Epilogue

EPILOGUE

T he Harper House— named after Cricket's mother and located just blocks from the Amtrak station in Haverhill, Massachusetts— opens in spring of the next year.

The grand opening is relatively small, all things considered. The boys come down from Maine, and Bruce and Cricket prepare a meal for everyone who comes themed around the bed and breakfast itself.

Breakfast for dinner.

Cricket makes pancakes the way her dad always did. Bruce and Moriah cut fruit and sprinkle blueberries into the batter. Simon sips a glass of wine and ‘supervises.'

When they eat, twelve people— the four friends, as well as Cricket's aunt and some locals— cram into the dining room of the beautiful house. The wallpaper they chose, a cream and yellow pattern with twigs, birds, and leaves, makes the room feel bigger and lighter.

Cricket sits at the head of the table and thanks everybody for coming. She dedicates the meal and the house in one to her parents, and then Moriah reaches past the burning candle in the center of the table and squeezes her hand. Neither of them are alone, or afraid.

After everyone leaves, the women eat flaky pastry that Moriah made from scratch and curl up on the couch in the small attic apartment that Cricket claimed as her and Moriah's space when they're in town. She plans to split her time about fifty-fifty between Haverhill and Caerlloyd for the first year or so it's open, or at least until Moriah's lease runs out.

They read together and laugh together. They kiss for hours and fuck in the light of the moon streaming through the top-floor window. They tack fairy lights to the corners of the ceiling and Moriah refuses to crochet Cricket a sweater no matter how many times she asks, quoting an old wives' tale about some sort of curse.

Moriah still struggles, often. Cricket still does, too.

They still cry, and count, and take pictures of the stove. They still grieve. They still stay home more often than not.

But neither of them feel alone, and they spend each sunrise reminding each other that they are loved.

It's enough.