Epilogue
EPILOGUE
A shley
Kirstin and Beau's wedding is nothing short of a dream.
As I watch Beau take Kirsten's hand and recite vows to honor, love, and cherish her forever, I’m filled with happiness and hope.
They make references to the unique way the two of them came together, which invokes laughter from the small crowd, consisting mainly of their family and children.
Since they didn't have a formal wedding lineup of groomsmen and bridesmaids, Liam—who looks incredible in his tux—sits right next to me, holding my hand and rubbing my knuckles with his thumb. We look at each other when the pastor says the groom can kiss his bride, and Liam gives my hand a thrill-inducing squeeze.
Yes , I reply with a squeeze of my own. I hope this is us one day, too.
I set a deadline for myself to take care of the things on my list before Braxton and Maggie's wedding. It's best for the kids to get settled into their new place before school starts anyway.
In the weeks following the wedding, the kids and I go looking for places to rent in town with Liam and Cam, who thought it would be fun to come along.
I have the kids put in their two cents, ask Liam for his strictly professional opinion, and then make the final decision—as an adult woman/divorced mother of two—on my own. And it feels scary, but it also feels right.
It doesn’t mean I won’t make mistakes or regret some of my decisions, but if a choice ends up being disastrous, then I trust I’ll be able to deal with it.
I apply for two dental hygienist positions in town, and, as I head to the back-to-back interviews, I call Loretta Sharon to let her know I’ll be moving soon and that Martin would like to start piano lessons. And I know someone else who’d like to take lessons too——me.
Loretta chuckles and says she’ll be delighted to have both of us. Then she adds, “You’d never have guessed it, but we’re headed to Dr Brynn’s as we speak for an emergency crown. Patrick chipped a tooth.”
"Ooh,” I say through the car speaker as I drive, “I did that not long ago. Ross will do a great job repairing it. And hey,” I add, “don’t mention that I told you we’re moving. He knows we’re hoping to move before school starts, but I haven't given my official notice yet. I’m actually doing that when I go in this afternoon.”
“It sounds like we may miss each other at the office then,” Loretta gathers.
“Yes,” I confirm, “but I’ll see you soon enough for those piano lessons.” I smile at the thought. As a child, I didn’t take to piano lessons very well, but it’s something I regret. I look forward to giving it another try, especially since our new, furnished place has a baby grand piano.
I head to my interviews, one after the next, and take the second job offered to me because I love the cheery environment, the bright, generous windows, and most of all, the dentist, who happens to be female. It'll be nice to have a different dynamic in the workplace, I decide.
I’ve dreamed about all the ways I could give Ross my two-week notice. I’ve imagined telling him off in a heated moment while “ Brynn’s beauties ” stood by in astonishment. I’ve pictured removing the prepubescent photo from the board, ripping it to shreds before his very eyes, and saying, ‘I’m not part of the club anymore, buddy.’
But as the time draws near, as my resentment drowns in a sea of relationship bliss with Liam, I no longer feel the need to deliver the news with such sting. Moving on, I decide, will say everything that needs to be said. I will rise above the fray. I'll keep my chin up. I’ll keep it classy.
I'm about to meet Liam outside his office building for lunch, when I get a surprise call back from Loretta.
"Hey," she says in a muffled whisper.
My brow furrows. "Loretta? Is everything okay?"
"Yes, yes, it's fine. I just don't want Dr. Brynn to hear me. I snuck out of the office for minute to tell you that they have a terrible picture of you in the waiting room. It didn't seem right, so I thought I should let you know."
Immediately, my mind draws back to the horrible picture I plan on removing soon, but that’s not in the waiting room.
“Are you talking about that bad junior high picture of me in Ross’s office?"
When she doesn’t respond, I elaborate. “Bad perm, high bangs, braces, and a zit on my nose?”
"What? No,” Loretta says, sounding very confused now. “It’s a recent photo, in fact, very recent, from when you busted your teeth at the singles campout. Mandy Wheaton told me about it. Sorry that happened, hon.”
