’t here.
Out of all the lives I might have, I believe I can make this the one that feels right.
I simply have to build it.
Nothing as simple as fame could give me what I need.
What I need is to be around people I care about.
To let people love me.
To have small moments, knowing that they’re the biggest ones, and not ignore them because I’m too busy looking way off in the distance, either future or past, for some imagined thing.
I’m not here waiting for life.
I’m in it.
It’s happening now!
Look out!
I’m out to dinner at a restaurant called Home with the entire cast of the show.
The dinner was a surprise put on by Nelle, who plays one of my sisters.
I told her—well, over the last few months, I’ve told all of them—about Aimee.
I’ve cried about a hundred times—it’s really my new thing—and they’ve been so nice about it.
In fact, it’s kind of become one of the running jokes of the show that we’re here to put on a good performance, yeah, but we’re also here to work through some trauma.
Tonight is Aimee’s birthday.
Nelle asked me to dinner to commemorate it, and when we got to the restaurant, all my new friends from the show were there at a big table with balloons to celebrate.
“I’m so glad it’s a good surprise,” says Nelle.
“It seemed like such a banging great idea, and then I was horribly afraid it would be like a living nightmare showing up to see fifteen people on a night like this.”
I had mentioned to Nelle that I wanted to start doing something every once in a while to remember Aimee, even if it means getting junk food and watching a fun movie on her birthday.
I don’t want to do the intense grief thing of growing morose on every birth-and-death-day.
Not at all.
I don’t want some annual memorial with heavy words and thoughts.
I just want to remember her whenever I can, big or small.
I laugh, shaking my head.
“No, your instincts were right. It feels good to do something fun and”—my chin weakens and my throat gets tight—“I sat with it alone for so long, it’s nice to do this. She would hate this, but I love it!”
The few people listening laugh, and so do I.
The night is so fun.
There’s a live jazz band in the restaurant playing old holiday standards.
We’ve gotten dozens of oysters, fried calamari, bread and butter, and prawn cocktails—which are a lot different than shrimp cocktails in America, possibly not for the better—and bottle after bottle of champagne.
This is exactly what I want.
To be around good people and have a nice time, laughing a lot.
Giving something like her birthday a little happiness and festivity.
She always hated that it was so close to Christmas, but for me, I think of it as a way to ensure that every year, the world decorates for her.
After dinner, we all say a long, chatty goodbye on the cold, snowy (yes, snowy!
) sidewalk outside the restaurant, making excited comments about the upcoming performances, which start in a few days.
Then Nelle, myself, and a few others decide to keep going and head to a nearby pub.
The place is cramped and cozy, reminding me distinctly of Cairdeas Pub, which I’ve imagined would have been almost too adorable around the holiday season.
It’s decorated with delightfully tacky tinsel, garlands, and colorful lights.
There are ugly sweaters everywhere and there’s a drunk Santa in the corner with his fake beard pulled down beneath his chin.
I squeeze up to the bar to order us a round of beers, insisting that I’ll get them while the others go to a table.
The bartender comes over and I order a round of five Guinnesses.
He nods and goes off to get them, and then, through the din, I hear a voice.
“Christ on a bloody knitting needle, I’ve been waiting fifteen minutes for a pint!”
I know that voice.
I look around and see, two people down from me, the most distinctly familiar face.
Freckled.
Bright blue eyes.
Kiera.
I stare at her and she sees me.
The moment of recognition from her makes my heart nearly stop as she points and says, “Feck, it’s you!”
I stop short of saying her name as she squeezes past the people between us and says, “You’re Lana bloody Lord, aren’t you?”
Of course.
The look of recognition isn’t because I’m Meg.
It’s because of TV.
But that doesn’t explain it.
How is she here?
I nod, speechless, and she says, “I wondered how you got a drink so fast. What are you doing in London? Please tell me that Brilliance is coming back for another season.”
I shake my head.
“No, no. It’s over.”
“Damn,” she says.
“I’m here to do a play,” I say, so stunned by her presence here that my voice sounds strange to my own ears.
“Sorry, what’s your name?”
“Kiera,” she says, solidifying my feeling of relief and joy.
I look past her and see that Nelle and the others are still there, at a round table nestled in the bow window.
I glance at my phone and see that it’s still mine.
My life is still my own.
