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.