“Oh, it’s uh, yeah. He’s got a photo of it? In the waiting room?” Sure, I’m just repeating her at this point, but none of it makes sense.
“He sure does—two of them, in fact, a before and after shot. And I hate to tell you, but they're not very flattering, and neither are the sentiments he posted along with them."
I gasp. "You’ve got to be kidding. Do you think you could snap a picture of it with your phone?"
"I already did,” she says proudly. “I’ll text it as soon as I hang up. I just wanted you to be prepared because Brenda noticed me looking at it, and she admitted that you hadn't seen it yet. She sounded concerned about your reaction.”
Maybe Brenda should have voiced that concern to Ross.
"Well," I say, "I appreciate you letting me know, Loretta. Now that I have a heads-up, I can…plan out a good response.”
“That-a-girl,” Loretta says proudly. “Oh, and Ashley?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m so glad you’re back with Liam Wheaton. I think you two are perfect for each other.”
I smile. “Thanks. I kind of think so, too.”
With Liam's offered assistance, along with the use of the color printer in his office, I come up with something that revenge-dreams are made of. Sure, it will only produce a splash of momentary embarrassment, but I don't need to give him anything more than that. We still have to co-parent, after all.
Still, this is the second time he’s purposefully tried to humiliate me with ugly photos, and now an embarrassing tale to go along with it? It’s time he got a little taste of his own medicine.
Folder in hand and smile on my face, I lean over and kiss Liam goodbye. “Thanks for your help, Loverboy Liam,” I say playfully.
He gives my behind a playful swat. "Go get him, Tiger."
And then I open the door of my new-to-me Audi TT, something I purchased just yesterday. It’s fast, gorgeous, and as good as new without the new-car price tag.
I slink behind the wheel like Cat Woman, so happy I want to purr. The car is everything I wanted. The cool charcoal color, the comfortable leather seats, and even the luxurious new-car smell, courtesy of the air freshener.
Liam leans in for one last kiss, gingerly closes the door, and waves through the window affectionately.
Now I’m really purring. Man, I am one lucky woman. I blow him a kiss and tear off with an impressive squeal of tires.
The bulletin Loretta sent is even more horrifying than I imagined. The photographs are terrible. The before pic, as you can imagine, is not pretty. But even the after pic is bad. The odd angle makes my jaw look three times its natural size. My eyes aren’t exactly open, but they’re not fully closed, and since a small corner of my eyes catches the flash, I look possessed. Hideous isn’t a strong enough word.
And then comes Ross’s warning:
Patients,
Please take note as to what can happen to you when you don't listen to the fixer of the grin, DDS. Brynn. If it can happen to our very own hygienist, it could most definitely happen to you. Now, doesn't she look silly?
Beneath the warning is a long list of do's and don'ts. Do use your fingers to pry off flip-lids. Do not use your teeth. Do use a nut-cracker to pry open nut shells. Do not use your teeth. The do-side of the list makes the whole thing redundant and irritating, but that’s Ross for you.
I'm happy to be pulling into the parking lot just as Brenda and Ross back into their adjacent spots. They’re more blatant about going to lunch together lately, leaving at the same time in the same direction, and returning to the office the same way. Why not just take the same car?
One thing that drives Ross crazy is when people park their cars facing the sun. I have spent close to twenty years of my life parking away from the sun, more for Ross than for myself. I don't mind climbing into a sundrenched car that momentarily feels like a sauna, especially when I can kick on the air conditioner and drop the temperature in seconds flat.
So, while Ross and Brenda carefully back their vehicles into the far end of the lot, I pull in hot, fully facing the sun and yank the parking brake with a flourish.
I climb out of the car with a wide grin on my face. Brenda and Ross stare at me and then the car, dumbfounded.
