Epilogue

ALANA: ONE YEAR LATER

I'd be crazy not to turn my life

upside down and marry her.

~ You've Got Mail

“I have everything, Mother. I’ll see you and Dad at the premier.”

I pace my apartment, while Brigitte watches me like she’s at Wimbledon. Her head swivels to the left. I turn. Her head pivots toward the right. I walk the length of the couch and spin to walk the other way. Brigitte’s gaze follows me, back and forth, back and forth.

Brigitte stands and snatches the phone away from me. “Angelique, hi! It’s me, Brigitte.”

I’m stunned, but also amused.

I don’t hear my mother’s answer, but then Brigitte says, “Right. Right. Yes. Of course. I’ve got her and all the things she needs.” She pauses. Rolls her eyes. “Angelique, have I ever let you down?” Brigitte smiles at me and waves her hand, shooing me toward my kitchen where I set my glass of water.

“That’s right,” Brigitte says. “And I will never let Alana down. Now go get pampered so you can look your best tonight. We’ve got everything covered on our end.”

I take one more sip of water and then I walk back over to Brigitte, stick my hand out and stand with my other hand on my hip so she knows I mean business. I appreciate her trying to smooth the waters with my mother and shield me from any additional stress with my premier for Only the Remnant only hours away. Still, if I’ve learned anything over the past year, it’s that I need to stand up to my mother, especially when it comes to my personal life.

A month after the talk show appearance with Sharla Gibson where Stevens showed up unexpectedly to take his place in the public eye as my boyfriend, my mother finally caved and called me. Stevens and I continued to date, while the media eventually tired of following us and commenting on our every move.

Of course, Mother and I saw one another at the premier for Blasted . I brought Stevens and he walked the red carpet by my side. Bringing him made a statement—to my mother, the press, my fans, and most of all, to Stevens. My mother was civil, but we still hadn’t spoken outside of our public appearances together.

She went radio silent for a week after the premier while the press publicized photos of me and Stevens on every tabloid, celebrity news outlet, and gossip site. Some stories were extremely positive and some were smears. I tried to avoid most of them and let Brigitte act as my filter.

When my mother finally called, she brought up an event she wanted me to attend. She dove right into her agenda as if nothing had been amiss, not Sharla’s show, not Stevens attending the premier, and certainly not the fact that I was falling deeply in love with a marine biologist who had no desire to share the spotlight except if he could soften the blow for me and stand by my side to celebrate my work.

“Mother?”

“Oh. Alana. You’re back. Brigitte didn’t even say goodbye.”

“Right. Sorry. She’s handling something for me. I just wanted to see if there was anything else you needed before we hung up.”

“Nothing big. I just wanted to tell you Rex will be at your premier as your father’s and my guest. He’s coming alone—to support you.”

“Mother.”

“Alana, dear. I know you’ve had your fun with this fisherman. It’s definitely run its course. You’ve made your point.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, look over at Brigitte and let out a long sigh. “I must not have made the actual point I intended to make.”

“What point is that, darling?”

“I’m choosing him, Mother. I choose Stevens. He’s an amazing man—a marine biologist, actually, not a fisherman or whatever else you’ve called him. Not that there would be anything wrong with him being a fisherman. He has multiple degrees. He’s brilliant. But beyond all that, he’s kind and thoughtful, and he’d do anything for me. And I love him.

“Do you remember when you said love was nothing to build a life on?”

She’s silent, so I keep talking. “I feel all those things you described—for Stevens. And my feelings for him aren’t going to diminish or go away. They’ve actually grown over the past year. I can’t imagine a day my face won’t break into a smile at the sight of him. For the first time in my life I found someone I can fully trust and be my whole self with.

“He would die before he’d let anything horrible happen to me. And if something sneaks by him and tries to level me, he’ll be there, walking through the shrapnel with me. He stood by me before he even knew I would be his. And this whole year that you’ve kept your distance outside our shared public appearances, he’s been with me, right next to me, or cheering me on from his place in the shadows.

“I will never throw the man I love under the bus. I’m not going to a premier with Rex, even if he’s my co-star again in the future. I’ll do the requisite photo shoots and appearances, but I’ll make it clear Stevens is my boyfriend through it all. And if it comes down to sparing Stevens any pain or embarrassment, I’ll sacrifice a movie or any other fame or position in this world to support and protect him. Because that’s what love does.”

