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His lip almost rises. “Our present is already standing.”
I smile more. “I agree, wholeheartedly. We haven’t fallen over.” I watch him set up the litter box with ease. My parents had a couple old ones, but we needed more for all seven cats.
If I think too hard, I can still feel the nauseous heat from the fire.
Thatcher, Farrow, Maximoff, Luna, and I—we lost everything we owned in the townhouse. Yesterday, we went to the site and walked the rubble. Soot and charred brick left behind.
I’m fortunate that I have the means to start over, but of course, I lost sentimental things. Framed photos that I never stored in my phone or backed up in the cloud (for security purposes), all the Post-it notes Thatcher wrote me, chunky heels my mom gifted me after the FanCon tour, and much more.
But I feel immensely grateful to have Thatcher here—and that no one else was hurt. All the material items seem far less important and unnecessary in the end.
“Are you ready?” Thatcher asks.
We’ve been moving hurriedly. We have somewhere to be, you see.
“Almost.” I dispose the cut tags into a trash bin and crouch down to a cat carrier. “I have something for you before we go.”
I can feel his confusion mount behind me.
My purple tulle skirt catches in the carrier’s zipper. “Merde,” I mutter and tear the fabric. So it shall be.
Thatcher suddenly squats down. He helps me unstick the zipper, and my cheeks hurt, my smile overpowering my face.
“Merci,” I say.
But his face has already fallen, seeing what’s inside the carrier.
“The night of the fire,” I explain, pulling out the item. “I saw this on the vanity and I shoved it inside with Ophelia, before you put Licorice with her.”
Thatcher takes the old library book out of my hand. The cover of The Outsiders is worn, and his chest rises as he flips to the list of names, eyeing the last one written.
Skylar Moretti
Thatcher started with less than me. I have possessions strewn throughout my childhood house. His whole life was in a bag, and it went up in flames.
I just wanted to preserve something for him.
He kisses the top of my head. “Thank you, Jane.” He pinches his eyes for a half a second, then stands and slips The Outsiders on my teenage bookshelf.
He could’ve tucked the book into his bag, and I find a lot of love in the fact that he set his childhood possession next to mine.
I smile. “Now I’m ready.”
We leave the regal mansion, entering a late-March warmth. Spring has come very early this year, and we bathe in the temperate weather.
He slips his hand in mine, and we walk past a baby blue Land Rover, parked near the fountain.
My Volkswagen Beetle was too damaged in the fire to salvage, and so yesterday, I bought Thatcher a car for his Christmas present, and he chose the color for me.
Our vehicle sits very pretty, I think.
We descend the driveway. Pink tulip trees blooming on either side, and I glance up at Thatcher, his flannel shirt hiding the burn on his shoulder.
It’ll scar, but he’s said the pain has lessened. And I take comfort in that fact. Tony was released from the hospital at the same time as Thatcher, and the rumor is that he’s being transferred to Security Force Alpha.
Where he’ll be the bodyguard to Connor Cobalt—my brilliant, cutthroat dad. Who can make the tallest men feel infinitesimally microscopic and tiny.
With that behind us and so much ahead, the air sings with a newfound happiness. We reach the neighborhood street and stroll towards the music and voices at the end of the cul-de-sac.
We’re not the only ones en route.
Farrow and Maximoff step onto the road with Kinney perched on Moffy’s shoulders, her black combat boots thudding his chest. They leave the Hale house along with Luna and Xander. Like us, they’ve chosen to temporarily reside at our childhood homes. Just until we choose a new place to live.
They smile at Thatcher and me.
Luna waves a neon-green pompom, one I made for her long ago, growing up, and I realize Moffy, Xander and Kinney have their makeshift pompoms in hand too.
I laugh into a tearful smile, and I look up to Thatcher, who has such light in his eyes. And he’s the one to tell me, “Today is a happy day.”
“It is,” I nod.
We trek forward, and I hear Kinney ask her older brother, “Why are you so slow? Walk faster.”
“I could run, Kinney, but you’d scream—”
“Huh, I’m afraid of nothing.”
He sprints forward, whooshing past me, and Kinney shrieks.
We all laugh, and that laughter blends into the packed cul-de-sac where Thatcher’s big Italian-American family is among all of mine—parents, siblings, aunts, uncles and cousins. Plus, Omega bodyguards are here as friends. Grilling out burgers and cheesesteaks, music flowing into the bright blue sky. Beers are chilled and sipped.
