Epilogue Emery
TWO YEARS LATER
I’ve never been a beach person. Not the way Luca is, anyway.
I’ve never loved the feeling of sand stuck all over my skin or being overheated almost instantly.
Swimming in the ocean with literal unseen monsters is a hard pass for me.
However, I will sit on this beach until the end of time if it means I get to forever watch Luca Martín emerge from the waves at Uluwatu Beach.
His surfboard is tucked beneath his arm; his wet hair flops messily across his forehead.
Sun glistens on the drops of water on his torso, and the trail of dark hair on his stomach leading beneath the waistband of his low-hanging board shorts makes my entire body go hot.
He drops down beside me, completely unconcerned that he’ll be wearing grains of this fine sand for the rest of his life, and tilts his face for a kiss. His lips are warm, and he tastes like salt water and the coconut juice he finished just before going into the ocean.
“What do you feel like doing now?” he asks, brushing a wayward strand of hair beneath my sun hat.
“Are you done surfing?”
“For now,” he says, and rubs his flat stomach. “I could go for some lunch.”
These days, I feel like I could always eat. “Then lunch it is.”
Luca helps me up before tugging his T-shirt over his head and stepping into his flip-flops.
He was made for life here in Bali. And maybe I am, too.
With the breezy coastline, incredible food everywhere, no schedules, our rented home overlooking the crashing surf, and quality time with my favorite person on the planet, it has been the best three months of my life.
Unfortunately, we’re only here for another four days.
If someone told me five years ago that I would take an entire summer off work in order to figure out what would be next for me, I would have laughed in their face. But now I’m not sure I even want to step foot in a lab, office, or clinic ever again.
After all, I feel like I’ve already done what I set out to do: I was able to literally save lives.
Not just Luca’s, of course, but my own: Annie administered Compound Y to me that day in the warehouse, her decision giving me crucial time—not to go into the BioVIVE, but to get to the hospital for life-saving surgery the good old-fashioned way.
I came out of it just fine, with a cool scar to boot.
But not everyone was so lucky. Annie used the compound on Claire, too, who undoubtedly wished she’d been left to die after the massive government inquiry into her attempts to sell classified technology to China landed her in a white-collar prison in upstate New York.
She’s now serving more years than she’s got left.
Vince, despite choosing too late to be the good guy, was charged with unlawful imprisonment and extortion and is serving time, too.
I expected to feel smugger about his downfall, but I’m just too busy not giving a shit.
I wanted to leave BioNEX immediately, of course, but given that Annie and I were the only ones who knew everything about the BioVIVE protocol, we stayed on as consultants for six months.
We made them pay us an exorbitant amount of money to ensure that the transfer of the project was smooth when it was taken over by an international consortium of scientists from various countries who agreed to an intimidating amount of government oversight.
I’ve been consulting here and there ever since—for totally legal and public companies, I swear—but nothing is really sparking my brain.
So as to what comes next for me, professionally?
Who knows? I don’t need to work anymore, but the idea of not working feels crazy, and Luca has already informed me that I’m not allowed to stay home and slowly lose my mind.
He and Crash still have their landscaping business, but they get to be really picky about the projects they take on.
Which is to say, no more lonely, topless women married to men with large gun collections.
It’s given Luca plenty of time to finish the renovations on our house.
We have a new bathroom and have added an upstairs addition with two bedrooms, another bathroom, and a view of the ocean in the distance.
It’s a beautiful home, but I know myself, and know I wouldn’t be happy there all day.
The truth is, I want my life to look like this: long days spent hiking, eating, meditating, socializing, sleeping, making love, focusing on my family. That’s right: family. Honey has a little sister on the way.
As if Luca has the same thought, he comes up behind me, his big hands cupping the firm swell of my belly.
“She kicking much?”
“I think she’s napping,” I tell him. “But as soon as I eat, she’ll turn back into a ninja.”
I’m still allowed to fly, but not for much longer, which is why this perfect summer has to come to an end.
I’m sure Betty and Honey are watching Betty’s porch cameras religiously to make sure we get back to San Diego by my doctor’s deadline.
I’m not confident Crash and Annie are going to be the best influences on this baby, but one thing is certain: Betty is going to make an incredible surrogate grandma.
And Luca’s sisters are going to make amazing aunties.
His parents continue to be unreliable and self-absorbed, but we’ve poured ourselves into reconnecting with Ana and Sofia, discovering that family—even when exhausting—is everything.
Ana is even expecting a baby only a couple months after I’m due, and she and her new husband are planning to move back to San Diego.
Luca leans into my neck and gently bites me, following it with a whispered “I love you” against my skin. On paper, we still don’t make sense, but it turns out love doesn’t happen on paper.
In person it’s abundantly clear: Our two lost souls found their home in each other. Every crazy decision, every risk, every step into the dark unknown was worth it because Luca is here with me. I couldn’t imagine being more in love.
After I was home from the hospital and everything settled down, Luca and I began therapy. With his memory back, he had a lot of feelings of abandonment and resentment to work through; I was drowning in guilt and fear that he would leave me.
For a year, we went every week. Then for a year we went twice a month. Once we get home, I imagine we’ll continue to go, because rumor has it that parenthood can be stressful for a marriage. But honestly, I can’t find it in me to be nervous. Luca is going to be the most incredible dad.
We wander away, down the beach toward our favorite local restaurant. Luca threads his fingers with mine, squeezing. “You ready for a return to normal?”
“I don’t even know what normal is anymore,” I say, laughing and looking up at the lush cliffside, the crashing turquoise surf, the white sand beneath my feet. “This feels normal.”
“That’s good,” he reminds me. “That’s what this summer was for. You aren’t a robot, you don’t need to work constantly, you can turn that part of you off and just live.”
I take a deep breath, nodding as I exhale. “I know.”
“I can barely remember that version of you,” he says, squinting down at me like he’s trying to picture it: my long hair in a tidy bun instead of wild and windblown down my back; my skin pale from being indoors instead of golden, shoulders dotted with a scattering of freckles.
“I think I’d do a double take if I saw you in a blazer. ”
I shake my head, laughing. “No more blazers. No more tailored suits. No more seventeen levels of security to enter a building.”
“To be fair,” he says, grinning at me, “that doesn’t narrow your options down very much.”
“I could become a chef,” I say, and he winces playfully. Even with more time at home, my cooking has stayed at a solid edible if you’re desperate. “A painter?” I suggest instead.
“Why not?” Luca shrugs. “If that sounds fun for you, go for it.”
“A biology professor? A photographer?”
“I feel like those are two very different things.”
“I could open a coffee shop.”
He looks down at me, his dark brows raised. “Now that one has legs.”
“We’d call it the Bean Scene,” I say, rubbing my belly, “and it would be dog-friendly.”
“Obviously.”
“We’d figure out the recipe for the black-and-white cookies.”
He scoffs. “We’d make our own amazing cookies.”
“Yes, you could make the cookies,” I say. “Crash could be the shirtless barista.”
Luca laughs. “Annie? What would she do?”
“Are you kidding? We’d just hang out and gossip all day while you and Crash did the work.”
Luca holds the door to the restaurant open for me. “Sounds pretty good to me.”
“Yeah? You ready to go into business together?”
“As long as we’re never open on Sundays,” he says.
I pretend to look offended. “I would never encroach upon tradition.”
He bends to kiss me, and his lips linger on mine for a long, content beat. “Actually, Emmy, it wouldn’t matter. Every day feels like a Sunny Sunday with you.”