Epilogue One Year Later
Andie
The penthouse glows golden: every bulb hidden behind frosted glass or cut crystal, refracted a thousand times into a haze that blurs the edges of people and things.
The air is lemony with polished marble and the scent of canapés.
Someone has rigged twinkle lights over the long white-linen tables, and every glass on every table seems to be full, and every hand finds one before it’s empty for more than a breath.
It was Stella’s idea to host my graduation party at Thomas’s place—“bigger rooms, better booze, and we can kick everyone out when it’s over,” she’d said—and now the building’s security desk is issuing paper wristbands to guests and checking IDs at the elevator.
Upstairs, the room is a dreamscape: guests in suits and cocktail dresses, catering staff moving silently between the groups, Stella floating between them all in a sheath so white it’s almost reckless.
At the center of it all, I hover in a navy-blue slip dress that fits like spilled ink, my blonde hair loose and wavy over my shoulders, my honors diploma rolled in a ribbon and jammed under my arm.
My glass keeps going empty, but there’s always a hand to refill it, sometimes mine, sometimes not.
I drift toward the edge of the crowd, past the river-facing windows where Minneapolis stretches out like a prize: all the light and bridges and the flat sheen of the Mississippi under an early summer dusk.
There’s no sound from outside, just the low throb of bass from a Bluetooth speaker and the hum of a hundred conversations.
It’s the last party before everyone scatters for internships, grad school, or whatever comes after.
It feels like the last party of the world.
Simone finds me first. She’s not hiding anymore: her pregnant belly is unmistakable, a high, taut orb beneath the cut of her green velvet dress.
She glows, literally. She glows so radiantly that a woman at the bar gives her seat up just for Simone to have a place to rest. Her hair is up, a mass of gold, and the flush in her cheeks is real this time.
“Drink?” she asks, winking as she sinks into the chair.
I laugh, “I think that’s contraband,” but she shakes her head.
“It’s Sprite, I swear.” She lifts her glass, clinks it against mine. “It helps with the barfing.”
I glance at her hand, which sparkles with a ring from her boyfriend, Professor Liam Thomas.
He’s here too, in a navy jacket over a white button down, looking more like a male model than faculty.
He glances at her from across the room, the intensity of his stare so hot that the air practically sizzles, and I laugh.
There’s no more hiding for Stella and Liam, nor for me and Thomas either.
Not tonight, not ever. Our relationships are now into the open, and I’ve never been happier.
“Congratulations,” I say, and I mean it.
Simone beams, then turns conspiratorial: “Did you ever think I’d be the first one pregnant, of all people?”
“Honestly?” I lean in, lowering my voice. “I thought it’d be Mary Kate, with twins. You know how much that girl loves kids.”
We both giggle, attracting attention.
“I heard that,” Mary Kate says, sliding into the conversation like a shark in a gold lamé dress.
She drains her mimosa, then grins. “So what if I adore kids? They’re cute.
Anyway, you’re all going to miss me when I move out next week.
I’m going to move closer to work. I’ll be living at my stepdad’s mansion. ”
“Oh really?” Simone asks, eyebrows raised. “The stepdad who’s getting a divorce from your mom? Is that normal?”
Mary Kate shrugs, trying for casual but missing by a mile. “Probably not, but like I said, it’s closer to work. And my stepdad’s house has a pool.” She lifts her chin, lets the words hang, then glances at me with a sly side-eye. “I happen to love skinny-dipping, when no one’s home of course.”
I shoot my friend a look.
“Of course.”
Then, Kayleigh floats over, cell phone in hand, her curls pinned back with a rhinestone barrette. She looks radiant, but her eyes are glued to the screen. “Damn, he’s not going to text,” she mutters. “He said he was at a wedding, but he’s totally ignoring me.”
“Who?” I ask, but I already know.
She bites her lip, then sets the phone face-down on the bar. “Whatever. He’s a liar.” Then, as if flipping a switch, she smiles at us: “Let’s have fun. You graduated!”
I toast her. “To a degree,” I say, and we all drink.
The four of us—Simone, Kayleigh, Mary Kate, and me—cluster for a moment at the bar, the old geometry of our dorm days restored by muscle memory.
Actually, Stella is the sun of this system, but she’s currently orbiting the room, working the crowd like a campaign manager: a squeeze of a shoulder here, a whispered aside there.
Her hair is up tonight, a blonde crown, and her cheeks glow.
I shake my head. Oh, Stella. She’s so headstrong, and yet for Thomas’s sake, I’ve made up with her.