I take a breath, and come to my senses. I was on a roll. Brigitte is standing at my kitchen bar, beaming.

My mother is still silent, so I finish out what I have to say. It’s what I’ve wanted to say all this time, only she never gave me the opening. Today’s not the ideal time to have this conversation when we’re hours away from my big night, but I’m taking the chance while I have it.

“I really wish you would get to know him—this man that I love. But it’s definitely your loss if you don’t. Stevens is not a passing fancy or a diversion. He’s my boyfriend. And he’s the only man I hope I spend the rest of my life with.”

I’m done. There’s nothing more to say.

My mother is silent for a longer stretch than usual. I give her the respect of waiting for her to process my declaration.

She finally says, “Very well.”

I wait for more.

She doesn’t say anything else.

“He’ll be there with me tonight, walking down the red carpet, answering reporters’ questions if they ask him anything, sitting next to me, and leaving with me for the afterparty. If you are so inclined to be respectful toward him, I’d love to officially introduce you and Dad to him.”

It goes without saying my mother won’t be welcome to meet Stevens if she can’t show him common decency.

“Knock, knock,” Stevens steps into my condo.

He has a key, and promised to be here as soon as he was able to wrap up a tour this morning, catch the ferry, and meet my driver at the docks.

My heart rate levels out at the sight of him. But then it picks back up because this man in a tux might just be my undoing. And then he smiles that smile that always gets to me—the one where his mouth tips up on one side and those two dimples pop just right .

“I’ve got to go, Mother. I’ll see you at the premiere.”

“Alana?”

“Yes?”

“I’ll … Let’s find a time for you to introduce your friend to me and your father tonight.”

“My boyfriend.”

“Yes. Yes. That.”

I chuckle. Would it kill her to say the word? Maybe. At least she’s stepping forward to make an effort. I’ll gladly meet her halfway. Last year, I wouldn’t have. But now, I know. Stevens and I are strong. What we have can weather attacks from the press, the reaction of my fans, and even the blatant meddling and rejection of my own mother.

If she wants to make an attempt at neutrality and acceptance, I will pave the way and make it easy on her. What she and Stevens will have won’t ever come close to what I’ve gained with Stevens’ family. They’ve treated me like one of their own ever since that first night I officially met all of them. I don’t expect miracles. I’ll take an imperfect gesture and a cordial welcome over the stone wall we’ve been living with for the past twelve months.

“See you tonight, Mother.”

“Yes, dear. We’ll see you tonight. I can’t wait to watch you shine yet again in a film your father and I had the privilege of producing.”

I don’t respond to her last comment. Instead I say goodbye and we hang up.

“You look amazing,” I tell Stevens.

He walks toward me. “Not as amazing as you.” He kisses my cheek, obviously being respectful of Brigitte’s presence.

“And you, Brigitte,” Stevens says, looping his arm around my waist and looking into the kitchen where Brigitte has her head stuck deep in my refrigerator.

“Yeah. Yeah,” she says. “You don’t have to say that, merman. I’ll still like you even without the gratuitous compliments. Alana! Why don’t you have any decent snacks? Where’s the chocolate or yogurt that isn’t straight out of a cow? I’m not eating whatever that is in there.”

“Do you need food?” I ask her.

“Food. Yes. This macrobiotic, nutritionally sound, bland, science experiment stuff? No.”

“We’ll feed you, Bridge,” I promise.

I whisper, “She gets hangry,” to Stevens.

He chuckles.

“I heard that. I don’t get hangry.” She pauses, shoots me a look, and adds, “Much. Not much.”

“Let’s leave early and drive through some place to get you tacos,” Stevens suggests to Brigitte.

“You hear that, Alana? Count your lucky stars. You found yourself a man whose love language is the giving of tacos.”

I laugh, remembering the first time Stevens sent me tacos instead of flowers. And he’s been doing that ever since.

Brigitte tells Stevens. “You should have seen your girl here. She just talked you up to her mother, and she didn’t hold back.”

Stevens turns to me. “You did, did you?”

“Maybe.”

He kisses the top of my head.

