Epilogue

JUDE

It takes the whole of five months after that shit storm to get back on track, to get happy again. Or more likely, as happy as the two of us can get. But we manage. Ironically, it’s summer that nearly did us in, but it's fall and winter that bring us back to ourselves, back to each other. It would be nice to say that all of our problems are solved, that everything is fixed. But life isn’t like that. We are never going to be the kind of people who agree on much, you and I. If I know us, I know it will be a fight until the end. But the good news is, there isn’t another person on this planet I’d rather duke it out with. You and me, we share the same agenda. Different motives, often— but the same goal, nonetheless. We want to make the world a better place, and like most people, we want it our way. The trouble is, not everyone gets to have it their way.

That’s where you and I come in. We’re the choosers, the fixers, the doers—motivated by something bigger than ourselves, and sometimes that something gets in the way. My father always said: if you're going to enter the ring make sure you go in with an opponent who forces you to level up. Better to lose than to get a lazy win.

And I’ve never found that to be as true as I have over the past year, both in love and in life. Marriage, and mating— make no mistake, it’s a game. A game in which you need a good match, because otherwise what’s the point? You and me, we like to outdo each other. Sometimes we win. Sometimes we lose. But losing doesn’t mean you quit. It just means it’s time for a new game.

My father told me that a long time ago. It was too bad he couldn’t take his own advice. Maybe that’s a part of it. Maybe wisdom only comes from defeat. And defeated he was. He lost and he knows it. He made his choice— he fucked up—he let a woman bring him down, and it cost him everything. I don’t fault him for that. After all, who am I to point fingers about what’s wrong and right? I understand why he made the choice he did. Driven by passion— he didn’t see another way out. A lot of killers feel that way. Running out of options, sitting at rock bottom, it’s a bad place to be. It’s why people do terrible things.

Thankfully for you, I am not my father.

The clock strikes midnight, we toast with champagne, and I lean in for a kiss. You take my face in your hands, and kiss me back hard. For a moment you pull away but then you lean in again, taking my bottom lip between your teeth. You’re a little bit tipsy, but hell, everyone is.

“Get a room,” someone calls. The Morgans are hosting the annual neighborhood New Year’s Eve party this year, seeing that the Morrises are six feet under. It sounds like Todd Morgan speaking, although I’m too busy looking at you to care.

Your eyes sparkle, and maybe it’s the champagne and maybe it’s not. “You look more beautiful than ever,” I tell you, and you laugh.

“To another year,” you say, clinking your glass with mine.

“To another year,” I say, and I study your face.

“What was your number?” you ask.

I lean in closer and whisper in your ear. “Ninety-one.”

You jut out your bottom lip and you pull back. “Impressive.”

“Yours?”

Your face lights up. “One hundred and two.”

“Not bad,” I say, and it isn’t.

“Looks like I won,” you say, taking a sip off your champagne flute.

“Looks that way,” I say, and I lie. In truth, my number was 114, but I let you believe because life works better that way. I don’t tell you that I’ve checked your notes just to ensure that I come up with a lesser number. Some things don’t need to be said, and love is about going the extra mile. I take your hand in mine. “But isn’t that what it’s all about, anyway?”

“Winning?”

I shake my head, and I study your face. “Sacrifice.”

“Something like that,” you say, and then you smile, and it lights up my whole world.

“Do you wanna dance?” I ask, nodding toward the dance floor.

“It’s all I want to do.”

Later, stepping off of the dance floor, the host Todd Morgan grabs my forearm.

“What’s your secret?” he smiles, and then he looks from me to you. I tilt my head just slightly, and he drops his hand from my arm. “I’m asking for a friend.”

You lean over me, look him dead in the eye, and you handle this one like a champ. “We’ll never tell.”