It was helped by the fact that I no longer live in our shared apartment, so we no longer had to spend so much energy avoiding each other.
It was also helped by the fact that Stella sincerely apologized for her actions, and promised to go to therapy to address her issues.
I don’t know if she actually has yet, but Thomas says he’s going to follow-up with his daughter.
So Stella and I are basically back to normal, even if it sounds improbable.
She breaks from her circle of admirers and bee-lines over, tugging me by the wrist to the edge of the terrace, where it’s quieter and the city looks even more like a painting.
We’re alone for the first time all night, and the air is warm but not yet sticky, the kind of night that can’t decide if it’s spring or summer.
“So,” she says, eyes bright, “are you and my dad going to elope and make me an orphan, or do I have to start planning a real wedding?”
I choke on my drink, and a fine spray of champagne mists the concrete at our feet. “Stella, your dad has to die for you to be an orphan, so no. You won’t become an orphan anytime soon.”
She laughs, delighted. “But elopement is a possibility, right? Seriously, Andie, you’re the best thing that’s happened to him in years.
” Then, dropping her voice: “Thomas was an absolute fucking monster when you guys were broken up. Like, I didn’t want to even call him because he was so grouchy.
Now, it’s like he’s floating on Cloud Nine. It’s bonkers, Andie.”
I roll my eyes, but the warmth is real. “I know. We were both terrible when we were apart.”
Stella leans in, pinches my elbow with sharp, painted nails. “You could make an honest man of my dad, you know. If you want.”
I flush, feeling the heat spread up my neck, but it’s fine because I’d love to get married to Thomas. It’s just a question of him proposing.
Stella grins, then suddenly turns serious. “Look, I know I already apologized, but I want to say it again: I was a bitch to you, and I’m sorry for screening that video. I was trying to be funny but it was cruel. I was a total asshole.” The words come out in a rush, and she’s not joking for once.
I look her in the eye, and there’s something raw there, vulnerable.
“It’s okay,” I say. “We’re all bitches sometimes, and we all make bad decisions too.”
She laughs, a hiccup. “Truest thing you’ve ever said.” Then, as if the moment is too much, she pivots: “But more importantly, I have a new bet.”
I groan, “You’re incorrigible.”
She wags a finger. “Hear me out. First girl in our group to do real DP wins. No toys, no dildos, no fake-outs. Has to be two huge, handsome, hard human men at the same time. Winner gets a thousand bucks.”
I stare at her, caught between horror and awe. “Is this conversation appropriate for a graduation party?”
She shrugs and grins. “Absolutely not, but who cares? You know you want in.”
I raise a brow. “Define real. Like, do you have to—”
“Penetration in both holes, simultaneous, human men. No substitutions. Winner gets bragging rights and the money.”
“You’re insane. I’m with Thomas. How would that work?”
She leans in, grinning. “Exactly, so you probably can’t win. But come on, girlfriend. It’s not like you’re above it. I know you and my dad get up to some freaky shit.”
I laugh so hard my eyes water. “Please. I can barely handle him solo, he’s so hard and demanding.”
She shakes her head, like I’m hopeless, but her eyes are dancing. “Okay, but just so you know, I have two guys lined up already. I just need to find the right night.”
I stare at her. “Are you serious?”
She lifts a hand, solemn. “On my honor.”
“Who?” I ask, because I have to.
“You’ll see,” she says with a mysterious smile. “But they’re hot, and I just know they’re hung.” She gives a dramatic shiver, smiling. “I can’t wait to get stretched both ways. I’m also thinking double vaginal and double anal. It’ll be insane”
I stare at her. “Stella, be careful because that shit is no joke. I’ve heard girls come out different afterwards. Like limping or with their insides rearranged.”
She giggles, “I know, and that’s the fun. I want to take risks. I want to be with two men, and just see what happens. It’ll be fun!”
I make a note to myself: never let Stella talk me into anything, ever again.
She slings an arm around my shoulder, warm and heavy. “I’m glad we’re buddies again. I mean it.”
I nod, biting back a smile. “Me, too, although I have no idea what you’re getting into, girlfriend.”
There’s a soft click behind us: the terrace door sliding open.
Thomas stands there in a sharp black shirt, top button undone, his hair silvered at the temples in the evening light.
He looks like a billionaire, but also like a dad, and also like a man who’s just found the one thing he’s willing to ruin himself for.
He spots us, and the corner of his mouth lifts—just for a second, just enough for me to feel it in my knees.