Epilogue
Tonight’s a big night. We’re hosting Kristen and Melissa at Noah’s house for dinner. We’ve been back from Rome for three months and I’ve seen them on my own plenty of times, but Noah hasn’t been invited. That’s mostly my doing. I wanted to make sure my friends had time to adjust to his new role in my life. No, no, he’s not horrible. He’s great. We like him now. See?
I’ve planned the day down to its most finite details. I have every beverage option imaginable: tea, wine, coffee, beer, Crystal Light. I have Noah grilling out back. He’s making chicken, steak, and shrimp. For sides, we have mashed potatoes, roasted corn on the cob, macaroni and cheese, and salad.
Noah’s house is sparkling clean. There’re fresh towels in the guest bathroom, flowers on the kitchen counter, and little candies in a dish on the coffee table—Melissa’s favorite.
The doorbell rings and I panic.
“Noah! They’re here!”
At the end of the night, I’ll look back on my behavior and laugh, but right now, I’m too entrenched in the moment to realize my enthusiasm is seeping out of my every pore. I open the front door with a flourish and welcome my friends into Noah’s house like I’m the concierge at the Ritz Carlton in charge of looking after a bona fide celebrity. Let me get your coat. Let me get you a drink. The bathroom is right here. Did you find the toilet paper to be soft enough? I can find you something better if you need it. A moist towelette?
Instead of letting them make introductions naturally, I shove Noah toward them like he’s a Ken doll I purchased at Target that day. Look at him! Tall and funny! And he cooks! Noah, tell them about the curry you made the other night. C’mon, don’t be shy. Tell them.
While they’re sitting in the living room sipping their wine, I hover over them with the open bottle, ready to top them off at a moment’s notice.
Noah comes over and tugs on my arm, asking if I wouldn’t mind helping him in the other room for a minute.
“Can it wait?”
I hate to leave my friends. They might take his short disappearance as a snub. They’ll assume the worst.
“It’ll only take a second,” he promises, then he half-drags me from the room.
We go to our bedroom and he shuts the door.
His hands grip my shoulders and then he bends low so we’re eye to eye. For the first time all evening, I register his warm brown eyes, his levelheaded stare, his easygoing smile.
“You have got to cool it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your friends like me. And if they don’t, that’s fine too, but—”
My eyes widen in horror. “No. Not possible. We’ll get them to try your steak. No one can resist your steak.”
I try to turn and open the door, but he holds my shoulders steady.
“Audrey, you’re freaking out.”
“I’m freaking out,” I repeat, finally realizing it.
“Why? It’s just dinner.”
“It’s really important to me. My best friends are meeting my boyfriend.”
Noah and I haven’t said we love you to each other. I love him, point-blank. I’ve loved him since I found that printed reading list stuffed in his book back in Italy. And even though we haven’t said the words yet—haven’t spelled it out loud and clear—we’ve conveyed our feelings for each other a million different ways. When I’m having a particularly sleepy morning and can’t seem to manage to pry my eyes open, Noah makes my coffee and brings it to me right in bed so the aroma tempts me out from beneath the covers. If I happen to be out and about and pass his favorite ice cream shop, I always stop in to pick up a pint to-go. Over dinner, Noah catches up on reality TV with me even though I know it’s not his thing. When we order Chinese takeout and they give us an odd number of crab puffs, I always let Noah have the extra one. I mean, jeez, that’s basically on par with getting his name tattooed on my lower back, you know what I mean? These are crab puffs we’re talking about!
“What’s the worst-case scenario?” he asks, trying to help me see reason.
“They hate you forever and I have to find new friends.”
“That’s…extreme. Remember what happened when I met your parents?”
We went over to their house for a belated birthday celebration for my dad. Once we arrived, my mom fussed over Noah like he was Queen Elizabeth coming for a visit. Noah, is that chair comfortable enough? Audrey, switch with him—let him have the recliner.
I see now that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
My dad took him out back for a “stern talking-to”, as he explained it to me, but then a few minutes later, I heard laughter. When I peered through the wooden blinds, my dad was affectionately patting Noah on the shoulder. Later that night, I heard him call Noah “son”! They have plans to play golf together next week!
“They loved you.”
“They loved me,” he repeats.
“I love you.”
His smile drops. His shock is written all across his face. He blinks as if trying to process the magnitude of what I’ve just said, and then a beat later, he repeats it.
“You love me.”
He’s never looked happier.
“Oh great.” I roll my eyes. “Is this the end then? The part where you call in the camera crew?” I affect my best impersonation of a TV producer. “Guys, please tell me you got her confession on video. We really fooled her big time! Yeah, well, the joke’s on you because I still have that contract you signed in Italy.”
He laughs, shaking his head. “You’re right. The ruse is up. I got you so good.” He leans in to kiss my cheek, to lace his fingers through mine and press me to the door. “You really fell for it big time. Your toothbrush is in my bathroom. You have clothes in my closet. Your succulent lives in my kitchen window. How could you be so naïve?”
His lips make their way to mine and he kisses me gently.
When he pulls back, he whispers, “I love you too.”
Epilogue to the epilogue
Noah
* * *
Audrey and I have been elected “cutest couple” for the yearbook superlatives three years running. Audrey cuts out the pages from each edition and proudly pastes them in a scrapbook. When we have friends over for dinner, she brings it out to show them. Embarrassed, I hid the scrapbook from her last week, but it’s only a matter of time until she finds it again.
Principal O’Malley’s still bitter about his $20, but after some persuasion, he let Audrey and me keep our classrooms right next door to each other. Every day, we eat lunch together in Audrey’s classroom. Every day, a teacher walks by, stops, and clicks their tongue in disbelief that the rumors are really true. Gil still gloats about his winnings.
Having had a break from chaperoning the Rome trip, Mr. and Mrs. Mann realized they didn’t have the energy for it anymore and happily passed the torch to Audrey and me. For three summers now, we’ve taken a group of ten students to Rome during the month of July. We take the kids to all our favorite sites and we make sure to pay a special visit to Giuseppe and his family. Standing together in their small kitchen, Eva shows the students how to make homemade pasta, and after, we sit around the table eating our culinary creations and practicing our Italian.