Epilogue
9 months later
"Wait, what? You used to think marriage was patriarchal bullshit, and now you want to marry two people?" I tease Lucy through the phone while dodging a man with a coffee who doesn't even bark an apology. Typical.
"I'm feeling a little brave lately," Lu practically shrugs through the line. "Speaking of marriages, did Richard finally drop dead?"
I snort. "No. But the divorce should be finalized soon, despite his every attempt to drag it through purgatory. The court already granted my petition for dissolution of marriage. Even though he tried a few interesting tricks in there, too."
"Good, I was going to pin his voodoo doll. You saved my karma. What's that asshole even doing now? Did you speak to him?"
"No, and I don't think we'll ever speak again. He's back in Seattle based on his photos. Enjoying his yacht with a twenty-six-year-old model that used to date DiCaprio."
"Oh. So he's not such a bad guy after all. Recycling's good for the planet."
I sputter a laugh. "He seems happier than when he was with me. He's even got some serious abs now. Good for him."
"Please. You know he's miserable. You don't post your abs and a DiCaprio trainee unless you're dying inside. Trust me, that's heartbreak in linen pants."
"I don't know. There's even a whole carousel of them just kissing. Like he forgothispropriety," I joke.
Lu clicks her mouth. "That only proves my point. Don't know if he loved you—if he's even capable of it—but I do know you got under his skin. You still are."
"Doesn't matter. How are Micah and Sophia?"
"Wait, I'll put you on speaker. Guys—" Lu shouts so loudly it nearly pierces the receiver. Kills my ear. "Em's asking about you two."
From the background, Micah's voice floats in: "You looked smoking on the cover of Vanity Fair. Didn't know you had it in you."
"Are you flirting with me, Micah?" I say, grinning. "In front of your two soon-to-be brides?"
"Our hearts are big," he shouts. "Plus, I'm appreciating art—that's a different thing. For the record, that cover was too tasteful. Next time, more chiaroscuro, more skin, Jean Paul Gauilter. Full heartbreak couture."
"Don't listen to him. You were stunning, Emma," Sophia cuts in with her tiny, sweet voice. "I think every guy who lost you is choking right now."
"Thanks, beautiful," I say, smiling tightly.
"When are you coming back?" Soph asks.
"I don't know. New York's my last stop and then I'm free. Thought I'd go to London. Maybe Paris, to finally learn French."
"I still can't believe you're on every morning show," Lu says, voice crackling with pride. "Enjoy every second of it, baby."
"I'm planning to," I say, checking my watch. "Okay, I'll talk to you soon, guys. Gotta go!"
"All the best tonight!" they all yell, voices tripping over each other, not quite in sync but full of heart.
"Thanks!" I send them an audible kiss, then slip the phone into the pocket of my wrap coat and let the world creep back in.
I never pay much attention when I'm on the phone. Probably should.
Especially this magical time of the year when fall in Central Park rustles with golden, tragic grace.
Once, I hated fall—how everything dies, no matter how elegantly—but now I see the poetry in decay. Things have to fall apart before they can bloom again.
Crossing 66th Street, I walk toward Columbus Circle, pretending that's where I need to go—not because I want to glimpse the building that once held our laughter, our bodega sandwiches, and chase the ghost of a man who showed me the beauty of New York.
I'm good at pretending.
