Epilogue
Sabrina
“Am I hungover?” Harper barked out a laugh.
I shot her a look. “Of course not. You’re only seventeen.”
“I am,” Nina said, putting her head on the table in the middle of the TAP war room.
Meg, who’d driven up for the weekend, rolled her shoulders. “I think it was the flash mob that took me out.”
“No,” my mom rasped. “It was the karaoke. Still hurts to talk.”
“In fairness, your version of ‘You Shook Me All Night Long’ was iconic,” Nina drawled.
My mom gave her a weak smile.
“People,” I said, glaring over my clipboard, “we have work to do.”
“Says the ninety-three-week pregnant woman,” Harper huffed. “How did you survive the weekend?”
“What can I say? I’m motivated,” I said with a smile. Also I was nesting like a motherfucker, but I wasn’t ready to admit that.
Gabe raised an eyebrow at me, but I ignored him.
Placing my hand on my absolutely enormous belly, I scolded them. “We are less than six months from the Inaugural Maplewood Games, and did I mention we’ve got a food festival in two weeks? Tourism dollars don’t grow on trees, people.”
Everyone stared at me.
“So the weekend was a little busy,” I said casually. Pausing as a cramp ripped through my abdomen.
Braxton Hicks. They’d been terrible for the past hour or so.
My mom slapped her hand on the table. “The three-day Marigold Shaw Memorial Extravaganza was a hell of a lot more than ‘a little busy.’”
“Yes,” Meg added. “Saying goodbye to our queen took a lot out of us.”
Marigold had passed one week ago, at home and in comfort. She’d had, in her words, “a marvelous time” and had said her goodbyes. I was still struggling with the loss of my friend, a woman I’d learned so much from.
Naturally, she had planned her own funeral.
Though funeral wasn’t the right word to describe the event.
An experience, maybe? A multi-day production that was outlined precisely in a binder called Strategic Plan: Party Like a Rockstar that she had walked us through to make sure we didn’t “fuck it up.”
Her wishes were honored, so over the weekend, we’d participated in a town-wide scavenger hunt, a pie-eating competition, karaoke, and a bonfire where every attendant had to tell an embarrassing story.
The entire event was open bar, and she was adamant that no black clothing was allowed.
Finding leopard-print maternity wear on short notice had proven tricky, but I’d made it happen for Marigold.
Harper’s video tribute and the ensuing flash mob that was live streamed caused quite a stir, and the entire town had partied into the night. This morning we had all been summoned for one last goodbye at the cemetery followed by the reading of Marigold’s will. I was still reeling.
Not only did Marigold own a few pieces of valuable real estate, but she’d amassed a small fortune in her life.
I looked down at the journal she’d left me, tears blurring my vision. The first page contained a letter that I couldn’t bring myself to read. My heart clenched and my hands shook every time I thought about her last words to me.
Speaking of clenching, my back ached as my muscles tensed. I gripped the chair in front of me while the people around the table continued to discuss the events of the weekend.
“It was so generous of her to contribute funding toward the Games,” Meg said.
“Not to mention the scholarship for Harper,” Nina added.
Harper frowned. “It’s designated as a trust fund for ‘mischief and bail,’” she said. “Not sure that means college tuition.”
“You’re assuming they’re mutually exclusive.” Meg laughed.
Nina snorted.
“While the donation is amazing,” Gabe said, “I’m not sure about her conditions. We can’t legally require sleeveless participation.”
“Sure we can,” Nina said. “I think her decree that all participants shall chop wood sleeveless was pretty reasonable.”
“Shirtless would be taking it too far,” Meg added. “This is just good branding.”
“I can work with it,” Harper added, typing furiously.
“What about the maple syrup?” Mom asked.
“Again, dousing the winner in maple syrup Gatorade-style is brilliant,” Harper said. “We can do a tie-in with the farm that supplies it. Maybe as prizes.”
“We can make a note to pitch it to sponsors too,” Nina said. “What about a T-shirt with a graphic of dripping syrup on the front and I survived the Maplewood Games?”
“The merch meeting isn’t till next month,” Meg reminded her.
I winced, feeling woozy again. Maybe I needed more water.
Despite the nausea, I was filled with pride. The Games were happening. The town was thriving. And TAP was leading the way.
And then it hit me. Marigold had already done it. She’d saved the town. She’d used her final months and her legacy to ensure Maplewood’s success and prosperity for future generations. And she’d trusted us to finish the job for her.
