Epilogue Simone
EPILOGUE
Simone
O ur launch party is held at New Beacon Books with Clyde at the helm.
I’ve been pulled into a conversation on the other side of the room with a couple of fellow industry people when I need to use the toilet.
I excuse myself and walk past Ada placing tarot cards in front of Nova, who rubs her hands together and says, “Gimme something good!” while my mother clutches the cross pendant around her neck and scowls at the cards, saying, “Is this not witchcraft? I hope you are not summoning the dead.”
I pass my father saying, “We are all writers in the family. Me more academically so. I published a lot of papers when I was in school, but Simone is our first novelist. Have you got your friends their copies? Not yet? Unacceptable. The register is only over there, and copies are everywhere for you to buy. Three each, yes?”
Jenni is taking her turn holding toddler Isaiah, sitting at a table with Lin, Melissa, and Felix.
I wave as I pass them and overhear Tara saying, “Yes, it was my idea they cowrite. I know it’s not too common in the genre, but I saw the potential.
Yes, the hits do keep coming. The Midas touch? HA! Hardly. Stop, you’re too much!”
I pass Clyde and he throws me a thumbs-up.
I smile back at him because, if not for his patience and understanding, I would never have returned to his bookshop, and if not for my routine with Clyde on Sunday mornings, I would not have run into Remy the second time.
It makes me wonder: What might I do today that will be responsible for something extraordinary next year?
Before I can reach the bathroom, someone I wasn’t expecting to see enters the bookshop. Cillian. He’s cut his hair shorter, which suits him, and he wears a dark jumper with jeans, a beautiful bouquet of flowers keeping his hands full.
We stare at one another for a while before he says, “Hello, Simone,” and his gaze softens. “These are for you.” He hands me the giant pink-and-purple bouquet.
“Cillian,” I say, surprised. “What are you doing here?”
“Remy invited me.”
I turn to see Remy behind the makeshift bar, laughing and showing off the remedial cocktail tricks she’d learned in Mexico City.
She catches my eye and beams before she notices Cillian.
Her eyes widen and she ducks behind the bar.
Unfortunately, her three months away failed to teach her the subtle art of grace, and in her attempt to hide, she takes two tumblers, three flutes, and a bottle of wine down with her.
We hear the sound of smashing glass before a loud “Fuck!”
“Remington, your language!”
“Sorry, Ma!” Remy apologizes… to my mother.
I turn back to Cillian, having to cradle the flowers just to see him. “Remy invited you? How did you two even meet?”
“Via Instagram,” he answers, rubbing the back of his neck.
It may be the first time I’ve seen him even vaguely nervous.
“When the news of your book dropped, I saw you’d written it with Remy,” he explains.
“I sent her a DM, just to check how you were.” He takes a breath.
“I want you to know, I threatened to quit Linwood unless they hired you back, but they said you didn’t want your job back?
They said you told them to stick it where the sun doesn’t shine? ”
I smile. “Actually, Remy said that.”
“Ah, of course. Well, you not wanting to return makes sense.” He gestures around the room. “You’ve clearly been busy this past year. Too busy to respond to my messages as well, I think?”
“In my defense I had to change my number,” I confess. “I was getting a barrage of nasty messages every day. Lin—a friend of mine—her sister found that they were coming from Lara and her friends.”
Cillian visibly winces.
“You were unaware?” I ask.
“Of course!” Cillian sighs. “She must have taken your number from my phone that day. I’m so sorry. We’ve since signed divorce papers.”
“Oh.” Oh . The flowers suddenly weigh with significance. I don’t know how to explain my feelings about Cillian’s news. I offer something tried and tested. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
Cillian folds his arms. “Are you?”
Thrown, I focus on the flowers. “Regardless, it’s the polite thing to say.” I suddenly reach my hand out to grasp his arm. “Tyler. I’m sure it’s unprofessional to ask but… how is he doing? He’s moved on from Miss Tamsin’s class, so I don’t receive any more updates.”
“Don’t worry, he’s doing well,” Cillian soothes. “I’m keeping an eye on him.”
I sigh with relief. “Thank you.”
“Of course.”
I had never found his eye contact to be so unnerving before. Maybe because now it feels like I’m no longer the one in charge. “What?” I ask him.
“Are you upset that I’m here?”
I consider what Cillian is really asking me.
Am I glad he’s here? I’d like longer to assess how I’m feeling, but Cillian is standing only inches away, waiting for an answer.
I try to expedite my thought process. I’m not unhappy he’s here…
but what does that mean? Maybe it doesn’t need to mean anything right now.
It isn’t lost on me that the last time I decided to take a leap of faith was when I accepted Tara’s offer.
Because I said yes to something risky, something I wasn’t entirely convinced I was ready for at the time, I’m now a published coauthor alongside my best friend.