"A rental?" Ross squeaks. His shoulders drop in disappointment. "Ashley, I knew you were going to wreck the Camry before I took it over. Brenda wanted to buy it for her son."
I’m about to tell him I didn’t wreck the Camry and that this is not a rental, but I can’t ignore that final comment. I turn to Brenda.
"How old is your son?" I ask because I know Brenda's much younger than I am.
Brenda looks caught. She glances at Ross before looking back at me. “He’s just twelve, but we were thinking it would be a good car for him when he starts learning to drive."
I recognize that “we” all too well.
" We were thinking?” I repeat. “Or is that just Ross doing the thinking for you? Because he's really good at that, thinking for two, you know. So long as you let him, that is, which I did for far too many years. But I'm done doing that now."
I lift the key fob over my shoulder and give it a click. The car lets out an adorable high-pitched beep, letting me know it's locked.
Inside, I walk right past the sign in the foyer and go straight into Ross's office. First order of business is to remove the yearbook photo from the Brynn’s Beauties board. Next, I remove the professional photo they used of Ross in his white coat with his cocked head and overly confident grin.
Ross had a lot of nerve printing that horrible yearbook picture of me, considering how terrible his seventh-grade photo is. I shove the pushpin into the top and step back to give it a good look. Acne to the hilt, a hack job of a bowl cut, and oversized teeth that he had yet to grow into.
I flip open the folder once more, snatch my two-week written notice form, and place it squarely on top of his desk. Because the thought strikes me, I reach for the tape roll, tear off a strip, and fold it into a loop. Then I retrieve the horrible picture I removed from the staff board and tape it to the bottom of my resignation letter right beside my signature.
There, that should help you understand why I don’t want to stick around.
Beneath my resignation form is a flyer with the details of the home I’ll be renting, the address, and the move-in date (two weeks from today). Custody will remain the same, and the move will only add ten minutes to the drive between us.
Beneath those forms is one last paper giving Ross first rights to the Camry before I sell it. I resist the urge to scribble a note about Brenda’s son because the personal message I wrote on my notice says it all.
This is for the best, Ross. I think we’ll have a healthier co-parenting relationship if I no longer work for you.
This feels good. So good that I keep asking myself why I didn't do it sooner. But I'm met with the same internal response each time: It never would've tasted this sweet. Besides, this very path is what led me back to Liam, and how could I ever regret that?
Since Loretta and her husband were long gone before I arrived, Loretta sends me a follow-up asking me who I’ll be working for in town. She’ll likely transfer her records wherever I go since it’ll be closer. I love hearing that because the patients are what make work something to look forward to. Especially patients who give me warning calls so I don't fly off the handle when I walk into an ugly situation.
I go about my day, working on the three patients I have scheduled for that afternoon, but behind me, I hear snickers, whispers, and wonders about whether or not I've seen what's in the waiting room.
Aww, Brynn’s beauties, I think to myself, you have no idea.
Yes, I know what's there. I’ve seen it, and soon, it will be your turn to see Dr. Brynn in a whole new light. I have Andrea, the clerk at the front desk, forward all my dental files to my new dentist, DDS. Patricia Wyler, who, it turns out, has attended a few of the 40s singles events. She's never been married, having focused on her career like Annica, but I look forward to hopefully seeing her find someone.
Just as the day winds down, the staff busily wiping down stations, sanitizing tools, and preparing for the next day, I waltz into the waiting room at last. Andrea’s gone to grab the usual box of jumbo frosted cookies for their staff meeting, which happens to take place in this very waiting room—perfect. It’s not a meeting I attend, but the rest of Brynn’s beauties do, and I can’t wait for their eyes to behold what I’ve got.
I start by removing the photographs of me because, no, I didn't give Ross permission to use them.
Then, I post a few fair warnings of my own.
Picture number one is a closeup of a very remorseful looking Ross with his face so puffy on one side he looks like a two-faced creature—half llama, half hippo.
