epilogue

Izzy said goodbyeto her mother and hung up the phone. Lillian had discreetly stepped out onto the little fire escape balcony of their Paris apartment to give her privacy. Now Lillian climbed back in through the window, as graceful as a breeze.

“How’d it go?” Lillian sat down across the kitchen table from Izzy, pressing the power button on the Nespresso machine, nestled between a vase of flowers and a box holding silverware. The apartment was the perfect size for new lovers, and not an inch larger.

“Okay.” It was the third time she’d talked to Megan since she and Lillian had squeezed as much as they could into four suitcases and boarded a flight to Charles de Gaulle Airport. “She’s still apologizing.”

“For the wedding thing?”

“For everything.”

The first conversation had been a tearful lament on Megan’s side. She was sorry she drank in her third trimester. (At least she skipped the first two, Izzy acknowledged.) She was sorry she left Izzy alone when she was too young. She hadn’t left Bella alone until she was fourteen. (Poor Bella!) She should have come to Izzy’s school performances. (She remembered the names of most of them, which was sweet, and also proof that Megan had known about them and chosen to be elsewhere.) She should have fed Izzy better. Was Izzy vitamin D deficient? (Everyone in Oregon was, and it had nothing to do with eating Kraft mac and cheese as a child.)

Megan even had one reason for leaving Izzy that made a bit of sense, although it certainly didn’t return her to responsible-parent status. You’d gotten into college, Megan had said. And you had money to go, and if you left the state, they’d take that away. Megan understood now. That wasn’t how in-state tuition worked, and Izzy wasn’t going to a public university. She’d gotten a scholarship to a private college. But no one in the Wells family had even visited a college, let alone attended. I didn’t know, Megan had said, which didn’t negate the fact she should have said something about it and maybe called her daughter’s college to find out if she’d actually lose her scholarship by moving to California for a few months. Maybe when you abandoned your teenage daughter, you ought to have left her with more than a rusty trailer in the middle of nowhere and a hundred dollars in ones and fives.

But oddly, after all the years Izzy had pined to hear I’m sorry, Broken Bush felt like a distant memory. Outside the sun shone. The street bustled. The smell of bread and coffee swirled up to their apartment. Through the trees, she glimpsed some glittering gold buildings. And in the other direction was the Eiffel Tower. If she and Lillian weren’t out in the evening, they sat side by side on the fire escape and watched it light up at dusk.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Lillian asked.

“I don’t mind talking about it, but I feel fine.” There was so much else to do in Paris.

Four months into their stay, the thrill of Paris had not worn off. Lillian sparkled as an instructor. The students flourished under her strict but loving instruction. They’d be doing the summer showcase soon, the students performing alongside their instructors, each student provided the opportunity to do a short solo. Lillian could renew for another six months as a teacher if she wanted. Izzy was working and taking classes at the école de Burlesque Moderne. In between teaching and studying and programming and exploring Paris, Izzy and Lillian had been working on the app. Several tech investment companies had expressed interest in the beta version.

Izzy had sent Bella and Ace money for a honeymoon in France with the caveat that they were not staying in Izzy and Lillian’s minuscule apartment. That was too much closeness too soon. In the background of the FaceTime call, Ace had popped into the screen and said something about Izzy not wanting to hear her sister. Bella slapped them playfully. Izzy laughed, and it felt like chatting with friends. And Izzy had been talking to Megan, taking the first tentative steps toward a relationship.

Back in Portland, Sarah, Axel, Arabella, Tock, and twenty-two other members of Velveteen Crush were in the process of buying the theater, guided by Tock’s legal expertise. They’d invited Izzy to buy in, but she had declined. To Izzy’s dismay, a unanimous vote by the company had renamed the venue Theater Blue.

Imani was starting work as dance master for a Hiplet company. Malik was working with one of the Prime Minister’s fashion lines, designing inclusive shapewear. Pascale’s social media feed overflowed with pictures of her children. Elijah’s suggested he was dating. Jonathan had an audition with the Dance Theater of Harlem. As expected, Effectz won The Great American Talent Show.

Imani and the other former Reed-Whitmer dancers were planning a reunion party at the Mimosa Resort in the fall. Sarah, Arabella, Axel, and Tock were coming. And Imani had sternly admonished Lillian, If you say you can’t make it, we will come get you and Izzy and drag you there. After the call, Lillian stared at her phone with a look of happy confusion. Do they really want me there? Izzy had wrapped her arms around Lillian. Yes, they do. Y’all were a team. You care about each other. They know how hard you worked for them, and they like you. Only you think you shouldn’t be invited to the party. Pascale, Elijah, Malik, and Jonathan backed Izzy up with a week’s worth of texts threatening Lillian with everything from an embassy intervention to a search and rescue team if she didn’t send proof that she’d bought flights for her and Izzy.

Everything was wide open, all the possibilities laid out like a banquet. Truth: except for frolicking at the Mimosa Resort, Izzy and Lillian had no idea what they were going to do. In the evening, as they waited for the Eiffel Tower to light up, they tried to figure it out. They loved Paris. They missed home. Lillian loved teaching. Izzy could try to make burlesque her full-time job, or she could throw herself into designing the app. Or maybe they wanted to move into Izzy’s house in Portland. It hadn’t been too hard to pay off the second mortgage now that she wasn’t trying to salvage the theater. They could grow an herb garden and get a dog. Then the Eiffel Tower would light up. The sounds of the city would soften. And it didn’t matter if they had a perfect plan. They had each other.

Izzy pocketed her phone, the conversation with Megan rapidly fading from her thoughts. Lillian was here, holding space for her to say more. Welcoming any side of Izzy she wanted to share. Welcoming her tears or a rant or a memory. But today, Izzy wanted to talk about the list of sights they wanted to see.

“Sacré-C?ur de Montmartre?” she asked. “Or the catacombs?”

“Quite some variety there.” Lillian put a demitasse under the Nespresso maker and pulled a cup of coffee and then another. She passed one to Izzy.

“You wanted to see some of the Degas ballerinas and that museum of modern furniture.” Izzy clinked her demitasse against Lillian’s and smiled. “Because we came to Paris to see chairs.”

“I do want to see modern furniture,” Lillian said. Love and desire twinkled in Lillian’s eyes. “But first.” She held out her hand. “I worked all week, and it’s been too long.”

Izzy’s body woke immediately. She let Lillian lead her to the bed. They closed the filmy curtains, but they left the windows open. It was a sweet, almost-impossible challenge to be quiet as Lillian worshiped every inch of her body, occasionally whispering, “Shhh.”

“How—” Izzy held back a cry of pleasure. “Can you expect me to—”

Lillian held Izzy’s legs apart and kissed her.

“I don’t,” Lillian said, drawing another stifled cry from Izzy’s lips as pleasure washed over her in waves.

Izzy returned the favor. Then they dozed, the sounds of the city singing through the window. Lillian was already awake and scanning her phone when Izzy woke up.

“Whatcha looking at?”

Lillian cocked her head pensively.

“The modern furniture museum. You can buy their stuff. Whenever we go back home, I think I’ll get these. What do you think?” She held out the phone. “One for you. One for me.”

The browser showed a picture of two very small dressers in elegant shades of gray and midcentury-modern orange. You couldn’t get much in them.

“Sure.” If Lillian wanted to replace all their furniture with beanbag chairs, Izzy didn’t mind. Izzy moved closer so her head rested on Lillian’s chest. “But what are they for?”

Lillian gave her a little shake even as she pulled Izzy closer.

“They’re nightstands. Obviously.” Lillian kissed the top of Izzy’s head. “A first nightstand and a second nightstand. A set. To go together always.”