Epilogue
ABBEY
Today is exactly thirteen months since that night at The Golden—not HollowPoint, not Ruh-Roh, but the third night at The Golden, the one with all the bouquets. We’ve spent many more nights at The Golden since then.
Today is also my birthday. Wil promised to take me on an epic adventure to celebrate but wouldn’t divulge any details except that I should dress casually and wear comfortable shoes.
It’s “spring training” for the Hometown League, and Wil’s been out of town a lot.
I’ve been busy, too, out late a couple of nights a week to see concerts and staying up even later to write about the shows before I lose the magic and inspiration.
I love my new job as junior entertainment writer at Sky Blue Waters, and in my spare time, I still write for the psycho logic zine.
Tamsa and I share a cubicle, and we snuck in champagne for a quiet celebration when the lawsuit settlement came through.
We’re waiting for the payout—way more than that check I kept in my ashtray for so long—but that’s not the important part in all of this.
The point is that empowered women empower women, and that skeaze Ryan with his fake tan and his fake diploma won’t ever do this again.
Wil picks me up at 9:30. He leans against his car and holds up a white bakery bag. He’s wearing a long-sleeved gray Henley, worn jeans, and his dark-framed glasses.
“Hey,” he says, the way he’s always greeted me. “Happy birthday. I love you.”
I lean in for a kiss and swipe the bag. He laughs. His hair, as usual, is a luscious mess and as soon as we’re in the car, I lean over, put one hand right in that mess—so soft—and kiss him again, light and tender. I kiss him because I can. Because he’s mine now.
I open the bakery bag to find a greasy, gooey egg, cheese, and bacon bagel sandwich and my stomach growls at the aroma. “This day is perfect so far,” I say happily. “You are the best boyfriend.” I love calling him that. I love that he’s my boyfriend. I love him.
“It’s the easiest job I’ve ever had.”
My heart gets all gooey like the melted cheese on my sandwich. And then my cheeks heat with a thought: What if he didn’t tell me his plans for today because he’s going to propose?
No, that can’t be it. It’s only been a year, give or take. But I would have married him that night at The Golden—any of those first three and any of them since—if he’d asked.
Wil drives us to St. Paul, and I squeal when he turns into the Como Park Zoo and Conservatory. “I haven’t been here since I was a kid!” I bounce up and down like I’m eight years old again.
It’s crowded today, one of the first truly nice days of spring. Wil tucks himself behind me as we maneuver through the exhibits, puts his arm around my waist as we stand, trapped in the crowd, watching the polar bears.
“I love you.” He says it all the time, so many times a day, and I’ll never tire of hearing it. He tightens his hold. “I can’t believe how much. I can’t believe how lucky I am to be here with you.”
I turn in his arms and slip mine around his neck, pulling him close in a hug, and we stand there for long minutes, breathing each other in, while the crowd moves around us.
Eventually, we pull apart and work our way through the rest of the zoo and into the indoor glass greenhouse that’s home to the Sunken Garden, a beautiful, blooming paradise of flowers and water features. Wil sneezes three times.
“Bless you,” I say. “If this is too much, we can skip it.”
“Absolutely not,” he says. He squeezes my hand. “I know how much you love flowers. I can handle it.”
Poor Wil. He still buys me a bouquet every week, but he sends them to work so they don’t bother him when he’s at my apartment.
We walk slowly along the narrow tile path that’s surrounded by flowers on either side of us, Wil sneezing every few minutes.
“Kelsey and Andre got married here,” he says. “I was a groomsman, and I was completely miserable. Kels told me she would kill me if I sneezed during the ceremony.”
I smile as Wil sneezes again. “Well, strike the Sunken Garden from the list of potential wedding venues.”
I want to take the words back as soon as they’re out of my mouth.
Oh god, he probably thinks I’ve been reading bridal magazines and sampling cakes, too.
My entire body heats with embarrassment, but he drops my hand and turns toward me, placing his palms on either side of my face.
He locks his gaze with mine, like he’s searching my eyes for an answer, and then he leans in and kisses me, sweet and soft, like the kiss at the end of a wedding ceremony.
Someone behind us whistles and we break apart.
“I’d prefer the Starlight Ballroom,” Wil says, his expression serious, and then he kisses me again.
Maybe this is the moment he proposes.