“Don’t you two worry,” Brigitte says to me. “Queen Grimhilde won’t rock the boat because America is already captivated by the two of you. Half the women I know wonder if there are more hot, eligible marine biologists on the market. I’m just waiting for men to start putting ‘lonely marine biologist’ on their dating profiles. You know? With photos of them holding whatever creature Stevens mentioned all over their socials. That ocean pickle.”

“Queen Grimhilde?” I ask, even though I probably should just go along with Brigitte’s ramblings whenever she’s hungry.

“The stepmom of Snow White? You don’t know Queen Grimhilde? And you call yourself an actress. Sometimes I don’t know what to do with you, Alana. Stevens, tell me you know who Queen Grimhilde is. ”

He nods. Smart man.

I change the subject while I walk toward the sofa to grab my purse. “It was a sea cucumber, by the way. Stevens was talking about the sea cucumber. And,” I chuckle. “As long as those women don’t come for my marine biologist, I’m fine with starting a trend.”

A whole year later and Brigitte can’t help but bring up that momentous fail that became the unplanned way I broadcast my relationship with Stevens to the world.

“We’d better go,” Stevens says, calmly.

“Tacos, here I come!” Brigitte says, waving her hands in the air overhead like she’s rooting for her winning team.

We pile into the limo parked behind my condo, and as promised, the first stop is a local taco place to get Brigitte food.

“You’re in your reclaiming era,” Brigitte says to me around a bite of tacos. “That talk with your mom. That’s you taking back territory you had surrendered to her for far too long. Yes, ma’am. You’re reclaiming your voice and your power. It’s your time to shine.”

She’s coming back to herself already after only a few bites of taco. I smile warmly at her.

“Did you eat enough today?”

“I did. This morning I had a green drink, followed by a Caramel Ribbon Crunch from the ’Bucks. Gotta keep the diet balanced, you know.” She wipes the back of her hand across her mouth.

I chuckle. “You are priceless, Bridge.”

Brigitte affects a deferential tone with a slight British accent. “All for you, Miss Alana.”

I make eye contact with Tank in the rearview. I could swear I heard him chuckle. But when I look up front at him, his face is a mask of stone.

“Stevens, you chose well,” Brigitte says. “Who’s your mama? That’s right! Alana.”

I bust out laughing. Tank cracks a smile. It’s only about a millimeter change in his expression, but it happened. I know I saw it. All these years I wanted to be the one to draw that out of him. Of course, it’s Brigitte who finally achieves it, and she doesn’t even notice.

Brigitte gobbles down two tacos and an iced tea on the way to the theater. We drop her off at the back entrance and then the limo drives around front where a throng of fans and reporters waits behind the ropes on both sides of the red carpet leading to the front doors.

Stevens steps out and the crowd cheers. Some even shout his name. But his focus is fully devoted to me. He extends me his hand and smiles down at me. I step out and people cheer and shout, “Alana!” “Alana!” “Over here!” “We love you!”

Stevens extends me his hand and we walk the red carpet together, pausing to have our photo taken or to answer brief questions along the way.

We make our way inside the theater and are escorted to the front row. This is my film—the one where I played Ember, one of the few survivors of an apocalypse. I had to use my martial arts training, hone my skills at sword fighting, and do a few technically challenging stunts. My parents did produce the movie, and I’m grateful for their support. I only hope they can extend that same level of support to my private life someday.

The theater fills with more cast members and crew along with other invited guests. My co-star Bensen Stiles is sitting next to me and Stevens with his date for the evening. My parents are also in the front row with Rex, about ten seats down from us. I don’t focus on them. I hold Stevens’ hand and take in the movie, watching myself as if I’m someone else on screen.

When the show ends, the lights go up. Stevens stands prematurely. I’m about to discreetly tell him to sit back down when he walks toward the stage. Our director, Abraham, walks up the opposite set of stairs and meets Stevens halfway at center stage.

What is going on?

“Thank you for coming out,” Abraham says in that naturally commanding and charismatic voice of his. “Alana has no idea we’ve planned this, but as a special treat I’d like to invite her up here to demonstrate a few sword handling moves. Of course, we won’t ask her to show off her proficiency for the martial arts in that stunning Monique Lhuillier gown she’s wearing. Wouldn’t want her to pop a pearl!”

The audience laughs.

