Epilogue
Two weeks later
It was an early summer Sunday, the weather warm enough where I didn’t need a coat but cool enough where I wouldn’t immediately be drowning in sweat upon stepping outside.
I’d gone to the spa with Vienna the day before and had a fresh, pearly pink coat of polish on my nails.
Gabe had hinted that I should wear something cute on our usual walk in the park.
In other words: It was happening, people.
Nerves danced in my stomach as we laced up our shoes (I went with my glittery sneakers, in case the photographer wanted a full-body shot). “You ready? You got everything?” I asked.
Gabe gave me a bemused smile from the floor, where he was lacing up his own sneakers. Running shoes. Okay. We could always photoshop them out. “I think so?”
To be absolutely fair in the telling: I’d decided it was happening three times already. Once when it had just finished pouring and a misty rainbow stretched high overhead; twice when Gabe suggested we take a walk by Belvedere Castle, which we never did.
But today. My hopes rose as I saw he wasn’t wearing the smelly running shorts he sometimes did but real jeans with deep pockets, where he could easily be storing a ring box.
Even one big enough to house the four-carat diamond ring I’d told him was an heirloom from my grandma but was actually sourced by moi in top secret from the family jeweler (Gabe might have too much pride to admit it, but he knew perfectly well that Pomona Afton couldn’t walk around in the small ring he’d be able to buy me himself). “Ready?”
I tossed my hair, hoping it looked as bouncy on the outside as it did in my head. “So ready.”
My excitement climbed as he steered us toward Belvedere Castle again.
Third time was the charm, right? Together, we climbed up the steep stone steps to the very top of the building, where only a couple of people hung out on the platform.
Gabe walked me to the edge, where Central Park sprawled around us green and golden and bright: the Shakespeare Garden, where my friends and I would study in high school to feel smarter; the ancient Egyptian obelisk stabbing the sky beside the great glass walls of the Met; Turtle Pond and its adorable shelled inhabitants I’d named in middle school.
Turtles lived a long time, didn’t they? Hopefully Shelldon and Mishell were still around.
And, of course, on the other side stretched the Ramble, its dense and thorny tangles hiding where I’d made Kevin confess. I didn’t face that way, though. I chose to look the other way, at the good things.
“Pom,” Gabe said. I squinted at the pair of people regarding the landscape several feet away from us. They were the perfect distance away for a photo. One held a fancy digital camera by his side, the other a phone. And their angle? Ideal in lighting terms for where we were standing.
“Yes?” I turned to Gabe to find him down on one knee.
Oh.
Okay.
This was actually happening.
My face split into such a wide smile, the oh my God oh my God oh my God on repeat in my head drowning out the first part of his speech. Which was fine; the videographer was absolutely catching it right now and I’d be able to watch it later.
I knew all the important parts, anyway.
“Pomona Abigail Afton,” Gabe said. “At first, I never thought we’d even like each other.
Then we became friends, and I was sure you’d never think of me the way I thought of you.
But then you did. And it’s been the greatest joy and privilege of my life, to be able to share it with you.
” He paused. Tears were sparkling in my eyes, hopefully in a way that said old-school movie star.
“I want to share the rest of it with you too. Pom, will you marry me?”
I clapped a perfectly manicured hand to my mouth. “Yes. Yes. A hundred times, yes.”
He stood and slid the ring onto my finger. I turned it this way and that, dazzled by the way the sun shone through it. And then, of course, he kissed me. The photographer snapped away, capturing every angle.
When we broke apart, I was out of breath, elated, filled with joy like a balloon close to popping. It took me a moment to realize that we were surrounded by the sound of… people clapping?
“Look,” Gabe said, gesturing down below.
I peered over the railing (careful not to get too close to the edge).
It was amazing how I could fit even more joy inside me, because below us cheered so many of the people who mattered.
Andrea and Caleb and his family, including my soon-to-be nephews.
Nicholas and Jessica, who—shoot, was wearing Grandma’s actual heirloom diamond ring.
Hopefully that wouldn’t come up in conversation.
And there were our friends. Many of them, from all facets of our life.
Gabe’s high school and college and grad school buddies.
Vienna and Persimmon and others from that strata of society.
Millicent and Coriander and more of my party friends.
My heart swelled, seeing them all here together. It felt like it had been made whole.
I squeezed Gabe’s hand. “Our wedding is going to be epic.”
“Absolutely,” Gabe said. “Wait, how epic?”
My head tilted, already full of ideas. I was definitely getting those designer peacocks this time, come hell or high water.
And a private resort on the water. Not on a private island, because I wanted at least a couple of paparazzi to be able to sneak in.
But I also kind of wanted to be on top of a really tall building.
Was it possible to do both at once? Was it too much to—
A scream. I jerked back to the present just in time to see the photographer lurch back from the edge, as if he’d been about to fall. “Oh my God,” I said. “Are you okay?”
He flashed a dirty look over his shoulder at the videographer, who was stubbornly not looking back at him. “Your angle isn’t more important than my life, asshole.”
I furrowed my brow. I was an expert at photo angles by this point in my life. And that spot where the videographer had almost bumped him off? It wasn’t even close to the ideal angle to capture this—
No. Purposely, I turned away. Even if I was the greatest investigator of murder this city had ever known, this was not the time to focus on it. So I nestled into Gabe’s side, beaming down at the cheering crowd of loved ones below, and prepared to celebrate us.