Epilogue
JAMIE
THE WEEK OF JAMIE’S SURGERY
Jamie’s worn black canvas sneakers scuffed across the surface of the damp flagstone pathway leading to Sarah’s front porch.
Over the last three years, she had walked the path from the car park to her front door so many times for family dinners, holidays, and, in the past year, since they had started playing pickleball together a few times a week, even the occasional social hangout.
She shifted the small shoebox in her hands, reaching forward to ring the bell. Usually, Jamie would just let herself in, but this wasn’t a planned visit, and the last thing Jamie wanted to do was intrude on Sarah’s time any more than she already was about to.
“Jamie, hey, everything okay?” Sarah’s greeting was cautious, nervous almost, which was understandable given how quickly life had seemed to unfold over the last few weeks since Jamie had received her cancer recurrence diagnosis.
“Hi,” Jamie said a little too quickly. “How are you?”
Sarah’s expression shifted from pleasant surprise to confusion as Jamie lingered on her doorstep, it only now dawning on her that she should say something else since she was the one who had shown up at Sarah’s unannounced.
She cringed a little, her voice lacking the confidence she wished were there.
“You free for a drink?”
“Now?” Sarah asked, raising an inquisitive eyebrow. “Of course, come on in.” She held the door open and Jamie slipped inside. “Your surgery is in a few days. You feeling okay about everything?”
“As okay as I can be.” Jamie shrugged, sliding off her sneakers. Her immediate answer to that question was a bit complicated at the moment, but that was why she was here at Sarah’s in the first place. “So that drink?”
Sarah’s eyes flicked to the shoebox in her hands, but if she had a question, she didn’t ask it. Instead, Sarah led her down the hall to the very last door—a room Jamie had never been in before.
Sarah’s study was impressive. Jamie never really understood what Sarah did for a living after she left her law firm, but with an office like this, she must be pretty good at it.
The room was cozy and inviting with warm wood tones, comfortable seating, and a large desk flanked by narrow floor-to-ceiling windows that let in the perfect amount of light.
Jamie took a seat in one of the two armchairs in the middle of the room. She flashed a grin when she caught Sarah’s gaze lingering on the shoebox she had set down on the small coffee table. “Don’t worry,” she said, “I’ll tell you what’s in the box in a little bit.”
“I wasn’t worried.” Sarah smiled reassuringly as she opened a small cabinet. “Pick your poison. I have bourbon, gin, tequila, scotch...”
“Bourbon, please… If that’s what you’re having?”
“I am indeed. I’m really only a tequila person when dancing to ABBA is involved, but this feels like a more serious conversation than that.”
The sound of liquid splashing into a glass filled Jamie’s ears as she let her gaze drift out the window, the outline of the downtown Seattle skyline faintly visible in the distance.
“Here you go,” Sarah said softly, holding a colorful glass out to her—the same handmade glasses Jamie had given her for her birthday the year before.
“So you do use them,” Jamie teased, her excitement getting the better of her.
“I do. I’ve grown really attached to them and their inconsistencies and variations.
I liked what you said about how making them reminded you to roll with what life hands you.
We’ve all been practicing that one lately.
” Sarah settled into the chair opposite her, angling her body towards Jamie, taking a breath before asking, “Why are you really here?”
Jamie inhaled deeply, catching the scent of vanilla and charred oak as she brought her glass to her lips, taking a sip.
The bourbon burned the back of her throat in the best way, the bite of it moving through her entire body.
“I need your help. And I hate asking—it’s important to me that you know that—because I’ve watched for three years as you’ve helped everyone around you literally with any little thing that they’ve needed.
I’ve always tried not to add to your plate in that way, but here I am asking for a favor. ”
The look of concern on Sarah’s face only deepened as Jamie rambled. “Jamie, what’s going on?”
Jamie lifted her eyes to meet Sarah’s, struck by how the light streaming through the windows seemed to make the browns and greens swirl together in a mesmerizing way.
“I’ve always had this feeling. A feeling like I’m not meant to be here for a long time,” she started, reaching for the words that would help Sarah understand.