“Come up here, Alana!” Abraham says with a flourish of his hand.

I point to myself, even though I know I’m the only Alana who can wield a sword in this crowd. At least, I think I am.

“Yes. Yes. Alana, dear, come up here for a moment.”

I stand from my seat and walk toward the stage to the cheers of my cast mates, other actors and prominent people in the industry.

I give Stevens a questioning look and he softly winks at me. I don’t know how he does it, but that simple gesture puts me at ease. Whatever this is, he’s in on it.

A stagehand walks out and hands me a sheathed sword.

Abraham thanks him and then says, “Oh. Wait. I forgot something. I have a clip I want to show first. Come stand over here, to the side of the stage with me, Alana.”

I’m even more confused. Maybe they’re reshowing one of the scenes where I engaged in a sword fight.

I follow Abraham. We’re not a quarter of the way across the stage when the house lights dim and the screen comes to life. But it’s not a clip from Only the Remnant. Taylor Swift’s Invisible String plays through the sound system while a slide show of me and Stevens fills the big screen. There we are on his boat, me laughing when he said something funny, us at a bonfire with friends, him holding me in his hammock and taking a selfie of the two of us, there’s a shot of us on Sharla’s couch at the interview, us in my kitchen, a snorkeling clip from the GoPro he brought on a dive. We’re underwater, making goofy faces with our goggles on. There’s a series of photos of us with his family at Christmas, a bunch from our trip to Hawaii, us at Kai and Mila’s wedding. The slideshow ends, appropriately, with a shot of us on my deck playing scrabble as the sun sets over the water in the distance.

The house lights come up, and Stevens is still standing center stage, staring at the fading image of us on my deck. I was so caught up in the slideshow I lost sight of what might be happening. What did that montage of me and Stevens have to do with me demonstrating sword skills?

Abraham leans in toward me and quietly says, “Maybe you ought to hand me that sword. We don’t want anyone getting hurt. After all, my insurance for this production only covers so much.”

I look at him with an obvious expression of confusion. I feel my brow draw in.

“What’s going on, Abraham?”

He simply extends his hand and I place the sword in it.

Stevens starts to calmly stride toward me and Abraham.

I notice he’s got a telltale earpiece in his ear. He’s mic’d up.

Before I can make sense of this bizarre string of events, Stevens drops to one knee.

All the seemingly unrelated pieces from the past fifteen minutes fall into place in an instant. Stevens … the slideshow … that song.

Stevens looks up at me. “Alana, I’ve known you for most of our lives, and I found you in the most unconventional way. We’ve talked about this before—how serendipitous our repeated connections were. And, at every turn, it’s been you. You’re my best friend, the one I wake thinking of and the one I dream about. You’ve shown me sides of myself I didn’t know existed. And you’ve shared with me parts of your heart that belong to no one else. I’m the most privileged man on earth—not because I love Alana Graves, but because I love you, my Saturday Island Girl. I’ve got a question I want to ask you.”

He stands and points out into the audience.

I thought he was proposing. But now, he’s standing, and there’s no ring in sight. This night keeps getting weirder .

I follow the line of vision to where Stevens is pointing. The doors at the back of the theater open, and people enter, walking down the aisle until they’re lined up on stage holding up Scrabble tiles. A few people have two tiles, most only hold one. The image of this group is shown on the screen so everyone in the theater can see.

And these aren’t just random people. It’s Stevens’ family and our friends: Mitzi, Stevens’ parents, Cam and Riley, Kai and Mila, Ben and Summer, Kalaine and Bodhi. The letters they are holding spell W I L L Y O U M A R R Y. The last two tiles are missing.

Brigitte comes running onto stage, “Me! Me! Sorry! Here I am!” She holds up her tiles, at first they say, EM. Bodhi gives her a nudge. She looks down. Shakes her head and changes the order so the tiles she’s holding spell M E.

Stevens drops down to his knee again. “Alana Graves, my Saturday Girl, will you marry me?”

I look down at this man, this humble, beautiful, kind man, the one whom I’ve known since we were children. The one who found his way back to me through an online game, who ferried me across the ocean, tried to teach me to drive a boat, always believed in me and never saw me as just some movie star. A tear tracks down my cheek. I never knew I could have someone like him. And here he is, despite all that he’s had to do to hang on to our relationship, bending the knee to ask me for my forever.