Maybe there are pros to just seeing what happens.
“I’m not upset you’re here,” I eventually reply. Then, I can’t help myself. “However, I don’t think I can involve myself with a freshly divorced man.”
Amused, Cillian asks, “But a married one was fine?”
“Openly married,” I correct.
“You didn’t know that when we met.”
“It wasn’t my job to know.”
Cillian sighs again. “Do you think we could argue about this later?”
I nod and he smiles. “Congratulations, Simone.” I hear only warmth in his voice.
I thought that was something only Remy could pull off sincerely.
“I can’t wait to read it,” he adds, nodding at the stack of books next to us.
“Preordered my copy, of course. I’ve heard so much about it already… I have to ask. Am I in it?”
I bite the inside of my cheek. “Let’s argue about it later.”
When I finally catch Remy on her own, she holds her hands up in surrender immediately. “Okay, yes, I invited him! Don’t hate me!”
“Calm down,” I tell her. “This isn’t an interrogation. That will come tomorrow. As for now, I’m just curious to know why.”
Remy shrugs and rests her back against the wall.
“Firstly, I didn’t think he’d actually come, so kudos to him.
Secondly, I don’t know… the way you wrote about him?
That scene in the Soho hotel room where he held you all night?
Even his wife who was spying on you in the lobby could see there was something between the two of you.
That’s why she snitched to the school; she was clearly feeling threatened.
I guess I thought there might be something real there. And if not, well, no harm done, right?”
I narrow my eyes at her. “Do you remember when you used to be afraid of how I’d react to something like this?”
Remy only smiles widely in response. “I know! Funny how things change, huh?” Her phone rings. “Oh, Cassandra’s outside. I’ll be right back!”
“Convenient escape,” I call after her.
When Remy returns, she’s accompanied by two very important persons.
Cassandra, a Black woman in her late thirties, is wonderful: warm, friendly, and always pleased to see you.
Remy’s mother claims Cassandra’s aura is sunshine gold, and somehow, motherhood has only brightened her hue.
She wears oversized jeans, a navy silk blouse, and loafers with her hair cropped short.
When I’d first complimented her new hairstyle length a few weeks ago, she’d said, “She’s started to grab and hold on, so I thought, why not?
I’ve always wanted to try the Big Chop!”
Cassandra’s smile was the first thing Remy and I saw when she opened the door to her home in Notting Hill. A casual meeting before the official adoption interview.
Cassandra has wanted children since she could remember, but was told it would be biologically impossible for her.
Rather than use a surrogate and donor eggs, she wanted to adopt.
She didn’t have a partner and so decided to go solo, but she was constantly getting pushed down the adoption list because she was single.
Then Remy came along.
After leaving Cassandra’s home, Remy had turned to me and said one thing: “She reminds me of Melissa.”
And I knew that was that.
Remy discussed her decision with Ishir, who was relieved, of course, and the process began.
Since that day, Remy did not waver once, because apart from Cassandra’s genuine desire, bubbly personality, and financial stability, what set her apart was that she had no intention of hiding the fact that her child was adopted and was happy to have Remy be as involved as she felt she could.
I greet Cassandra first before looking down at the baby in her arms. Amelia, at six months old, stares up at me. Then she sneezes and laughs, so delighted by the ordinary.
Like mother, like daughter.
“May I?” I ask Cassandra, holding my arms out.
“Of course!” Cassandra gently deposits Amelia into my arms and the weight is welcome. “I’ve been desperate for the toilet.”
With her mother gone, Amelia immediately jerks backward to stare up at me. I look into her eyes, so dark and so deep you’ll believe you’re falling, and I’m further convinced they have only two settings: squeezed to laugh or cry, or wild and bright with curiosity. Today I’m blessed with the latter.
She has Remy’s gaze, as if when looking at a person, she’s skipping your features in order to search for something deeper—as if every person she looks upon undoubtably has something non–surface level to offer.
I dip my neck to smell the curly top of her head, and when she finally grows tired of staring, Amelia blinks slowly and then flops her head with wild abandon onto my chest. I hold her tighter, and while my ovaries do not burst or even stir, my heart certainly expands, and it does so because she is of Remy, and I love her deeply.
Whenever I hold Amelia, I can’t help but think of the path that led me here, with my family all in one room, new friends, and unimaginable career prospects: the day I met Remy.
It had been such an ordinary day. I had followed my routine perfectly; nothing was out of place, nothing that would hint at what was to come…
but then again, that was Remy: special enough to disrupt the ordinary without realizing.
“One day,” I whisper to Amelia, “I’ll tell you all about how I met your mother.”
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]; [email protected]
Subject: S&R
Congratulations! You’ve both done it. S&R is officially a bestseller! Numbers coming soon.
Tara x
P.S. I miss S and R already. Possible sequel?