Patients,
Please take note as to what can happen when you don't listen to the woman you married. If it can happen to our very own DDS. Brynn, it could most definitely happen to you. Now, doesn't he look silly?
Do listen to your wife when she warns you that the sharp, shiny leaves in the grass appear to be stinging nettle. Do not ignore her and play rugby with your friends on it anyway.
In picture number two, Ross’s hair and goatee are an absurd color caught between baby shrimp pink and the Band-Aid color of Brenda’s car. If you hold it back just so, he looks like a fuzzy harvest peach.
I smile because I remember giving him so much crap for it that day. The fact is, I don’t hate the guy. In fact, I’ll care about him for the rest of my life. He’s the kids’ dad, and he’s a good dad at that. Still, I remind myself that he asked for this.
The do’s and don’t’s on this one are listed as such: Do listen to your wife when she tells you not to drench your hair and goatee with Sun-In, especially if you’ve never been blond. Do not ignore your wife and leave it on for an entire day in the sun while picking peaches because you may end up looking like one.
I decide not to post the third one because it involves something a little more… personal, and, as it turns out, I don’t feel good sharing it after all. It’s a shame, too, because it took quite a while to find the one photo we have—taken in the ER, mind you—of Ross’s backside looking like a pin cushion. Do listen to your wife when she tells you to just let the porcupine exit the tent on its own. Do not enter the tent with a garbage lid shielding your face and obstructing your view as the critter scurries behind you and lets loose.
I give in to another fond grin because we really did have some good years together. But this is where we are, and it feels right, too.
I step back and observe my masterpiece with a wide grin. I know it’s not edible or anything, but it turns out that childish revenge is so tasty I give myself a chef’s kiss. What the heck? If you can’t keep it classy, you may as well make it sassy.
I pass Andrea on the way out, so I hold the door open for her and thank her again for transferring my records.
The gasp that follows tells me she’s already spotted my handiwork.
I ease into my car, back it up to get a perfect view of the waiting room, and realize I forgot the popcorn. It’s all right, I’ll still enjoy the show.
Andrea’s already waving some of the other gals to check out the scene. I watch them funnel in one by one in their matching pink scrubs as laughter bubbles up my throat. They cover their grins and gasps, bumping elbows and pointing to certain spots on the board.
I hear the loud, familiar boom of the Let’s Get Ready To Rumble song, something Ross blasts before every staff meeting. Once all of his beauties are accounted for and waiting on him, Ross struts in, bouncing his shoulders.
The women are so loud this time that I can hear them from here, which seems to encourage Ross to really ham it up even more. He’s doing his half-dance, half-strut number when he spots his own half-beast face on the board.
His arms drop.
His cocky expression slips too.
And his eyes, well, let’s just say they bulge enough that I could snap an entirely new picture: Don’t mess with your ex-wife during her mid-life crisis phase.
He’s gawking at the board from a close distance now. Brenda, bless her, strokes his wilted shoulders before turning to look out the window.
Ross follows suit.
I grin, wave, and then give my horn a playful beep before tearing off into the sunset.
I watch with curiosity as Lucy and Martin squeeze lemons for tonight’s dessert.
We’re celebrating Liam’s birthday at the condo with my family. The larger celebration will take place at the Wheaton home, where we’ll honor both twins, but that will be after Braxton’s wedding, which is a few short days away.
The preparation has become a family affair since the kids saw a TikTok for the lemon creation. They know Liam loves lemons like Nini, and they’re certain the layered number with a ton of butter and roughly half-a-million lemons will hit the mark.
Nini crawls out of her cave just in time to lick the bowl and mutter under her breath that she’s had better. Still, the bowl is so spotless when she’s through that it looks like Fifi licked it clean.
I’m not the best with the grill, but I do know how to warm up a few cans of beans and franks while Liam helps Dad with the burgers. The menu was picked out by Liam, who said it’s a nod to our camp supper together, which happened two-and-a-half months ago. He’s sentimental, so he’s been counting.
