Epilogue
TWO MONTHS LATER
NATALIA
The woman on screen is crying into a rose she didn't get, and I feel nothing but vindicated.
"I told you," I say, pointing at the TV. "Week one. I told you she wasn't there for the right reasons."
My mom adjusts her green tea face mask without looking away from the screen. "You say that about everyone."
"And I'm right about everyone."
She hums in a way that means she partially agrees but won't give me the satisfaction.
We're eight episodes into our standing Tuesday tradition—face masks, the dating show we've been binging since I moved back to Seattle, and whatever snacks she had in the cabinet.
Tonight it's microwave popcorn and the last of a bag of peanut butter pretzels we've been rationing for two weeks.
My phone lights up on the cushion between us.
The Hawkeyes are only a few more games away from the playoffs, and Luka is training harder than ever before, coming home from practice with even more bruises than usual, but a smile on his face.
He loves hockey, and I love seeing him crawling into bed next to me every night, hopeful about making the playoffs. They’re so close now.
Headed home after my run with Scottie. He says hi. Katerina wants to do dinner tomorrow night before the team leaves for our next away game. Do we have other plans?
I smile before I can help it. I still feel that pull in my chest every time he reaches out—like he's just checking that I'm still there.
Which I am. Except for Tuesday nights when I stay here in my childhood bedroom, on this couch, with my mom and her terrible taste in reality television and her face mask that smells like a cucumber spa.
I tell people it’s a balance. That's true.
But it's also this: her. I spent a lot of years in this house waiting for a phone call from a man who was never going to call, not understanding that the person who actually showed up every single day was sitting right next to me on this couch, passing me the pretzels without being asked.
I'm not in a hurry to give up Tuesday nights, and Luka uses the time to run with Scottie.
"Is that Luka?" my mom asks, eyes still on the screen.
"Yep. Katerina and Scottie want to do dinner tomorrow."
She reaches over and takes a handful of pretzels without looking. "I can't believe you two are living together. For a man who's never done relationships, he's going pretty hard with you."
"To be honest, I’m surprised myself," I say. "But I trust him, and we’re building a life together. It just feels right."
"I'm happy to see you happy." She finally looks over at me. Something soft in her expression that she doesn't dress up. "And selfishly, I love Luka for bringing you back to Seattle."
I lean my head back against the couch cushion.
"Me too, Mom," I say. "Now about that guy from work. You keep dodging the question. Are you two dating or what?"
My mom blushes and then before she can answer, my phone rings. Damn it.
Molly.
I know I should take this, but I finally got my mother cornered.
"Saved by my daughter’s busy phone." She grins and stuffs more popcorn in her mouth.
"You’re not getting off that easy. I know where his season tickets are. I’m going to meet him at one of these home games and demand to know what his intentions are with my mother."
My mother pretends she is unbothered by the idea, but I know better. This is the first guy she’s been interested in in years.
I answer before the third ring. "Hey. How are you? Are you doing okay?"
A beat. "Well, that's a loaded question."
That means something is up. I can hear it in her voice. "Tell me."
She exhales. "Carey's out. Fired as of this afternoon. Turns out she's been sleeping with her boss, David Willson for almost a year and his wife found out, then HR found out. The whole thing collapsed at once."
"You're kidding?" I ask. It’s not lost on me that it turns out that Carey was the one sleeping her way to the top all along.
"Gabriella got demoted. Her plan with Carey backfired… badly. Agents are leaving and taking clients with them. Legacy has been hemorrhaging people and accounts for weeks. Morale around here is…" she trails off. "It's sinking, Nat."
"I'm sorry," I say, and mean it. Not for Carey or Gabriella… or even for Legacy, but for Molly and the friends I still have there. Molly’s good at her job and deserves better than watching a firm come apart around her.
"Don't be. I saw it coming after you left." She's quiet for a second. "Worse comes to worst… does your mom have a spare bedroom for an unemployed lawyer?"
I laugh, surprised by it. "I would genuinely love to have you in Seattle. But I’m worried about you now."
