Epilogue
FIVE YEARS LATER
THE GOLDEN GLOW of a perfect summer sunset settles over me. It’s warm out, the breeze off the Hudson a welcome reprieve from the oppressive humidity. The pier is bustling with people just like us.
Oliver leads me to the metal railing along the water.
I can already tell the tension has lifted from his shoulders, that easy, elegant grace back in his limbs.
To this day, I’m still floored by how handsome he looks in those black Wayfarer sunglasses of his.
They did it for me all those years ago, and they still do it for me now.
“Can I ask for your opinion on something?” he asks as he pulls his phone out of his pocket.
I smile at him. “Of course.”
I clamber onto the railing to sit, mindful not to flash the world in the dress I’m wearing. “Here, listen to this,” he says as he hands me a corded earbud.
“How can I convince you to join this century and switch to Bluetooth?” I ask as I pop it into my ear.
“You can’t.” He slides closer to me so we can share the pair.
I sigh in mock frustration. This is one of those funny things I’ve learned about Oliver in the five years we’ve been together.
In some ways, he’s surprisingly old-school; he prefers his corded headphones despite having a newer smartphone.
He resisted the pair of electronic toothbrushes I got for us, only relenting when I showed him an article on how much better they clean your teeth.
To this day, he’s never ordered anything off , not once.
He says he likes going to a store to pick out exactly what he wants.
But that’s my husband for you. Deeply loving, always thoughtful, and not without his quirks. I love him all the more for it.
He’s also talented, only getting better with age, as evidenced by the music pouring into my ear. I’ve never heard anything quite like this from him before. It’s all bare strings and stripped percussion. Haunting in that signature Oliver way, but distinctly contemporary.
“This is for that movie about the ghost, right?” I ask. “The family that thinks they’re haunted but it’s actually the trauma they never dealt with?”
He nods as he places a hand on my bare knee.
“It’s beautiful,” I say, and I mean it.
“Do you think it sounds too ghosty?” he asks as he takes the earbud from me.
“Not at all. If it were all violins, maybe, but you focus on the viola so much that it mostly just feels threatening.”
He smiles. “Good.”
This is how our days look now that we’ve been married for two years.
Long hours spent at the piano, in front of the computer, or in a studio, followed by walks along the Hudson River Park, hand in hand, while we talk about everything or nothing at all.
Today was my idea; it was obvious to me he needed to clear his head when I saw him hunched over the computer, lips pulled tight between his teeth.
I dragged him out of the West Village apartment we share to get some fresh air.
No one in the industry bats an eye at this.
They never did, not after our very public reunion, but I think that partially has to do with the fact that Lineage was a hit by all accounts.
To this day, I still get royalty checks from the first season’s soundtrack, which earned both Oliver and me our first Emmy nominations.
Our individual careers really took off after we co-won one for Lineage’s second season three years ago, and then again when we won for season three.
Chris already called to ask us about season four; for the first time in my life, I had to tell him I want to come back, but it’ll depend on schedules.
Debra Cain and I have worked together on four more projects since our first, and I just agreed to do her next TV show, plus my agent and I are in the middle of contract negotiations to join one of the big sci-fi franchises for their next film.
Oliver continues to do it all—TV, movies, even a video game. He did that last one because it’s something his dad has never done, but said later it was the hardest he’d ever worked for the least amount of money. He swears he’ll never do it again.
He helps me down from the railing and slips his hand in mine. “Did you pick your summer interns yet?”
“Not yet.” I blow out a breath. “I got two hundred applicants this year.”
The internship program I started with the help of Dr. Kendrick is in its third year.
For the first go-around, we started small, offering up one spot to fourth-year students at universities in New York.
The first one came from Juilliard—an obvious choice, considering it’s my alma mater and Dr. Kendrick has become a sort of mentor to me—and the second came from Columbia.
I expanded and added another slot in the second year.
That semester, one came from Juilliard, the other from the Ohio State University.
When word started to get around that my interns got hands-on, paid experience working in film and TV thanks to a nice endowment from Juilliard, I saw my application numbers rise.
Especially since all of my interns secured jobs in the field afterward—that’s the thing I’m most proud of, even more than the awards that sit on the bookshelf at home.
“That’s incredible,” Oliver says. “Let me know if I can help.”
“Don’t tempt me,” I mutter, but I know that if I asked, he would.
This is what we do; we help each other. When one of us is drowning, the other makes sure we come up for air. When one of us is stuck, the other helps talk or play it through. When one is exhausted, the other makes sure we eat and get some rest.
When we’re not working, we’re up in the Heights with my family.
Oliver even speaks enough conversational Spanish now that he can hold his own with my dad when they have drinks—just the two of them, usually once every couple of months.
We make it down to Florida to stay with Bea and her family at least once a year.
Whenever Oliver’s parents blow through town, I follow Oliver’s lead on whether he wants to see them.
Most of all, we’re happy. Because I get to wake up every day and see the man I love. Because he knows I have his back. That I’d choose him over and over again, just like he would choose me.
Because he is my person, and I am his—it’ll always be us, whether we’re curled up in the bed together or rushing out the door to spend our days apart. We got a second chance with each other. This time, we’re never letting go.