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“I’m so sorry I left without saying goodbye,” I say softly, holding his gaze even though my knees are trembling. “And I’m so sorry I left without saying…” I pause, my breath shallow and raspy as I whisper, “I love you, too.”
Without a word—and without a single thought of someone watching through the window—Ethan cups my face with his hand, kissing away every lingering doubt until all that remains is an overwhelming desire to spend each waking second exactly like this one.
“Let’s go home,” he murmurs against my lips, and I might actually melt onto the floor if not for his arm looped around my waist.
Realistically, I know the three of us can’t live together forever. Ethan rooming with Brynn was always meant to be temporary, and I have a feeling, considering his burgeoning success, he’ll be finding his own place soon, embarking on a new chapter with new possibilities.
New. Another word, likehome, that used to evoke mixed feelings, at once exciting and terrifying. But now I’ve come to view it as the former, embracing change with hopeful expectation.
After all, in a glittering, glorious city like New York, surrounded by the people you love, the future can’t be anything but bright.
EPILOGUE
Sometimes in life, we’re gifted a moment that seems to stand still, like a photograph forever framed in our minds. This is one of those moments. My family—Mom, Dad, Matt, and Veronica—are seated around the fire, sipping from monogrammed mugs of hot chocolate, while Brynn and her parents converse in front of the large picture window. Their silhouettes are backlit by the city lights, hazy and ethereal, delicately diffused by the softly falling snow. Brynn’s father, Dennis, stoops to untangle Whiskers from the long scarf I’d knit her for Christmas, the one Wilson now uses to tow her around our apartment.
Our apartment…. Although Brynn and I have only been official roommates for eight months, it’s hard to remember a time when we didn’t live together, when I didn’t call this place home.
Ethan moved into his own apartment the second MAD Market took off, as I knew it would. And once the festive frenzy of holiday shopping began, its popularity soared beyond even our most auspicious expectations.
It’s hard to describe how it feels to see his dreams finally come to fruition—to witness the result of all his hard work, striving for such a worthy cause—but I can say this: it’s an intoxicating combination of unabashed pride and unrelenting joy and delight. The exhilaration has even trickled into my own endeavors since the success of MAD Market’s ad campaign helped to launch the East Coast branch of Carmichael Creatives. In fact, in the new year, we’ll be moving into a bigger office and hiring additional staff. So far, it’s only been me and my part-time assistant, Jenny, and I mostly work from home unless I’m meeting with a client.
“Wow. It smells incredible in here.”
I turn toward the smooth, scintillating sound of Ethan’s voice. My heart still flutters at the sight of him. He unhooks Wilson’s leash, hanging it on the hook by the door before shrugging out of his heavy wool coat. Even in his aunt Myrtle’s latest monstrosity—a chunky cable-knit sweater with a deranged-looking elf embroidered on the front—he’s the most attractive, utterly enticing man I’ve ever seen. Junior high me would be so jealous.
He dusts snowflakes out of his hair before striding into the kitchen to place a kiss on my cheek, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind. As we stand facing the stove, I lean against him, reveling in the strong, solid pressure of his body against mine. His woodsy scent mixes with the aroma of fresh basil and roasted garlic, and I breathe deeply, shivering with pleasure as he nuzzles my neck, pressing his warm lips against a particularly sensitive spot.
“Can you please save the public displays of affection until after dinner?” Matt groans, startling us both. “I’m starting to lose my appetite.”
“Oh, leave them be,” Veronica says, swatting his arm. “It’s sweet.”
I can’t help smiling at her response, which is so different from our past interactions. Ever since she started dating Trent—a sitcom writer she met at her gym six months ago, who’s since moved to New York to write forSaturday Night Live—she’s become a shameless lover of love. Almost nauseatingly so, not that I’d tell her that. Directing her question to me, she asks, “Can we help with dinner?”
“That’s code forhurry up, we’re hungry,” Matt interjects in a teasing tone while itching his nose, a mild symptom of his dog allergy that wasn’t alleviated by the Benadryl. Of course, it’s partially his own fault. Instead of keeping his distance, he became enamored by Wilson instantly, and has spent half the evening playing fetch and doling out head scratches.
“It’s almost ready.” I slip on a pair of oven mitts. “Can you grab serving spoons for the side dishes and set them on the table? Oh, and fill the water glasses.”
“Sure thing.” Veronica sweeps into the kitchen, moving about the space with all the ease and familiarity befitting her frequent visits. I have a feeling if things continue to move quickly with Trent, it’s only a matter of time before she becomes a permanent fixture around here. She’s even hinted at the possibility of working together, which would technically make me her boss. A prospect that would’ve been laughable last Christmas. But now? I don’t hate the idea of spending more time together.
While Veronica and Matt place the scalloped potatoes, green salad, biscuits, and roasted asparagus on the table, I slide the main course out of the oven.
Ethan’s mouth tips into a smile, the slightly slanted smile that makes my limbs wobbly. “While I’m still partial to the first one you made me, I rather like this new Christmas tradition of ours.”
“Me, too.” I beam at the festive frittata, my heart swelling with happiness and a twinge of pride. Although the spinach I’d carefully arranged had shriveled in the heat, the leaves maintained their tree-like shape, and the scattered slices of red, yellow, and green bell pepper perfectly resemble a colorful array of ornaments. I may not be competing on any cooking shows anytime soon, but I’ve made a lot of progress. And not only in the kitchen.
The aroma draws the rest of our family over to our makeshift dining room, and while Brynn serves Whiskers and Wilson their special baked salmon, I set the hot skillet on a trivet at the head of the table.
Over dinner, Matt regales us with humorous anecdotes culled from his new role as marketing director while Dad updates us on his semiretirement, which really means he conducts more business meetings on the golf course. Brynn’s mom, Colleen, tells us about her new personalized sock-gnome business, which is exactly what it sounds like—gnomes made out of socks, custom-made to look like your loved ones. Apparently, they’ve become an internet sensation among young influencers. Who would’ve thought?
After dinner, we retire to the living room for dessert—more hot chocolate, pecan pie, and, of course, Mom’s fruitcake. Ethan serves us a slice to share, and sacrificially chokes down most of it. Could the man be more wonderful?
While we cuddle on the couch, my gaze wanders to the row of gingerbread houses lining the console table along the back wall. Matt’s re-creation of Hearst Castle, an ambitious feat even for him, Veronica’s yurt, inspired by her recent yoga retreat, Brynn’s Empire State Building, complete with candy cane spire, and Ethan’s edible homage to the Brooklyn Bridge. All masterpieces in their own right. Then there’s mine.
Since my humble cottage collapsed, I decided to change tack. Using two Oreo-flavored candy canes for their black and white stripes, plus cinnamon gummy bears squished and reshaped to mimic tiny red shoes—albeit slightly mangled shoes—I replicated Dorothy’s house, post tornado, atop the Wicked Witch of the East.
In what will surely go down in history as a Christmas miracle, our parents collectively voted to crown my gingerbread house the winner thanks to its creativity and originality. But although I can finally claim the trophy—in all its cheap plastic, faux-gold glory—it doesn’t hold the same level of significance that it once did. As cheesy as it sounds, I’ve already won in all the ways that matter.
I snuggle closer to Ethan, resting my head against his shoulder as my mother passes out the Christmas Commitments scrolls, including four blank ones so Ethan, Brynn, and their parents can join our quirky custom.Lucky them.
