Home.
The one we now share in the East Village. A neighborhood—and a place—of our very own.
“They’re lucky, right?” he asks.
I lift one. “They are.”
We end up buying two. Not that we need the luck. These days, we’re making our own.
Logan never quit or got fired as head carpenter fromWindfall. It took them a few weeks after opening night to work out the kinks, but from the start, it received rave reviews from critics and fans and is still the hottest ticket in town. The show was even nominated for Best Musical at the Tony Awards, a first-ever nomination for Mrs. Walker as a producer. She walked the red carpet with Toffee in tow. It was a dangerous night for birds everywhere. Logan and I celebrated at the firehouse with Chinese food and extra fortune cookies. Just in case.
The show was extended, giving Logan some time to settle in until the next show moves into the theater. There’s chatter thatWindfallwill hit the road on a traveling tour this spring. Logan’s considering the head carpenter role to lead the traveling crew. I’d tag along for a bit and do some more traveling.
For the holidays, we took a spontaneous—and all-expenses paid—trip to Spain. Our magazine feature comes out next week. Yes, we got there by plane. Logan’s still here. It’s surreal that we got to see the Basilica de la Sagrada Família with our own eyes. There are dozens more countries on our list to visit in the coming years. But for now, we’re content with the predictability of a routine.
Logan no longer runs his storage and transfer business. Instead, he’s made room for more of what he loves: building, working with his hands, and turning wood into beautiful furniture—with drawers that open. He’s been saving up his lottery money to open a woodworking shop for teenagers and young adults who have struggled with substance abuse. It’s a place for a second chance. A place to restart.
I spend my days at Sweet Escape, working alongside Emma and Gloria, who’s been on the payroll for months managing inventory while Emma’s focused on growth and expansion. I do a little bit of everything at the shop, with most of my time going toward analyzing data. Making forecasts. Predicting trends. The usual data fortune-telling stuff.
I had told Emma and Gloria about my lottery win that day in the shop. They never again mentioned it out of respect for my privacy. It only came back up when I expressed interest in being an investor in Emma’s second location after this year’s increased annuity amount was deposited. We’re working as quickly as we can to open a second Sweet Escape in the Meatpacking District in time for the holidays.
The house went into foreclosure. The highest bidder was a family with three kids in elementary school who love to swim. It’s just my luck.
Even luckier, the family doesn’t want to tear the house down. Instead, they wasted no time starting repairs and renovations to bring the house back to the version it used to be. I like to imagine the five of them making key lime blondies on Grandma’s baking bar and sharing them with neighbors when they go out on their boat at sunset.
My relationship with Dad and Jerry was tense for the first few months after our phone call. I wouldn’t say it’s great, even now, but the ice between us is slowly thawing.
Dad begrudgingly moved into an apartment nearby. I gave him the number to my financial advisor, hoping he’d reach out to make good choices with the little money he got from the house sale, but I don’t know if he ever did call. He still won’t go to rehab or therapy. I talk to him mostly on his birthday and holidays. It’s hard, but I try not to concern myself with the minutiae of his day-to-day.
Jerry’s sprains healed up nicely. He and Danielle went their separate ways shortly before Thanksgiving. He’s now in New Hampshire, focusing on his photography and working his way out of financial debt. He sold his van and is slowly working to pay me back for the fake surgery down payment he tricked me into. Plus interest. It hasn’t been, like he guaranteed, the easiest money I ever made, but it has been the most gratifying.
Will I ever fully trust Dad and Jerry? Maybe, but I have a lot of my own work to do on that front, too. And that’s between my therapist and me.
“Hazel. Hazel!” Logan calls out, drawing my attention from a booth serving Peking duck wraps. “Look!”
He’s hunched over on the sidewalk. I run, concerned. When he looks up at me, his bracketed smile tells me everything’s okay. Great, in fact. Because there, between the cracks of the sidewalk, is a bright green four-leaf clover the size of my thumbnail.
“You pick it,” he says. “Then give it to me. It’s supposed to double your luck.”
“I’m not taking your luck.”
“Well, I’m not taking yours.”
“We can’t just leave it there!” I say, ignoring the stares we’re getting from passersby. “Or… maybe we can.”
“We searched for hours. My eyes will never be the same. I was seeing squares in my dreams for weeks!” Logan runs his hand through his hair. “And now you want to leave it?”
“For someone else,” I say. “They might need the luck more than we do.”
Logan stands and takes my hands in his. He got his cast off just before last Christmas and hasn’t broken any more bones since.
“Okay. I like that.” He drops a kiss against my temple. “And I already get to love you. That makes me the luckiest.”
I wrap my arm around his waist as we wind our way through the fair, checking out the other stalls.
Logan comes to an abrupt stop. “What would you say to checking out that place?” He points to a stall with the words “kau chim” written on its sign.
“I say no way.”
