Epilogue
Sidney
“Are they ever going to be over this?” I ask, reading the headline on the magazine as we drive toward the chapel where Thea is getting married today.
Our city’s most eligible bachelor now engaged to small business owner, Sidney Adams.
Noah chuckles, “Apparently we’re having a slow news day.”
“You’re telling me,” I dump the magazine into the back of the car, looking forward to the van we hired ahead with all the supplies to get set up.
The hotel where the reception is being held is already completely decked out, with the arrangements in place ready for guests when they arrive.
We have four hours to get the arch and aisle done and also deliver the bouquets to the bridesmaids and the bride herself.
I really thought it was going to be called off.
I’ve seen Thea a few times over the past couple of months, both for this wedding and as friends, and each time, the way she looks at Tripp has grown more heated. The tension between them could be cut with a knife. That man is down bad for her, and anyone with eyes can see it.
It makes me a little sad for my new friend.
Jared, her fiancé, leaves a lot to be desired.
I’ve only met him once, but that was enough to tell me whatever they have between them is strictly business.
Despite the fact that we’ve only recently become close as friends, Thea deserves love and happiness.
Showbiz. That’s what she told me the one time I brought it up. We’ve got to do what we’ve got to do to keep the vultures happy.
She’d dropped the conversation there, and I’d respected her need to bury it, but the pain of it is written all over her face.
We follow the van beneath the wrought-iron arch that leads to the parking lot behind the chapel, where we get out and unload, moving the flowers and other bits inside. The frame for the arch was delivered yesterday since I outsourced it, so we’re ready to go the moment we have everything unpacked.
For the next four hours, we decorate. Flowers at the end of each row, petals on the long white carpet leading to the altar, and the arch that’s sitting right behind it.
Thea is going to love it. The colors and vibrancy look incredible against the softer, more neutral tones of the feathers and grass; little silk bows popped in between.
When I’m happy with it, I go in search of Thea, who’s getting ready in the boutique room they have here at the chapel for brides.
Knocking once on her door, I wait for her voice to call me and then step inside, finding her sitting in front of a large vanity mirror with mascara tracks down her cheeks.
She’s completely alone, not a single bridesmaid in here with her.
“Thea?” I rush over, checking her to make sure she isn’t hurt before I meet her eyes.
“I don’t want to do this, Sidney.” She speaks quietly, her voice breaking. “I really don’t.”
My eyes widen. “What do you want to do?”
“I want to leave.”
“Then we leave.” I don’t hesitate. If she needs to be out of here, then I’m getting her out.
“How?” She swats at her tears.
“Where’s Tripp?” I ask.
Another sob rattles through her. “He told me he would get me out of here, I just needed to ask him.”
“Okay?” I coax her to continue.
“I told him I didn’t need him. That this is what I wanted and that he needed to leave. So he did.”
“Shit,” I hiss, pulling out my cell and bringing up Noah’s contact. Find Tripp. That’s all I send to him knowing he’ll do exactly what I ask.
“There’s so many people coming,” Thea goes on, “The press are going to be here! What is the label going to say? If I leave, I could be ruined.”
“Thea,” I say her name sternly, forcing her attention back to me, “Stop thinking about the label and your manager and the press for a minute. If you go through with this, will you be happy? Will you live the rest of your life with no regrets and be fulfilled?”
“No.” she answers immediately.
“Even if you kept what you have now?”
She nods, “What’s the point of singing about love if I don’t even have that? I don’t love Jared, in fact, I fucking hate him with every part of me.”
“Then you can’t get married today, Thea. The rest is just noise, okay? We'll deal with that later.”
We both startle when the door bursts open and Tripp comes storming into the room, eyes immediately finding Thea. Noah’s right behind him, his eyes only for me.
“Let’s go,” he opens one arm for her, and whatever they have between them, whatever it is that had him charging in here, it makes her move. She goes to him without hesitation, and he pulls her close, tucking her against his chest.
“Are people here already?” Thea asks, but it’s Noah who answers.
“Yes, and the press.”
“I don’t want them to see me,” she whispers.
“The van,” I blurt. “It’s still out back.”
“Okay?” Tripp frowns.
“We pull it right up, bundle you both in the back and get out of here. No one will be watching the service entrance.”