When it’s time to season the burgers, Liam smoothly hands over the pepper. “Get this open with your teeth, will you, babe?”
“I’ll get you with my teeth,” I threaten before nibbling on his earlobe.
Liam lets out a low growl. “Even better.”
“I heard that,” Annica says as she carries out the buns.
“How are the wedding arrangements coming along?” I ask her. “Need help with anything?”
Annica shakes her head. “Shan and I have it covered, thanks. It’s going to be beautiful. Maggie has great taste. And you know, I never imagined having a wedding in a coffee shop before, but the Coffee Loft is something else. With the open staircase, all those seating areas, not to mention the backdrop view of the shoreline, it’s going to be spectacular.”
“I can’t wait,” I say. “And they’re having the reception there, too?”
Annica nods. “We’re extending it to the eating area outside, and of course, we’re utilizing the train cars out front. You’re going to love it.”
A zip of excitement skitters through me, along with a wave of adoration. “I can’t wait. And you know, Annica?” I add because I don’t tell her this enough. “You’re incredible, you know that?”
“Aww, thanks.” She wraps her arm around me. “And so are you. I’m proud of you for really doing it,” she says with a headshake. “All of it. You really took charge of your life, didn’t you?”
A burst of modest pride tugs at my chest. I shrug. “I had a little help figuring things out, but yeah. I did.”
“Hey, Mom?” Lucy chimes.
I glance up to see her head sticking out of the office/craft room’s window. “Yeah?”
“Did you move the wrapping stuff? We can’t find it anywhere.”
“Oh, here’s some,” a male voice declares in the background. I can’t tell whether it’s Martin or Cam.
“Never mind.” The window closes, but soon, another slides open. I cringe as I see it’s the bathroom window.
“Is it time for dessert yet?” Nini asks.
“Uh, we’ve got to eat dinner first,” I say. “You don’t want to spoil your?—”
But Nini is already closing the window back up. “Doesn’t care,” she blurts.
Liam approaches me while holding his phone. “Callie says she wants us to come out front.”
"Oh, good," Mom says, “are she and Link here?”
"Yep,” Liam assures. "They say they've got a surprise out there."
Mom’s excitement has to do with the fact that she and Link have the same tattoo artist now. Yep, Mom finally made the big move and got the tattoo she’s been dreaming of, a nod to the stuffed closet in the multipurpose room.
‘Crafty Mama,’ it reads, and it looks like one of those vinyl cutouts. Hopefully, when I leave and she has the room back to herself, she’ll actually get back to her crafts. Or she might just focus on her next tattoo.
We all funnel out the front door, Liam’s hand in mine. A gasp sneaks up my throat despite the fact that I had a pretty good guess as to what I might see. Or rather, who I might see behind the wheel. It's none other than Callie herself.
"She has her permit, baby!" Link cheers as he rolls down the window. "And you should see her. She's doing so great.”
Callie’s cheeks flush pink as she shrugs. "I guess I'm kind of a natural," she says with a bashful smile.
“Nice job, sis,” Cam says, giving her a high five through the open window.
"I knew you didn't have anything to be afraid of," Liam tells her, his proud-dad-grin on full display.
"Well, what are we waiting for? I'm starving!" The comment comes from Nini, of course, who’s currently perched on the porch.
Link and Callie climb out of the car and open the door to the backseat. Fifi barrels out of her kennel like a bat out of Hades, her tongue and tail flapping wildly. Her mere presence activates a lineup of sorts as each of us hunches down, pats the ground, and vies for her attention.
"Fifi, come here, Fifi.”
"Over here, Fifi."
"Come on girl, right here." Liam’s coaxing seems to gain her attention the most, but not enough to outdo the rest because Fifi spins in place twice and parks onto her haunches, her tail still working to wag beneath her weight as she weighs her options.