It is not—of course he isn’t going to propose where his sister got married and sneeze after every other word—but still, I float the rest of the way through the Sunken Garden.
We walk back to the car where he’s stashed a cooler, a picnic basket, and the plaid Faribault Woolen Mill blanket identical to the one I neglected to return to him.
I laugh at the memory. We find a sunny, grassy spot and he sets up the spread: cheese and crackers, chicken salad sandwiches, baby carrots, and Snapple lemonade.
After we’ve had our fill, we lie on our backs, holding hands, staring up at the bright blue sky and fluffy clouds.
Maybe now.
“Having fun?” he asks, shielding his eyes with his free hand. He still sounds stuffy but at least he’s stopped sneezing.
“I’m having the best time,” I tell him. “I don’t want this day to end.”
He holds his arm up and squints at his watch.
My mouth waters a little as I stare at his sexy wrist, made sexier by that worn leather band.
Every delicious inch of this man is sexy, especially that Abbey Road tattoo.
It’s too bad we’re in the middle of a zoo or we’d be making the hell out right now.
We stop at a coffee shop for an afternoon pick-me-up and then drive to his apartment.
“Ooh, your place,” I say when he pulls into the parking lot. “Intriguing. I feel overdressed.”
“Sorry to burst your bubble,” he says, “but this is only a pit stop. The one when you get your birthday presents.”
“Presents? I thought that’s what this whole day has been.”
He shakes his head. “It’s all part of the package.”
A proposal package?
“Best birthday ever,” he says, “until next year.”
We take the elevator to Wil’s cushy apartment, and I immediately collapse onto the marshmallow cloud couch.
“Are you sure we can’t stay here and watch a movie?” I ask. “Your couch is heaven on earth.”
He laughs. “Watch a movie. Good one. Come over here and open your gifts.”
I sigh as I get up from my favorite place on earth.
“Happy birthday, Abbey Rhodes,” he says quietly when I sit at his dining room table. He slides a small, Tiffany-blue gift bag toward me. “Open this one first.”
I swallow hard. The man works for a nonprofit. He can barely afford the rent on this place, but he said he couldn’t give up the view. No way should he buy me gifts from Tiffany… unless…
I carefully remove the matching tissue paper. “Please tell me you did not buy me something from Tiffany.”
He smirks and shakes his head. “Someday.”
I take a small white box from the gift bag. My hands shake as I lift the cover… is this the moment?... to find a necklace with a twisty gold chain and tiny sunburst pendant, gold with a small opal in the center. It’s delicate and absolutely perfect.
“Every time I hear The Beatles sing ‘Here Comes the Sun,’ I think of you. I can’t imagine my life without the sunshine you bring to it.”
“Oh, that’s so romantic.” I sigh with pure happiness. “I love it. Help me put it on?”
Wil stands up and walks around the table.
He gently lifts my hair and places it over my shoulder, then runs a finger across the back of my neck, light and tender.
I reach back with the chain, and he clasps it, then bends down to kiss the side of my neck that’s exposed.
When he sits back down, he scoots his chair closer, nuzzling me as I open the other gift, a white T-shirt with the green Hometown League logo.
I hold it up, wrinkling my brow, and look at him for an explanation.
“Want to go to a ball game?” he asks.
“When? Where?” We’ve been to several Minnesota Twins and St. Paul Saints games, not to mention summer Hometown League games. Tamsa and I are both buddies this season.
“Tonight. It’s the annual Twins game with the Hometown League. My grandparents and uncle will be there. What do you say?”
I bite my bottom lip. I’ve met most of his family, including Mimi and Bob, but it hasn’t worked out for me to meet Howie. I’m strangely nervous about meeting him—he’s so important to Wil and I really want him to like me—but I smile broadly.
“I say, take me out to the ball game.”
The game doesn’t start until seven, but there’s a catered picnic in a small plaza area outside one of the gates at five.
Because we make out on the cloud couch after I open my gifts and change into the Hometown League T-shirt (which ends up on the living room floor for a while), we arrive at the picnic as the caterers are packing everything away.
I walk through the crowd with Wil’s palm against the small of my back. He nods at a group of coaches and board members. Sam and Adriana are at the bar. Adriana calls out “Happy birthday!” across the picnic area, and Sam gives us a thumbs up.