Epilogue

 

JAMES

“What are you doing? For the hundredth time, stop carrying boxes, Myra. I know it’s my favorite nickname, but you really aren’t Supergirl. At least, you shouldn’t be. Not right now.”

She places the cardboard container on top of the stack near the front door and glances over her shoulder to give me an exaggerated eye roll. “It’s towels, James. Even a pregnant woman can carry a load of towels. According to your mother, after this baby is born, half my days will be spent carrying around baskets full of laundry.”

“Yes, after.” I cross the room and wrap my arm around her shoulders and place the other hand on her stomach. It’s still flat, although she complains constantly about her waistline having disappeared. She says it’s annoying that she looks like she’s gaining weight instead of looking pregnant.

I suspect that’s partially why she started telling everyone so soon. Even the barista at the coffee shop two blocks over is aware.

I wanted to wait to spread the news; I’ve read two different books on the subject of pregnancy already, and both suggested waiting until the first trimester was over before telling anyone, since the risk of miscarriage is highest during the first three months. But Myra said it took her five years to get to this point and she wasn’t waiting a single moment longer.

The unexpected pregnancy is putting a crimp in her wedding plans, though. Every day she waffles between waiting until the baby is born and having an elaborate affair, or simply heading to the courthouse tomorrow to make it official. Speaking of…

“We need to go, sweetheart. Everyone’s waiting for us at the new house.”

Nodding, she reaches for her purse. “Do you need to stop by the office on the way?”

“Alex has it under control.”

Her lips twitch as she arches her eyebrows and I give her the same overblown eye roll she gave me a moment ago. “I’ve admitted I was wrong about him. Well, not entirely. While he’s great with clients and he finally knows how to make a decent cup of coffee, he’s still annoying as hell. It’s like working with the Energizer Bunny. It exhausts me just being around him.”

She smooths her hand over my shirt. “He’ll relax. Eventually.”

“You’ve been saying that for two months.”

“Well—” A knock on the door interrupts whatever she intended to say.

“Must be the movers.” I pull open the door and stare dumbly at the couple standing on the threshold. “Er…”

It’s the neighbors. Simon’s owners. The husband has a box in his arms and the wife is holding a pet carrier. I can see gray and black fur through the slates.

“Um, hi,” the blonde woman says. Her gaze lands on the scene behind us and her eyes widen. “Are you moving?”

I replace my arm around Myra’s shoulder as the grin I don’t bother to contain spreads from cheek to cheek. “Yes we are. To a bigger house in my brother’s neighborhood.”

“We’re expecting,” Myra blurts, her hands going to her stomach while her face lights up like Christmas.

“Congratulations,” the couple says in unison. Then they give each other uncertain glances.

“What is it?” I ask. “Is that Simon?” I want to ask if I can pet her. Maybe hold her. Maybe keep her. I’ve missed that damn cat. As perfect as my life has seemed since I finally figured out Myra’s place in it, there’s still been a small aspect missing. Who knew one could get so attached to a furry friend so quickly? Hell, it took Myra and I five years.

Okay, it took me five years. And I was always attached; I just didn’t realize it.

“Cleo,” the woman corrects, and then she shakes her head. “No, you’re right. Simon.” She glances at her husband again and he nods. Sucking in a breath, she extends her arm as if she’s handing the cat carrier to me. “Here. She’s yours.”

“What?” I stare at the cat, who’s prowling in her small crate, bumping her head against the prison door and purring.

“Barry has just accepted a promotion with his company, and we’re moving to Germany.”

“Congratulations,” Myra says.

“Thanks,” the husband replies.

“Anyway,” his wife continues, “the process of taking pets overseas is a pain…”

“That’s really just an excuse,” Barry adds. “Truthfully, Cleo hasn’t been the same since we took her back. She’s forever trying to escape the house and she doesn’t really want anything to do with us.”

“And we’re dog people, anyway,” the wife says. “We just thought it would be difficult to have a dog and live in the city. We’ve decided as soon as we’re settled in Germany, we’re going to adopt a puppy.”

I continue to stare at the cat, who’s now looking at me as if she expects me to do something. “Er…”

“Take her,” the woman says, thrusting the carrier at me.

“Here’s her things,” the husband says, offering the box to Myra. I quickly grab the cardboard and place it on the floor before she can overextend herself, then I reach for Simon.

“Really?” I’m not usually so dense when it comes to these sorts of interactions. Okay, maybe I am. Still, I can hardly believe this is happening. Unlatching the door, I pull out the cat, who immediately bumps her head against my chin, her entire body rumbling with her purr.

The neighbor smiles sadly and blinks away tears. “I’m so glad she found you. I think you all will be happy together.”

I glance at Myra. “Me too.”

My life really is complete now. Well, almost.

***

I guide the car to the curb behind the moving truck and kill the engine. Abby is running down the sidewalk toward us, the goat on a leash trotting along beside her, the duck flapping its wings and trying to keep up. Now there’s a cat to add to this crazy mix of family pets. Which probably won’t be a good combination. Cats eat birds, don’t they? And I can see that damned goat driving Simon up the wall. Simon may have to be an indoor pet.

We climb out of the car, me reaching in to grab Simon’s carrier, while Abby rushes to Myra, who lifts her off her feet to hug her. “Supergirl,” I say. “You aren’t supposed to lift heavy things.”

“I’m not heavy, Uncle James. Is that Simon? You brought Simon? Uncle James, you got Simon back!” She lunges for the carrier, dropping the goat’s leash as she wrestles with the door.

“Wait, Abby, we should…”

Too late. The door’s open, and the cat steps out, walking up to the goat and sniffing noses before turning its eye to the hapless duck. The feathered animal gives a quack and waddles over to check out the new guy. I hold my breath and prepare to scoop the cat into my arms, but there’s no need. The three animals size each other up, then Abby grabs the goat’s leash, and soon the little pied piper is leading her entourage up the driveway and around the house to the backyard. Our house. With our family, waiting.

“Come on, Myra. Let’s go around back. I have something to show you before we start unpacking.” Lacing our fingers together, I pull her along, following the path Abby took. When we step around the corner, I glance over to watch Myra’s expression.

She’s staring out at the gathering of people; Paynter and Chloe, Garrett and Erin, Ronnie, who appears to be arguing with Erin’s best friend Danny, my parents, Garrett’s agent, Callum, who tends to crash our family events; even Alex is there, along with most of the staff from my office. They’re all standing around a wooden arch that’s decorated with purple flowers. Myra’s favorite color. And there’s an elderly man standing there with a small book in his hand and a congenial smile on his face. Light explodes nearby and I glance over at the photographer, a young woman dressed entirely in black, which must be damned uncomfortable as it’s warmer than normal for a mid-September day in Chicago.

“What’s this?” Myra asks.

“Our wedding.”

“Our…”

Chuckling, I wrap my arms around her and pull her flush to my body, ignoring our audience for a moment. “The decision whether to get married now or wait was driving you mad, and I hate to see you fret. So I decided to make the choice for you. Mostly because I didn’t want to wait any longer to make it official.”

“Oh James.” She buries her face in my shoulder and her body starts shaking, warning me that she’s crying.

“Sweetheart, don’t cry. I’m so sorry. I thought you’d like it.”

She lifts her face and swipes at her cheeks with one hand while clutching my shirt with the other. “I do. I love it. I’m not crying because I’m upset. I’m crying because I’m pregnant.”

Oh. Thank God.

“Now come on,” she says, grabbing my hand and leading me to the altar. “Let’s get married.”

 

THE END