Dad’s voice grows louder. "Come on, girl, you remember me, don't you?" It's possible she does. They’ve met twice, after all. Or maybe three times. I wonder if Dad needs a dog of his own.
Suddenly, Fifi bursts into action and heads for the one who's caught her eye. Tail flopping, tongue flapping, eyes shining. At first, I think she’s heading for Liam, because she passes the kids, my parents, and me. But then she skips past Liam, too.
We turn our heads, gawking as the animal leaps onto Nini’s lap with a flourish. I stare in horror, praying Nini doesn't strangle, chokehold, or even throw the poor animal across the yard like a Frisbee.
She doesn't. In fact, while Fifi frantically attacks her face with a tongue bath, Nini declares, “All animals love me. They just love me."
I try to make sense of that as we head inside.
Dinner is a blessed event, and so is the time that follows. Mom and Link talk tattoos while Callie shows the other kids a fun new dance she saw on Tik-Tok.
To Callie’s delight, Lucy’s familiar with the dance. I overhear them talking about how each has always wanted a sister.
“Maybe if everything goes well…” Callie adds with a sneaky grin. They blast the music and practice the dance number on the small grass patch below.
When it's time for presents, Liam opens his gifts with both modesty and appreciation. A gift card from my parents, a sneer from Nini, and a coffee mug from me. It has a photo on it—one I recently took of Liam, the kids, and the dog.
Callie and Link gift him a camping voucher. “That’s for the riverside campsite,” Callie explains. “Since we missed the other one, I was hoping we could all go before the summer’s through.”
Liam pumps a fist. “Awesome, I love that idea. Thanks.” The hint of moisture welling in his eyes says the rest. I catch his gaze and shoot him a wink, but what I really want is to close the gap between us and kiss him long and hard.
Later, I tell myself because Cam, Lucy, and Martin are hoisting a massive and horribly wrapped… something onto the patio. They plop it onto Liam’s lap.
“Thanks,” he says preemptively, scratching his jaw in wonder.
"Dad,” Cam says as Liam tears off the mismatched wrapping paper. "Meet Bessie Two.”
And there she is in all her splendor. The black and white spots, the beautiful cow head with long lashes, a pink tongue, and matching ears.
"We sort of paired our gift with Callie and Link,” they say.
"Yeah," Callie chimes in. "Link and I are really hoping to see Bessie 2 in action."
My heart is so full I feel like it could burst. It's taken a long time to come to this place, a place I never imagined I'd be. But as we light the candles and sing happy birthday to Liam Wheaton, who happens to be my fairly serious boyfriend… squee! … I muse that there's no place else I would rather be.
We dish out the dessert, and I have to give it to Lucy and Martin, it's delicious. I give them a well-deserved chef’s kiss that no one sees because Nini simultaneously thrusts her fork in the air like a victory sword and lets out a whooping cheer.
"I'll tell you something," she says, narrowing her beady eyes on me.
My heart skips a beat as I wonder what in heaven’s name she has up her sleeve.
"You sure know how to pick a man!"
I sigh in relief.
“At least…the second time around." She shoves in another forkful of the lemon dessert. “Mmm.”
My eyes go wide, and I glance over at Martin and Lucy, wondering if they'll take offense to the ‘second time around’ part of that very odd compliment. But since their hands cover their faces while their shoulders bounce with stifled laughter, I'll take that as a no. Besides, they adore Liam and tell me fairly often that they’re happy for me. For us.
I glance over at Annica, who often says the same thing. She squints her eyes at me and pulls one of her super cheesy grins. I pause to lift a prayer for my sister, one I pray for often. Please, send her a good one, God. She deserves it.
And as I move in to hug the birthday guest of honor, I have to say that I’ve never agreed with Nini more than I do right now. And the best part is, her sentiment confirms the very thing I’m learning to accept: I can make choices for myself. Choices I can trust because there is no denying this one—I do know how to pick one heck of a man.
And, I might add, he’s not doing too bad himself.
The End.