“When I was younger, I operated from such a place of fear that I would run out of time. That fear lit the fire beneath me to push for my goals while I had the chance. It’s what made me such a good competitor because I had nothing to lose.
I cared about one thing and one thing only.
” She paused, taking a sip from the glass in her hand.
Sarah shifted in her seat, one leg crossed over the other, head cocked slightly as she listened.
“It wasn’t the possibility of dying that scared me so much the first time I got diagnosed with cancer; it was the thought of hurting the few people I let in—Amanda and Kendall in particular.
But, in a morbid kind of way, I was almost relieved.
Still scared shit-less but relieved that I could finally stop running.
I won the race. I beat the clock. I achieved the only thing I wanted in life—to become an Olympian. How twisted is that?”
“Not twisted at all, I think that’s perfectly understandable,” Sarah said, taking a sip of the amber liquid.
Jamie chuckled. “I knew if anyone would understand, it would be you. I’ve always appreciated that about you—you’re realistic. I get why everyone comes to you for the big things.”
Jamie caught the way Sarah grimaced, raising her own glass to her lips, muttering, “Sometimes it’s a blessing and a curse.”
A silence stretched between them before Jamie spoke again. “Do you believe in soulmates?”
She watched Sarah’s expression closely as she blinked, the question clearly catching her off guard.
She and Sarah weren’t really the type of friends who had deep conversations on purpose—an unspoken mutual agreement between them.
The few times over the years their conversations had strayed into the deep end, it had been more of a read-between-the-lines situation rather than either of them saying what they meant outright. But Jamie didn’t want that this time.
“You know, I’ve never really given it too much thought, but I think I do,” Sarah said curiously.
“I definitely didn’t, at least not at first.” Jamie laughed.
“God, I thought the whole concept was such a load of shit. Like, you’re telling me that of all the people in the world, there is only one other person out there made for me?
And I’m supposed to find them? In my list of things I needed to accomplish in life before running out of time, that was at the bottom.
” She shifted in her seat, bringing her legs up and tucking them underneath her, making a mental note of the absence of the feeling like she needed to run that usually accompanied a conversation like this.
Jamie smiled, settling back into the armchair.
“But I think I’m starting to see things differently.
Maybe we’re like a chain of paper dolls, cut in one form, and maybe our soulmates are the people who expand us, growing and strengthening that chain through the connections we make.
Some of them are romantic, some are platonic, and some are familial—but all are equally important because, at the end of the day, a soulmate is someone lucky enough to bear witness to our lives in a way no one else does.
” She inhaled deeply, carefully choosing her next words.
“I’m sure some of this is me being overly reflective heading into my surgery this week, but getting to be a part of this family—to get to experience that kind of love—Beth, Lily, Amanda, you—even Nell in her own weird way—all of you are my soulmates.
And it’s been amazing getting to experience that before I die. ”
Sarah’s lips parted slightly as she stammered through her surprise, “Jamie—I—that’s—die?” Her glass clinked against the marble coaster as she set it down. “No one’s talking about dying. I thought your team was feeling really positive about this surgery.”
“They are, and I hope that it does go well. I really, truly do because the idea of leaving Beth and Lily—of leaving all of you—” Her voice cracked, a hot prickling sensation burning at the corner of her eyes as she looked away.
Sarah handed her a box of tissues, and Jamie was thankful for the moment to pull herself together.
“Sorry.” She grinned feebly. “I told myself I wasn’t going to cry.
” She looked back at Sarah, her confidence settling in, feeling more sure than ever about what she needed to tell her next.
“I need to have a plan going into this surgery, you know, something for every outcome. I thought you, of all people, would appreciate that.”
“I do appreciate that, but it doesn’t necessarily mean I like thinking about it,” Sarah said softly. “So how can I help?”
Jamie crinkled up the damp tissue in her hands, shoving it into her pocket before leaning forward, reaching for the shoebox on the coffee table between them.
“Thanks for indulging me on the deep stuff, I know that’s not really our speed.” Jamie laughed, trying to force a mood change between them, tapping her fingers against the lid of the cardboard shoebox.
“Well, it’s not like I can say no to you right now. The cancer card is kind of hard to beat.”
