Epilogue Shira

July

"You don't have to do this just because you said you would," Blake says, not for the first time.

We've been sitting in Lilac II for the better part of an hour—me and Blake in the front seat and Felix sprawled in the back. It's late July, warm enough that we have the windows rolled down, admitting the cross-breeze and sounds of kids running around in various front yards.

Barbecue smoke drifts through the early evening air. It's funny how certain smells take you back—in this case to this exact neighborhood, this exact row of houses. My parents' house, three doors away from where we're parked.

"I know." I swallow around my nerves, my heartbeat like stage fright if I ever got actual stage fright. Or earned enough time on stage to get stage fright. A mean kind of thought I've been working to correct. How life is a series of often random-feeling choices that, only when we look back, resemble some sort of plan.

That's what my therapist says, anyway. Turns out saving on rent by living with Blake and Felix means having money for other things. Like addressing this sense of failure that sits between my shoulder blades most days.

Right now, it's pressing a little harder than usual. "What if they don't want to see me?"

"They will," Blake says simply.

"And what if they ask what I've been up to in the past six years?"

The only indication that Felix is shifting around in the backseat is the faint shush of fabric. "So tell them the truth. Or as much of it as you want."

"Maybe I should do something else." I considered options. Sat with Blake and made a list: write a letter and include my phone number. Offer to meet them with a therapist who specializes in family reconciliation.

And the one we landed on…going home on a Monday off-day, with a pan of brownies Blake made, some maple syrup from Felix's farm, and a stack of photos I printed of my life since I left. All of which are sitting in a reusable shopping bag by my feet, along with a bouquet of summer asters. Now I just need to summon the courage to pick them up and go.

"We could come with you," Felix offers.

"You should stay here. I might need a getaway driver." I give Lilac II's dashboard a pat. "I bet Blake's pretty good at that."

Blake snorts, then mumbles something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like, I only did that once .

"I appreciate the offer," I say, "but I kind of don't want to walk in and be like, Look at me, I'm all successful, I have two famous boyfriends. "

"Blake's really the only famous one," Felix teases.

"I need to do this on my own." Even if I can't seem to move from Lilac II's front seat. "I guess I want them to be proud of what I've done."

"They will be," Blake says. "And if they're not, we are."

From the back, Felix concurs.

Another list we all wrote together:

That I finished my first year at community college and am taking summer classes. With my AP credits from high school, I'm most of the way to my associate's degree.

That I started teaching toddler ballet at a nearby studio, first as a drop-in instructor, then more regularly. Eventually, the owner mentioned she ran another dance studio—this one for adults, including ballet and pole classes, and would I be interested in teaching either?

That I'm in a stable relationship with two people who I'm in love with more every day and who're in love with each other. Something that might burn hot and bright—not like a meteor, but like a star.

That when I look back at what felt random—a broken ankle, a freak snowstorm, a car engine fire—everything looks like more and more of a plan.

None of which can shove down that whisper. But what if it's not? "It's just…going home is hard."

"Preaching to the choir." Blake grins reassuringly. "If it doesn't go well—and it will—Felix and I have been talking. I might want to spend the winter up here."

"You want to spend the winter in Boston?" I ask. Because Blake can get cold on a seventy-degree day.

"Well, more like, up at the farm."

I picture that—a winter spent in a snug little farmhouse, under the expanse of a country sky. Then six weeks in Florida for spring training. A summer in Boston or traveling with the team. Fall wherever we want to go—the playoffs or if not, Blake bought a bunch of guidebooks so he could plan various trips. A life that's moving without running. "Sounds pretty great to me."

"No matter how this goes," Felix says, "that's what's waiting for you when you get back."

"Okay, okay, I'm going." So I gather my gifts and flowers, check myself in Lilac II's rearview. The sidewalk between the car and my parents' house is a smooth fifty or so feet of pavement. I can make it on my own—even if now, I know I don't have to. So I shoulder my bag and I start walking.

THE END