Epilogue

Present Day

My husband and I push through one of the many doors at the entrance of Gare du Nord, rolling suitcases behind us, the bright sun punching at our faces as we step onto the busy sidewalk. I grab my sunglasses, which are hooked on the collar of my shirt, and place them over my eyes as we walk. We had just been in Brussels, visiting Matti's parents for the second time since we'd been married. Even though they're older, they accepted me as their son's husband the first time we met, kissing me on both cheeks and pulling me into an elated embrace as though we'd known each other for years. We had spent a long weekend there and are now in Paris, where we'll spend the next week exploring. Matti is intent on showing me around, though he hasn't been here in over ten years.

We cross the street and immediately grab a table at a sidewalk café, shaded by the black-and-tan-striped canopy that hangs from the side of the four-story building that's a hundred years old, probably older. I'm not that hungry, but I think Matti wanted a drink, a moment to decompress after a weekend with his folks, as nice as they are. Their house is small and cramped, and Matti and I have been on our own for years, in wide-open spaces. When the waiter comes out to take our order, Matti requests two beers in fluent French, just as he'd done the first time we'd visited his parents, just like he'd done whenever he spoke to the locals in Brussels over the weekend. His voice is even more sexy when he speaks in his native language.

The gray had finally found a way to creep into my hair, around the edges, pushing through the black, nudging its way in uninvited. Matti and I both look a little older, feel a little older, faint hints of age ever so slowly announcing themselves more confidently year after year, around the eyes and atop the hands. Matti's insistence on eating well and daily exercise keeps us preserved better than most, I suppose. I play along not because I care about the aesthetic we present to the world but because I care about him. I know he'd love me just as I am; he simply wants us to remain healthy and alive, prolonging the time we'll be able to spend together.

I'm excited to see the city, but I'm just as happy hanging out at the café, throwing back a drink and watching people pour out of the train station from which we'd just emerged. I've always wanted to know what it was like to hang out at a Parisian café. I'll have a cappuccino in the morning. All the normal tourist attractions are on our itinerary—the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, the Champs-élysées and Arc de Triomphe—but I'm most excited about Matti showing me around the winding, cobbled streets of the city, the spots where he hung out (if they still exist), those off-the-beaten-path spots that only the locals know about. He's not from Paris, but he'd spent enough time there as a kid to get into some trouble.

There's just something about being with him, knowing he's next to me, counting on me—needing me and loving me—that makes me feel better about living. The colors around me are more vibrant, the sounds sweeter, the emotions deeper. Our marriage is better than any relationship I'd ever had, better than what I thought a relationship could be. We don't fight, and we rarely disagree. When we get frustrated with one another, we talk things out until we both feel better.

When Maestro was diagnosed with cancer at thirteen and passed away shortly after, and I felt like throwing myself from the top of a building, Matti was there, holding my hand, lifting me up, making me feel like my best friend wasn't just a memory. He supported me through every up and down, never judging and always asking what he could do to make me feel better, to help. And I took my cue from Matti, always making sure I was there for him in the same way. Not because I had to be, not because it was the right thing to do, but because I wanted to prop him up when he wasn't feeling strong enough.

Vonnie is still at the shop, but she's taken on the role of general manager, keeping things running when I can't be there myself, just like now. And she runs the hell out of it. I guess she'd gotten over her aversion to human contact, considering she'd been in a serious relationship for almost two years. The shop had gotten so busy, Midtown so bustling, that I had to expand into the newly vacant building just behind us. It doubled our space and served as a great place to move the grooming studio, which now has six tubs and a gated, free-roaming area for the dogs whose owners can't pick them up right away.

Alex and Patrick are still going strong. Alex opened his own design firm and built a roster of clients that keeps him busier than he's ever been. Patrick left his architecture firm, and the two of them bought an old vacant boarding house in an up-and-coming area that they turned into a boutique hotel that Patrick now runs. It's been open for almost a year.

Calvin and Ritz somehow made it, married and happy for three years. Not that they wouldn't have been. I just never pictured Calvin settling down or moving out of his one-bedroom carriage house in the Garden District. He'd lived there for almost fourteen years. Technically, I guess he didn't move out. He still rents the first-floor garage as overflow storage for finished projects. Did I mention he quit his sales gig and opened a storefront in the same neighborhood that houses Alex and Patrick's hotel? He also furnished most of the rooms. He and Ritz bought a small two-bedroom house not far from his old apartment and now have a dog of their own: a two-year-old Rottweiler that accompanies Calvin to his workshop every day.

Matti opened a consulting firm. He works with public transit agencies around the world, helping them with planning and design with an eye toward sustainability. When he's not traveling, he works from home. He loves it. I love him. I'm proud of him.

We sold our condos and bought a two-bedroom at Stratus not long after our engagement. It just made more sense. We got married a year later. It wasn't anything extravagant, just a small ceremony at the botanical garden with a little reception afterward: dinner, drinks, and dancing to the music we fell in love with during those long nights of clubbing all those years ago. The DJ from Avenue agreed to serve as the master of ceremonies after Matti tracked him down.

And we still dance. In our living room. Wondering if anyone in the neighboring tower is watching us through their window.

It's interesting… when I look at the world now, I don't feel so insignificant. Matti has taught me how to see the good in everything, including myself. It's not always easy, but when I look at him and see him sitting next to me, enjoying the simplest of things—sipping a beer, basking in the sun, watching people walk by and wondering about their lives, their stories—I realize that the past isn't so important. These are the moments that matter. When we sit on the balcony of our condo with Hugo at our feet, watching TV across the pool deck, switching channels by glancing from one unit to the next and coming up with tales about the people who occupy each place, I know that I can cherish the good parts of my past while living in the present and looking forward to the future. With my friends. With Matti.