The conversation went even farther off the rails as the team debated merch, possible hashtags, and whether we could require competitors to chug shots of maple syrup before events. I needed to get this meeting back on track.
“Vendor permit applications are due next week,” I interjected.
The room went quiet, and all attention snapped to me. Rather than interest, they looked at me in concern.
Gabe jumped to his feet. “Sit down,” he said, pulling out a chair.
“I’m fine.”
“Um. Is it just me or was that a contraction?” Harper asked.
Another wave of pain stole my breath, but when it passed, I lifted my chin. “It’s nothing. Mom, where are we on the pending insurance applications?”
Another wave of pain shot through me, this one far stronger, and it didn’t fade in a matter of seconds like the last one.
“I downloaded an app for this,” Harper shouted. “We’ve got to time them.”
“Put the phone away,” I growled.
“But we need to collect data,” she argued.
I ignored her, lacing my fingers over my belly. “And why does insurance cost more than fireworks—Oh shit.” A torturous rolling sensation started in my spine and flowed through my entire body, making my knees buckle.
Gabe pulled me into his arms, his blue eyes wild. “Shit. Okay. No one panic.”
“You’re the one panicking,” Nina replied.
“No.” He ran one hand through his hair while he continued to hold me up. “You are.”
“Yes.” My mom jumped up from the table and pumped her fist. “It’s grandbaby time.”
“Everyone stay calm,” Gabe ordered.
“We’ve got a plan, people,” Harper shouted. “There’s a reason we train for these things. Let’s proceed to phase one—contractions more than three minutes apart.”
“There are phases?” I asked.
“Seven.”
My heart stuttered. “Seven?”
“Technically eight if we activate emergency contingencies,” she chirped.
“A plan?” I turned to Gabe.
“She made a PowerPoint.” he whispered. “Everyone’s… invested.”
“Invested? How?”
Nina cleared her throat. “We’ve got a Google drive. With color-coded folders and assignments.”
“And a text chain,” Meg added.
“This baby is a community project at this point,” my mom said, patting my shoulder. “It’s better to just to go with it.”
All around, the team was packing up. My mom collected my purse while Harper barked out orders and Nina held my water bottle to my mouth.
Gabe, on the other hand, hadn’t moved, and he looked like he was on the verge of an emotional breakdown.
“Time to go to the hospital.” Meg ducked under the table and reappeared with an armload of energy drinks. We were still well stocked, even months after Harper’s online shopping spree.
“Who’s driving?” my mom asked.
“Let’s take my minivan,” Meg suggested. “Tons of space.”
Like bobbleheads, they all agreed, continuing on with their tasks.
“Shotgun,” Harper called.
“No,” the rest of the group replied simultaneously.
“I’m timing the contractions,” she argued.
Without acknowledging her, the crowd migrated toward the door. Nina held it open, and my mom and Harper and Meg filed out. I waddled that way with Gabe supporting me.
“I’m the one having a baby,” I said.
“And I’ve got the bag in the car,” Gabe said, his voice shaking. “Or I think I do?” I could see the pure panic in his eyes.
“The car seat?” I gripped his arm as I rode out another contraction. I’d planned to go to the fire station to have them install it for us, but I had been too busy. I’d been driving around with the damn thing in my trunk.
“I’ll text Jasper. He’ll install it at the hospital,” he said. “We’re ready.”
“We are?”
He bent down and kissed my forehead. “Yes. We’re so ready.”
In the doorway, I looked around the room, noting the whiteboards, the coffee cups, and the office supplies.
Then I surveyed the amazing people who were hustling down the hall.
Months ago, we’d been strangers connected by a common goal.
Now this was a family. A loud, opinionated, and occasionally felonious family.
Exactly the kind Marigold would have wanted.
After seventeen hours of labor, Corinne Marigold Monroe-Harding joined us at 3:08 a.m. She showed up to the party with a full head of dark hair and a solid I don’t give a fuck attitude.
Weighing seven pounds and eleven ounces, she immediately informed everyone within earshot how displeased she was with her change in accommodations.
She was welcomed by the crowd of folks who had gathered in the hospital waiting room to celebrate her birth before I got cranky and sent them all home. Gabe and Mom were by my side every minute, coaching me, letting me rage, and feeding me ice chips.
Giving birth was unlike any challenge I’d ever encountered.
I’d negotiated billion-dollar mergers, and I’d buried scandals.