They turn and smile at our entrance.
This is our engagement party.
Thatcher and I exchange another readying look. We go around and greet all his relatives and all of mine. My parents congratulate us, both near tears, though my mom will vehemently deny it, and then my dad tells me that I was quicker than him. To accept love. He rarely admits to being second-best at anything, so his words swell my heart.
I squeeze Thatcher’s mom, stepmom and grandma tight, and they kiss my cheek. I even meet his dad, who flew in from Coronado where he trains Navy Seal recruits.
He hugs Thatcher, and as they catch up, I find my little sister at a dessert table, a lacy umbrella shielding the sun from her fair skin.
Near the end of the table, Winona and Sulli burst into laughter, cupcake frosting smudged on their noses and cheeks. I smile. It’s not a real party until the Meadows sisters shove cupcakes in each other’s faces.
Audrey drops a pink pompom and the parasol once I clasp her hands. We jump up and down and chant to each other, “Beautiful, gorgeous, ravishing.” We kiss each other’s cheeks, and when we slow, I take her pompom and touch her nose.
“This was orchestrated?” I wonder, referring to the pompom. I’ve quickly realized that all the ones I made specifically for my cousins and siblings are in their possession today.
“Yes, we had to create a new mega-group chat, one without you, but it all went according to plan. Except for Eliot. He says he lost his pompom somewhere.” She leans in close to whisper, “I think he burned it years ago, and he just doesn’t have the heart to say. Especially since Tom’s ribbon is singed.”
Sure enough, Tom has been enthusiastically waving around a charred pompom. Nearby, Beckett gives him a what the fuck look. Ben holds his mustard yellow pompom by his side, and Charlie makes an effort to casually shake his in the air like he’s ringing a bell.
“We love them anyway,” I note.
She nods proudly in agreement, and her gaze drifts behind me. She lets out a breathy sigh. “I swear, Jane, you’re the luckiest girl in the world. To have such a beauty like him. Don’t ever let him go.”
My sister’s love of Thatcher is a rising tide inside my heart, and I turn to see him approaching.
Two beer bottles in one hand. His bold, quiet dominance lures me, even as he stops and passes me the alcohol.
“Thank you.” I run my lips together and flush. I will always be flushing around Thatcher Moretti. I crane my neck more to meet his eyes, and for some odd reason, I greet him. “Thatcher.”
“Jane.” He swigs his beer, and without speaking more, he takes my hand and guides me into the masses. My heart pitter-patters. My smile can’t wane.
Everyone is dancing, jumping—and we join in. He hoists me up on his body. My legs around his waist and one hand on his neck, and his grip is beneath my ass.
He slyly passes his beer to Banks as he walks by, and then he peels my fingers off his neck and holds my left hand.
I eye him curiously.
He slips
off the paperclip and slips on a pink sapphire ring, multi-colored gemstones set around the teardrop-cut.
My lips part. “How did you…?” The ring looks like someone went deep-sea diving into my soul and returned with this. It’s so terribly me that my eyes begin to water on instinct.
“There’s this jewelry boutique in Paris you used to visit as a kid.” He fixes a strand of my hair that blows in my face.
“You didn’t go to…?”
“I went to Paris,” he confirms.
My eyes pop out. “How? When?” For me, he went to Pairs for me, for this ring. Knowing how special it’d be for me, even though I was willing to wear the paperclip for the rest of my life.
“I had a day off in February,” Thatcher explains. “Your mom, sister, and I took a private plane, and it was the quickest trip I’ve ever been on, but it was worth every second.”
My heart swells, and I smile through tears. “You realize, you’re becoming as dramatic and over-the-top as the rest of us.”
He cups my cheek. “I’m happy to be here.”
The way he stares into my eyes brings crashing waves to shore. It feels like someone folding me up in their soul.
I kiss him—I kiss him so fiercely and wholeheartedly. He kisses me back like this is the beginning, not the end.
Thatcher is smiling against my lips.
I clasp his jaw more strongly, my smile rising.
Cheers and applause explode around us, pompoms waving, and loving faces and bodies jump in glee. Thatcher and I sip beers and kiss and dance, me in his arms. We are all mad, beautiful synchronous chaos.
“I love you,” I say so often now.
I never want to leave his embrace, happiness is right here in his arms. And if we’re strong enough to survive ice and fire together, we can survive anything.
Sempre toujours.
Always always.
Thank You!!
