Epilogue Cordelia
With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come.
The Merchant of Venice, William Shakespeare
“He's basically completely orange at this point,” Miranda laughed over her cocktail. “Like a big, overcooked man-prawn.” Juliet poked her head out of the back door. “We right for drinks? Do we need Seamus to make more?”
“Nah, we're good. Still some in the jug,” I called back. It was girls’ night.
All the kids were with their dads, allowing us all to relax and reconnect.
We were all moms and all busy. I'd given up the pharma job and was finally fulfilling my wish to wear sweats and jeans to work.
Damon and I continued to flip houses, so I'd quit and spent my time working on our latest project and my blog.
Damon was still at the lumber yard, but we all worked together on the weekends.
The boys were mini-Damons and loved the challenge of building things.
Really, they didn't do much, but it was heartening to see them try to emulate their daddy.
Miranda's latest report on Harrison had us all laughing, but there was a hint of pity there.
What makes a “normal” man self-destruct like that?
He was a vain man and hadn't seemed to have learned his lesson.
Despite the heartache he caused me, I never wanted to see him completely destroyed.
I don't think even Miranda wanted to see him spiral into an early midlife crisis, complete with fake tan.
Harrison had dismantled his life all on his own.
Sure, Miranda had thrown in some tools to help him do it, but ultimately, his life was what he had made it.
“He's still so gullible,” Miranda said through her laughter.
“All it took was a question about his coffee and he turned white. I took a punt that he still drove gray cars, and I was right on the money! I really need to start charging that man appearance fees for the amount of time I show up in his head.”
Harrison had only ever had gray cars. He once told me that gray was the color of sophistication. He was an idiot for letting Miranda unsettle him so easily.
“Ok, so I suggest we establish a subcommittee to plan Thanksgiving,” Miranda suggested.
Our time living next to Peggy had created a few traditions.
Subcommittees were frequently created and mentioned.
Seamus was currently president of the Cocktail Making Subcommittee, while Damon was on the Get the House Clean Before My Wife Gets Home So I Can Get Some Subcommittee. I was hoping he would succeed.
“I agree, but can we please take Dad off the Wine Selection Subcommittee? He's getting cheap in his old age. Just because he can't taste anything anymore doesn't mean we can't,” Juliet complained.
“Maybe we appoint a subcommittee to determine the appointment of subcommittees, but we'll probably have to run it by the Permission to Suggest Subcommittees Subcommittee first,” I suggested. Jules and Miranda laughed. Sisters were awesome.
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“Everything looks great, thank you dear husband!” I gave Damon a kiss as I walked through the door. Cam was the sole member of the Get Tipsy Miranda and Cordelia Home Subcommittee and had discharged his duty well.
“It's my pleasure. Do I get a reward?” He lifted his eyebrows in an exaggerated, suggestive manner.
“Of course, duh.” We ran to our room like teenagers, careful to tread lightly when we passed the boys' rooms. We didn't need the Cockblocking Subcommittee reforming tonight. They made enough appearances.
As I pressed myself against my husband, I thanked my lucky stars that Harrison and I chose that old house on Plummer Street. It had brought me sadness and betrayal, but ultimately, it had delivered me redemption, a true sense of self, a new career, and my soulmate, Damon.