I’d managed to get through a Russian military checkpoint with only a tube of lipstick and my God-given charm, but none of it had prepared me to bring a human being into this world.
Trust me, I tried strategy, research, and messaging, but nothing could change the complete chaos that was labor and delivery. At one point, I threatened to sue the hospital. At another, I threatened to murder Gabe. The nurses informed me that these were both very common reactions.
Thank God for my mom, who rallied my spirits around hour fourteen, telling me stories about my own birth.
Some of the details blurred together—the contractions, the exhaustion, the weird sensation of pushing, gripping Gabe’s hand so tightly I may have fractured his fingers.
The nurses good-naturedly laughing off my attempts to negotiate for a shorter labor.
But then there was total clarity. The moment they placed Corinne on my chest, everything disappeared. The pain, the fear, and all of the world around us vanished.
She blinked up at me with her curious eyes and furrowed brow, and suddenly it all made sense. My life had been devoted to chasing the next milestone. A crisis, a puzzle, or a problem to solve.
But in that moment, my world shifted.
Gabe sobbed, taking endless photos with his phone, kissing my forehead and touching her tiny hand.
“Hello, Corinne,” he said softly.
“She doesn’t look impressed,” I replied with a smirk.
He ignored me. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
Apparently, after a person gives birth, they’re expected to just take the baby home and keep it alive all on their own. Rude.
We got three days of bliss in the hospital. Just the three of us, with the occasional visit from my mom and the wonderful nurses who helped me get her to latch, taught Gabe to swaddle, and provided me with truly horrifying adult diapers.
Half the town was at our house when we arrived.
With freezer meals, cases of diapers, and endless presents for Corinne.
This child was three days old and already a minor small-town celebrity.
Gabe’s parents had insisted on making dinner, and of course my mother was there.
I had a feeling she’d be moving into the other spare bedroom.
Nate, Gabe’s brother, stopped by, and so did Josh and Jasper and their families.
And Harper and Nina. And soon, it was a welcome home party.
I was rocking Corinne in the cool night air, enjoying the feel of being surrounded by my people, when a familiar man bun bobbed in the distance.
“Congrats,” Logan said, throwing his arms around Gabe in a back slapping hug. “Sorry I’m late. I had a few things to take care of.”
In Logan speak, that probably meant bottle feeding a litter of orphaned raccoon cubs or splinting the broken leg of a deer. I’d learned never to underestimate him.
“No worries,” Gabe replied. “We’ve had our hands full with this one.”
“She’s beautiful,” his best friend gushed, leaning down. “Do you need a kitten, Princess Corinne? Or a puppy? Ooh. How about a goat? I’ve got two looking for a home.”
“No pets,” I growled.
He just smiled at me. “Don’t worry, Corinne,” he said conspiratorially. “We’ll wear them down together.”
I glared at him. He’d bring us a mountain lion in a bow tie if I wasn’t careful.
Behind him, movement caught my eye, and I noticed a woman I didn’t recognize.
She had a cool bob and thick glasses. Her artfully slouchy sweater and multiple ear piercings screamed city person.
Logan cleared his throat. “Have you guys met Avery?” He rested his hand on the small of her back.
Though he was touching her, there was a foot of space between their bodies and the expression on his face was one of uncertainty.
It was totally foreign coming from the most gregarious man in town.
The way he barely let his hand hover against her back was strange for a guy who reached into cows to deliver breach calves several times a year.
Was he afraid to touch this woman?
“Sorry to intrude.” She gave us a shy wave.
Gabe didn’t seem to recognize her either, and he was the mayor of this town. She must not have been a local.
“Are you a friend of Logan’s?” Gabe asked, stepping forward to shake her hand.
She froze, her eyes wide.
Gabe’s best friend dropped his hand and stared at the ground.
“Um,” Avery said, looking at him with panic swimming in her eyes.
What the hell was going on?
He turned to her, the expression on his face not all that friendly. They looked at one another like they were standing on a railroad track and a train was barreling down on them.
“Actually,” Logan said, his deep voice cracking.
My heart rate picked up, and as if she could sense the tension, Corinne fussed in my arms.
Why was Logan so nervous? According to Gabe, the man had once stitched his own arm back together after a small chainsaw mishap.
“Why do you look like you’re confessing to a felony?” Harper asked.
She was holding a platter of brownies, her focus locked on them, as Gabe took one without looking and shoved the entire thing into his mouth.
Logan took a deep breath and scanned the various folks watching with interest. “Avery is my wife.”