“What do we tell people?” Thea goes on.
“Don’t you worry about that, my little pickle,” Betty shows up out of nowhere with a flourish, throwing the end of her bright pink scarf over her shoulder. “I’ll handle it.”
“We should go now,” Tripp says, “before anyone comes looking.”
I agree, and we form a little circle around Thea, rushing down the narrow halls of the chapel.
“I’ll pull the van up.” Noah says, capturing the driver’s attention.
He passes over a wad of cash, and the guy miraculously walks away, no questions asked, while Noah hops into the driver’s seat and backs it up.
I open the doors, and the two of them don’t waste a second to get inside, and then I lock them in and hop upfront with Noah.
He looks over to me, a grin on his face, “Well, it won’t be a slow news day now.”
I shake my head and laugh, “Just drive.”
It’s a little after six when we finally make it home, the neighborhood quiet around us. The trees have all lost their leaves now, and the flowers that were in the meadow two months ago have all disappeared, but this place is still as beautiful as it was when Noah first showed it to me.
It’s now ours.
We’ve mounted pictures on the wall in every room and hallway; bouquets of flowers sit on every surface in every room, and our clothes are in the closet in the bedroom. There’s a mix of us both here, from the stack of books on the table to the blankets thrown over the couch.
It’s our home.
Noah dumps the keys in the bowl by the door and strolls toward me, leaning down to press a soft kiss to the corner of my mouth. “Let me pour you a glass of wine.”
Internally, I cringe.
“No, I’m okay. Thank you.” I brush him off, “What should we have for dinner?”
“You’re hiding something.” He calls me out immediately. That’s the trouble when someone knows you, right down to your bones. I can’t lie.
“What?” My voice is high-pitched and nervous. “No, of course I’m not.”
His eyes narrow, “Sidney.”
“Mm?” I fiddle with a loose thread on the blanket, pretending to be indifferent, but inside I am panicking.
I wanted to wait to tell him, just until the doctors confirmed it for me.
I only took the test this morning, and since it’s Saturday, I haven’t been able to get an appointment with my doctor’s office.
The only reason Noah doesn’t know it yet is because he was out getting us breakfast when I peed on that stick. If he had been here, there was no way I’d have been able to hide it. Not when I sobbed like a lunatic on the bathroom floor with that positive test in my hand. Happy tears, of course.
I’d managed to pull myself together by the time he returned, a whole plan coming together in my head on how I would surprise him with the news.
I was going to buy him a cute present that had a romper in it that said, Baby Calahan Loading or something!
“What is it?” He presses, coming closer.
“Nothing.” I lie.
He searches my face intently, “You’re pregnant.”
He says it so abruptly that my head snaps back.
“Wait, how did you know?” I gasp.
“Are you really?” He asks.
Nodding my head, my hand slides to my stomach, still flat, but there’s a baby there. A baby I have wanted for the longest time.
“You’re really pregnant, Sid?” His eyes go glazed, bouncing between mine.
“Yeah, Noah. I’m pregnant.”
I startle when he suddenly grabs me, hauling me to him so his mouth can slam against mine. “I’m going to be a dad.” He whispers.
Noah
9 months later.
I stare down at the little face poking out from beneath the blanket she’s swaddled in, the shock of dark hair, like her mother’s, a striking contrast to the pale-yellow fabric that’s wrapped around her.
She’s sleeping right now, her perfect little face all scrunched up and rosy after screaming so loud; I have no doubt half the hospital heard about her arrival.
Sidney is resting too, asleep in the hospital bed after almost seventeen hours of labor.
We did it. We made the most perfect little human in existence.
Iris Sidney Calahan.
We chose the name for her months ago, but right up until now, I couldn’t see it. Now that I look at my daughter, I see nothing else fitting her. It’s perfect. She’s perfect. And so is my wife.
Walking slowly back to the chair beside the bed, I lower gently, careful not to disturb either my sleeping wife or baby, and I just take a minute to appreciate how far we have come.
From friends to lovers.
To husband and wife.
Mother and father.
Back when I was a kid, I dreamed of this moment with her, but it seemed out of reach. I always believed we were destined to only ever be best friends, but now look at us.
Everything I am, and everything I have, is theirs.
They have my heart. My soul.
They have my future, too.
We made it.