EPILOGUE
“To your last semester at UMS!” Tara raises her glass, the fairy lights strung across the guy’s backyard. I imagine this was her and Alex’s doing, I can’t quite picture Freddie or Alfie or any of the guys putting up pretty fairy lights.
“And to never having to take another final again, aaafter this year,” Ethan adds, earning a laugh from everyone gathered around the makeshift fire pit.
I'm tucked against Troy's side on one of the mismatched outdoor couches they've collected over the years. His arm is draped casually around my shoulders, thumb tracing lazy circles against my sleeve.
The Living Classroom project is on its way to being built now.
Construction is set to start right after spring break, and watching our design come to life is going to be surreal.
Sometimes, I still catch myself staring at the foundation, the emerging walls, hardly believing that something I imagined is becoming real.
“Speak for yourself,” Alex says, making a face at Ethan. “Some of us have another year, then we might be going to grad school.”
Freddie pulls her closer on their shared chair. “We'll remind you of this moment when you're drowning in research papers in a couple years.”
“I can't believe it's almost over,” Lacey says from her perch on the arm of the couch.
After the FIDIC announcement, we all hung out and she got to know everyone.
“Remember freshman year, Del? When we didn't know anyone and spent the whole first week eating ramen in our dorm because we were too scared to go to the dining hall?”
I laugh, remembering those early days. “You were terrified of the seniors.”
“They were intimidating!” she protests. “All cool and confident and like they belonged here.”
“And now that's us,” Trixie says, poking at the fire with a stick. “God help the freshmen.”
Jonathan, who's been quietly talking with Alfie about some math theory I couldn't follow, looks up. “I still don't feel like I know what I'm doing half the time.”
“That's the secret,” Troy says, squeezing my shoulder. “None of us do. We're just better at faking it now.”
The conversation flows easily, jumping from memories of freshman disasters to plans for after graduation. I hear the full story of how Alfie and Tara got stuck doing community service last summer.
Troy and I have been talking about the future too—whether we'll end up in the same city, how to make it work if we don't. Nothing's certain yet, but the conversations don't scare me like they once would have.
“I'm getting another drink,” Ethan announces, pushing himself up from his chair. “Anyone need anything?”
Lacey stands too. “I'll help. My hands are freezing anyway.”
They head toward the house together, and I don't miss the way Ethan casually offers Lacey his jacket, or how she smiles up at him as she slips it on.
“That's new,” I murmur to Troy.
He follows my gaze and grins. “Who knows with him. He deserves somebody good though. She seems good.”
“She is good.” I turn to look at him. “She’s the greatest. Why didn’t you tell me that he likes her? Maybe we could set them up?”
He shrugs, looking slightly guilty. “I don’t know if he does, but they look like they’re getting on pretty well. But, I don’t know if he’s ready for it, he got burned pretty bad by Paige.”
I wince remembering how she treated him. “Ethan deserves someone who makes him happy.” I say softly.
“So do you,” Troy says, his voice serious beneath the playfulness.
I look up at him, at the face I've somehow memorized without trying. “I have that.”
His smile is slow, private. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He presses a kiss to my temple, lingering there. “Good.”
The back door swings open, and Lacey emerges with a tray of what looks like hot chocolate. Ethan follows with a plate of s'mores ingredients, looking more relaxed than I've ever seen him.
“Dessert!” Lacey announces, setting the tray on the rickety outdoor table. “Because we're adults and can have chocolate for dinner if we want.”
“The ultimate freedom,” Trixie agrees, already reaching for a mug.
As everyone gravitates toward the treats, I stay put for a moment, taking in the scene. My friends—old and new—laughing together in the golden light of the fire. Troy beside me, solid and warm.
Tara catches my eye again and lifts her mug in a small, private toast. I nod, understanding passing between us. She's seen the change in her brother, just as I've felt the change in myself.
“Coming?” Troy asks, standing and offering me his hand.
“In a minute,” I say. “Just... taking it all in.”
He nods, understanding without needing more explanation. That's one of the things I love about him—he gives me space to process, to feel, without pushing.
As the group clusters around the s'mores station, I hear Freddie ask, “So who's coming to the Living Classroom ribbon-cutting next month?”
“We all are, obviously,” Tara says. “It's going to be epic.”
“Educational,” Troy corrects with a grin, catching my eye. “The word is educational.”
Lacey, now settled on the arm of Ethan's chair, says, “It's weird to think we won't all be here next year. Like, same city maybe, but not... this. We met each other too late.” She pouts.
Troy returns to my side, passing me a mug of hot chocolate topped with a slightly ridiculous amount of whipped cream. “Just how you like it,” he says. “Approximately seventy percent sugar.”
“Perfect,” I murmur, taking a sip.
Because it is. Not because everything's solved or certain—it isn't. Not because I've suddenly become someone who never worries or doubts—I haven't.
But because I'm ok. Letting myself feel it all—the bittersweet nostalgia, the uncertainty of the future, the warmth of right now.
As Troy's hand finds mine in the gathering darkness, his fingers intertwining with mine like they belong there, I realize…this is what it feels like to build something that lasts.