“My plan is already working perfectly, then.” Jamie lifted the shoebox and handed it to Sarah.
“I need you to take this. If everything goes according to plan and I wake up just fine from surgery, great, I’ll grab the box back, and we never need to speak of this again.
But if, for whatever reason, things don’t go according to plan, I need you to make sure Beth and Lily find this. ”
“What’s in it?”
“It’s mostly for Lily—just letters of advice I wish I had been able to hear from my mom after she passed away. To be honest, I’m sure she’ll find it equally as corny as she finds me right now.”
“Oh, stop,” Sarah scoffed. “Lily idolizes you, and you know it.”
Jamie grinned. “She’s the best kid, Sarah. I mean that. I’ve loved every moment of getting to be a part of Lily’s life. And I hope I get a lifetime more with her.”
“Me too,” Sarah whispered sincerely.
A quiet followed, and in that moment Jamie appreciated Sarah’s comfort with silences, understanding that a lot could be said without words.
“And for Beth?” Sarah asked after a long pause.
“There’s a—uh—letter in there for her too,” Jamie said, shifting her gaze away to hide the fresh wave of tears building up. She wiped at her eyes, laughing through it. “I’m sorry, I’m—I’m not the best at explaining my feelings, but I think it’s important that you understand.”
Sarah looked at her for a moment, her smile reassuring and open. “I’ve got time, take as long as you need.”
Jamie took a deep breath, eyes darting to the shoebox in Sarah’s hands.
“I couldn’t figure out why I survived cancer the first time.
My prognosis was less than stellar, and I was ready to die—scared, but ready.
I made my peace with that possibility. And I didn’t get why I lived—until I met Beth. Until I met my soulmate.”
Jamie watched Sarah closely as Beth’s name left her lips, watched the way an invisible shield glossed over her gaze.
The one she understood was Sarah’s way of saying I’m not here to get in your way.
She had always appreciated Sarah’s respect when it came to Beth, something she could have easily withheld.
“Loving Beth has been—it’s changed me in all the best ways, ways I didn’t know existed.
And I just, I wanted her to know that…you know, if things don’t go according to plan…
I wanted her to know how much all of this meant to me.
And how much I ultimately want her to find her happiness.
I think that’s something you and I have always shared… ”
She let her voice trail off as her eyes met Sarah’s with that same flash of understanding of what loving Beth in that way was like.
“So,” Jamie said, clapping her hands to her knees before standing. “Yeah. That’s it. That’s everything.”
Sarah rose slowly, the shoebox still in her hands. “So you just need me to make sure they get the box? That’s it?”
“Yup. But not right away. I have a feeling the girls are going to need a little time before things start feeling normal again, and that’s when I want them to find it.”
“Normal is incredibly subjective.”
“I trust your judgement.”
They stood there for a moment, the coffee table between them, as Jamie shifted her weight. “So, um, for Thursday. Remember the vibe is upbeat and party. I will not let anyone be sad before I go under. Good vibes only, please. You still working on that playlist?”
Sarah set the shoebox down on the coffee table, side-stepping the piece of furniture and wrapping her arms around Jamie, their height difference making the moment that much more laughable.
“What are you doing?” Jamie asked, her body stiffening in reaction to Sarah’s touch.
“I’m hugging you.”
Jamie’s body relaxed. “We don’t hug.”
“We do now,” Sarah whispered against her curls before pulling away.
She walked Jamie to the front door and Jamie pretended not to notice Sarah wiping at her eyes as she slid her sneakers back on, pausing one last time with her hand on the doorknob.
Sarah spoke thoughtfully. “If you see a white light or whatever. Don’t go towards it, okay?”
Jamie laughed, a feeling of contentment settling over her as she looked back at Sarah. “I’ll do my best. And Sarah, if for whatever reason things don’t—you know—go how I want them to, promise to take care of our girls.”
“I always do,” Sarah said.
The front door clicked shut behind Jamie as her foot met the flagstone pathway, feeling lighter than she had ever felt, knowing that no matter how things went with her surgery later this week, the people she loved most were in good hands. That had always been the most important thing to her.