“Yes,” I say softly. “I would be honored to marry you.”

Our friends and Stevens’ family start cheering and the people in the audience applaud and shout.

Abraham cups his hands around his mouth and announces, “She said, yes!”

Stevens stands and pulls the ring from his pocket. He slips it on my finger, pulls me into his embrace, and leans in to kiss me.

Mitzi comes running up with her phone on. “Dustin wants to say congratulations!”

We hover around the phone and I show Dustin my ring. He hoots and shouts from his spot in the firestation. A group of firemen behind him start whooping and yelling.

When we hang up, our friends gather around us with hugs and congratulations. The crowd in the theater starts to disperse. Some make their way towards us, others file out to the afterparties.

My parents walk up the steps. I sense their presence despite the fact that I’m staring at Stevens. His arm is around me and Brigitte is chatting on about how hard it has been on her to keep this particular secret, and how romantic Stevens is, and how cute his brother, the fireman, is.

“Alana,” my mother’s voice cuts through the other conversations.

I turn toward her, ready to defend Stevens, or even to run out the back door of the theater if I have to, tugging him behind me. I’ll withstand her criticism, but I won’t ever make him endure it. He’s far too good for me, and I’ll never let someone pretend that’s not the case.

“Yes?” I answer my mother.

“You wanted to make an introduction?”

Stevens steps forward, extending his hand to my dad. “Mr. Graves. It’s a pleasure. Ideally, I would have asked your blessing. I didn’t have any legitimate way to contact you without blowing the surprise. I hope you understand. I love your daughter. And I intend to spend my life protecting her and supporting her.”

“Good to meet you, Stevens, is it?” My father’s commanding voice doesn’t seem to faze Stevens in the least.

“Yes, sir. Stevens. I’m glad we’re finally officially meeting.”

My dad nods. He’s not smiling, but it’s not exactly a grimace.

Stevens turns toward my mother. “Mrs. Graves. I’m sorry our first encounter was under such unusual circumstances. I had been told that the gala was a costume party. If I had checked my email more consistently I would have known it was a black tie affair. I’m glad we’re finally meeting when I’m not in a fish costume.”

My mother’s smile isn’t genuine, but it’s not forced. It’s the smile of a well-trained socialite. I’ll take it. She’s not being cruel, so that’s progress.

“We’re a bit shocked by your proposal,” she says to Stevens.

“Yes. I’m sure. Alana and I have been dating for over a year now, as you know. She’s everything I want in a woman. We make one another happy.”

Mother smiles again—that constipated grin that makes me wish I had Jobert on speed dial.

“Well, happiness is not exactly a life-foundation. But I am glad for you. Alana seems set on marrying you, so we’ll accept both of your decisions.”

Another man might be insulted or put off. Not Stevens. He just smiles this broad, sexy, irresistible smile as if my mother just told him they were thrilled about our engagement.

“Thank you, Mrs. Graves.”

“We should get going to the afterparty,” I tell my parents.

“Yes. Of course.” Mother smiles at me and leans in for a light hug and a cheek kiss.

She whispers into my ear, “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life,” I answer her at full volume.

“Well, we’ll have pre-nuptials drawn up,” she says under her breath.

“I won’t sign them,” I whisper back to her. “I don’t need them.”

I turn to Stevens, eager to get back to celebrating our engagement.

“Let’s get to the car. My fans and the reporters are still out front. We can share the news on our way to the limo.”

Stevens smiles at me and loops his arm behind my back. I lean into him—like I always can.

We say our goodbyes to my parents, our friends and Stevens’ family, then we walk out to the burst of camera flashes and the sound of adoring fans and eager reporters.

I turn toward the crowd and hold my hand in the air so everyone can see the ring on my finger.

Aiming myself at the nearest microphone, I say, “Tonight, the man of my dreams proposed to me!”

The crowd goes wild with squeals and screaming. Cellphones are raised in our direction, everyone eager to capture this moment and spread the fact that they were a small part of it.

I turn toward Stevens and look up into his eyes.

He smiles down at me. Then he scans the crowd and shouts, “And she said yes!”

Then he pulls me in for a kiss that ends up in every major newspaper the following morning.

Thank you for reading!