“Sorry, I’m sure you’re very busy and—” she says, seeing me look at my phone.
“No! No, I’m not! I’m—did—would you like to join my table?”
She smiles.
“You gotta be kidding me. Can I tell you something?”
“Yes, what?” I ask, urgently.
The bartender comes over with the beers and I say to him, “Get her anything she wants.”
“I’ll take one of those.” She points at the Guinness I’ve ordered.
“Actually, could you make it two? I’ve got a friend here, I’m happy to pay for it—”
“No.” My heart is going to literally explode.
Who is her friend?
Could it be someone else from Avalon?
Could the universe really be that kind?
“On my tab, please.”
Could it be Aimee?
I wish it for a second, and then know in my heart that it won’t be.
“Truth is that my pal is never going to believe it’s bloody you . He made me fetch the drinks, says I owe him, which of course I do, as I’m the one who made him come out with me and he does me favors all the time, but when he sees that I’ve met the Lana Lord, his eyes are going to fall out of his skull. He didn’t mention you were in a show here, he’s going to be shocked.”
The bartender puts the beers on a tray and sets it on the bar.
I hand over the cash.
“I’ve known him since I was a kid, and I got him into watching Brilliance with me, and I swear to you, he’s your biggest fan. Not that he’ll admit to liking anything all that much. And of course he hates the show, but that’s how you know he loves you.”
I am actually unable to speak as I hang on to her every quickly spoken, heavily accented word.
I don’t dare get my hopes up as I take the beers over to our table and she goes off to get her friend.
“You look like you swallowed a blowfish. Are you okay?” asks Nelle.
I nod quickly.
“I’ll explain later.”
I have actually told Nelle about the whole Avalon thing.
As a believer in psychics, reiki, tarot, past lives, and just about everything else, she completely bought it.
I rise to my feet without meaning to when Kiera comes back with him in tow.
He flushes when he sees me.
“Cillian,” I say, my voice a whisper.
“ Cillian? ” says Nelle beside me.
Kiera comes over and says, “Hiya, I’m Kiera,” to everyone, then to me, “Lana, this is Cillian.”
He holds out his hand to shake mine, giving a tight-lipped, embarrassed smile.
“You’re as scarlet as a radish,” I say, using his expression.
He nods.
“Nice to meet you, Lana.”
“Actually, it’s Meg,” I say.
Nelle has stood and is watching the whole scene play out before her with wide, glitter-lined eyes.
“Don’t mind him,” says Kiera, “he’s only in love with you. He’s watched all of Brilliance… how many times is it now?”
He flushes even deeper and cracks a small smile.
“It’s a good show.”
“No it isn’t,” I say, with a smile back.
We all sit down, Kiera expertly arranging so that Cillian and I sit next to each other.
I have grown used to the surreal in the last few months.
Or maybe in the last decade, since I lost Aimee.
My whole body is in invisible shivers as I revel in the unbelievable situation I find myself in.
“Do you ever get déjà vu?” asks Cillian, leaning a little closer to me.
His voice is quiet enough that only I can hear him, but it’s as clear as a bell.
As if we’ve sliced the air around us and created a place for us.
I nod, my eyes latched on to his, an irrepressible smile at my lips.
“I do.”
“Me too,” he says.
“I’m having it now.”
“So am I.”
His eyes hang on mine and we both smile again.
Sometimes I feel like my memories are less like a library filled with detailed volumes of moments lived, and instead, every moment is an atom in the air around me.
The past is what I breathe, it’s what keeps me alive.
Aimee.
Avalon.
Childhood summers.
The remembered adrenaline of a night onstage.
It’s all there, around me, all the time, enigmatic and abstract.
I feel immensely grateful as we sit there at the pub, as my knee leans lightly against Cillian’s and my finger absently runs up and down the condensation of my glass, and as cold air comes in through the door beside our table and we all cheerfully lament the icy gusts.
I laugh with an open mouth and talk a little too loudly; I joke freely.
I don’t try to protect the memory of tonight from tragedy by pretending it isn’t lovely, and I don’t cherish it so hard that I smother out its spark.
I don’t question the magic or panic that what I love is slipping through my fingers, or that every good thing will one day be cast pale against the darkness of future catastrophe.
Instead, I have a good night.
I get kissed in the snow.
I eat chocolate in bed.
I make plans for tomorrow.