"Don't worry about me," she says, and I can hear her smiling. "Just take care of that hot hockey player you couldn't shake."
"I'll call you tomorrow, okay? We’ll talk this whole thing out."
"Yeah," she says. "Sounds good."
I hung up and set my phone down. My mom is watching me with that particular patience she has. The kind that waits without pushing.
"What's going on with Molly?"
"She's okay. She made a joke about the spare bedroom."
My mom doesn't miss a beat. "Well. Now that you’re living with Luka, the room is available. I might need a new reality show watch partner." She gestures at the TV.
I turn to look at her. "What am I to you? Just a space filler until something better comes along?" I tease. I know she’s not trying to get rid of me. "What about Tuesday nights? You can’t replace me before my spot on the couch is even cold. It’s just rude."
She pats my hand. "I said what I said."
"Fine," I say, giving a dramatic eye roll. "I’ll tell Molly that my bedroom is up for grabs."
My phone rings again. I check the name… and then do a double take as if I read it wrong.
Randolph?
"I need to take this." I stand from the couch and pad into the kitchen, leaning against the counter. "Hello?"
"Natalia," Randolph's voice is efficient, which is the only gear he has. "I'll be brief. I should have called sooner."
"What’s going on? We settled everything with the Olympics. Luka’s in the clear—"
"This call isn’t about Luka. You did great work on everything, and he’s in your capable hands. This is about something else."
"Ok, what’s up?"
"I agreed to go with Legacy PR under the assumption that you would be handling my clients directly. That was the arrangement I was sold. When that changed—let’s just say, it’s been a shit show for the last few months.
" A short exhale. "I don't trust them. I didn't trust them then, and given what's come to light today, I trust them considerably less now. "
"I understand."
"Luka tells me you’re starting your own firm?"
"That's right."
"Good," he says. "Are you open to taking on more clients yet?"
"That's the long-term plan, yes."
"Then let's talk next week. I want to discuss moving my full roster to your agency.
" A pause, and then something that might be the closest Randolph gets to warmth.
"You were the right person for this from the beginning.
You shouldn't have had to chase my client halfway across the world to prove it. "
"I found it character-building," I say.
There’s a soft chuckle on the other end. "That’s the nice way to describe Luka. I'll have my assistant send over a meeting request." And then he's gone, because Randolph doesn't do goodbyes, only agendas.
I stand in my mom's kitchen for a moment, holding my phone, listening to the faint sound of the TV in the other room and the wind outside the window.
Then I walk back into the living room and drop onto the couch as if my bones have turned to liquid.
My mom looks at me sideways. "What was that about?"
"I think I just launched my career."
She blinks. Then, a slow smile. "Oh yeah? Can you take on that much?"
Then it hit me. I’ll need help.
"I'll need a really good lawyer." I look down at my phone, already typing. "And I know exactly who."
I opened Molly's thread.
Are you serious about moving to Seattle? A new job with your name on it has just opened up.
I set the phone face-up on the cushion and reach for the last of the peanut butter pretzels.
On screen, another rose ceremony begins.
I send out a text to Luka:
Are you going to be jealous if I take on more clients? Randolph just called. He’s moving his clients to me.
Luka: As long as I’m the only lucky bastard in your bed.
And then he sends another text: I’m proud of you, Bunny Hill.
And for the first time in my life, I finally got the confirmation I needed that I'm more than enough. Not from my father, not from my job… not even from Luka.
It's right here.
It's in that call with Molly and Randolph.
It's in the way I walked away from something that asked me to be less than I was, and didn't fall apart.
It's in the fact that I flew halfway across the world, then dressed in a neon orange parka chasing a man who didn't want to be caught, and I was still standing when it was over.
Still myself. Maybe more myself than I'd ever been.
I didn't find it in anyone else.
I just finally stopped looking long enough to see that it was already there.
My mom reaches over without a word and puts the last of the pretzels in my lap.
On screen, another rose ceremony begins.
I lean back into the couch.
Yeah, I think. I'm good.
THE END