Chapter Twenty
A week later, I'm walking home from the coffee shop when I run into Amber on her way to her gymnastics class. I don’t have anything to say to her, but I don’t want to avoid her either. I won’t let her have that much power in my life.
So instead of slinging a snide remark, I suck in all my pride, and say, “Hi Amber.”
Without agenda, without anger, without that jealousy that encased me for the last year.
“Hi McKenna. I’ve been meaning to reach out to you.”
I stay strong. Whatever she has to say, whatever they will throw my way, I’ll manage. I wait for her.
“I wanted to let you know that I had no idea what Todd was up to with the business buyout bullshit. But as soon as I heard last night, I sat him down and told him it was not okay. I told him to back off and stop threatening you with legal battles.”
“You did? You said that?”
“Yes. I made it clear that he was not going to operate our family that way. We make our own money. We don’t try to take money that belongs to other people. And The Fashion Hound is yours, and yours alone. So he spoke to his lawyer this morning to let him know he won’t need his services.”
A brittle piece of my heart softens. I’m not going to be friends with Amber, we’re not about to get mani-pedis together, but I respect her for this.
“Thank you, Amber. Thank you for that.”
“I better get to class.”
“Happy cartwheeling,” I say, and I mean it.
I walk the last few blocks to my house and am surprised to find two delivery men and a large truck waiting outside my steps.
“You McKenna Bell?”
I nod. “We have a delivery for you.”
“Evidently. What is it?”
But the guy doesn’t answer. Instead, he returns to the truck, and wheels a dolly down the ramp. When he’s halfway down I see what’s on the dolly.
My very own Qbert. An arcade Qbert.
“Oh my god!” I clap my hand to my mouth and I jump in excitement.
“Built it myself.”
I turn around and there’s Chris walking around from the front of the truck.
“You did?”
“I had a feeling you might like your own.”
Fifteen minutes later, the delivery guys are gone, and there’s a gorgeous new game in my living room.
“It’s one hundred percent authentic,” Chris says, and then hands me a bag of quarters. “No freebies. You gotta pay this beast every time.”
My eyes light up and I reach for a quarter. “I want to play now.”
“There’s one thing I should let you know, though. I tested it out first. Just to make sure it worked. So you’ll have to beat my high score.”
He taps the screen and shows me his score. It’s insanely high. I pretend to punch him. “Chris! That’s too high. It’ll take me forever to beat your score.”
“We can just christen the game instead then.”
Epilogue
Two Months Later
The cabs honk, and the traffic roars, and everywhere there are people, bustling and coming and going. Chris holds my hand as we weave through streams of New Yorkers and tourists. I’m wearing a black linen dress with cartoonish dog prints smattered across the fabric, and a flouncy skirt that shows off a hot pink petticoat underneath. It’s totally retro and rockabilly, and I love it. So does Chris, who looks sharp in jeans and a button-down shirt as he guides us to the stage door.
He knocks and the stage manager opens the door shortly.
“Hi. You are?”
“Chris McCormick. Here to see my sister Jill.”
The stage manager glances at a list in her hand, taps it once to confirm, and then shows us into the theater, escorting us through narrow hallways that whisper stories of the past, of plays and productions and big, brassy musicals that this jewel of Broadway has seen over the years. Down a well-worn red carpeted hallway to a dressing room, and the stage manager knocks. We are early. Curtain is in one hour. But it’s opening night at Chris’ sister’s show, and she said she wanted to see him beforehand.
She opens the door and flashes a huge smile then jumps into his arms.
“Hey, little sis.”
“Hey, big pain in the ass.”
“I see you haven’t changed.”
“I can still beat you up.”
“You so wish you could.”
Then she turns to me, and she’s gorgeous, with beautiful blond hair pinned up on her head, and heavy stage makeup that accentuates strong cheekbones and dark eyes. She’s wearing a white tee-shirt splotched with paint stains, and a pair of loose jeans. I’m not sure if they’re her costume, or just casual backstage clothes.
“I can’t believe I’m finally meeting you. You’re even hotter in person.”
I blush. “Stop that.”
“No, seriously. I can’t believe my brother snagged a total babe. How did you trick her, Chris?” she says to her brother, and I love the back-and-forth banter. Then she turns to me, and wraps me in a hug. She lowers her voice and whispers just to me. “I’m so glad he found you. He’s mad about you.”
“The feeling is completely mutual.”
“So I’m sure you guys want to see the stage before the show starts,” Jill says, then guides us out of the dressing room, down the hallway, past other actors and stagehands who she says hello to. Then to the wings, and onto the stage.
The set is breathtaking in its minimalist glory, and I gasp. “It’s amazing,” I say, then we turn around and take in all the empty seats in the theater, seats that will soon be filled up with patrons here on opening night of Crash the Moon.
Jill smacks her forehead. “I forgot something in my dressing room. I’ll be right back.”
Then it’s just Chris and me on an empty stage in a Broadway theater.
I turn to him and am shocked to see him down on one knee.
“I’m pretty sure they want to get their stage back soon, so I’m seizing this moment.”
He looks so earnest, so full of hope, as he reaches into his pocket and takes out a dark velvet box. His nervous fingers fumble at the opening, and his light brown hair falls across his forehead. I can already feel my throat hitching and tears welling, as he takes out a stunning diamond in a vintage style cut that couldn’t be more perfect for me.
“When we first met, I thought you were a babe. Then I got to know you and I thought you were the coolest chick ever. And it all started with you wanting me to pretend to be trying out to be your Trophy Husband. So what I really want now is not to be your Trophy Husband, but just to be your husband.”
“Yes,” I say, and my voice breaks, and the tears come, and I’m shaking as he slides a ring onto my finger because I am overjoyed.
“Okay, let’s clear the stage now.”
* * *
I can’t stop looking at my ring. I don’t think I will ever stop looking at it. The theater fills, and soon the overture begins, and I spread open the Playbill and point to his sister’s name.
“Look. There’s your sister. Look at the role she’s playing.”
“I know. It’s amazing, isn’t it?”
“Totally,” I say. “Hey, do I have to take your name? Because McKenna McCormick would be pretty silly.”
“Take my name or don’t take my name. All I care about is that you’re mine forever. For always.”
“I am.”
Then the music swells, and the sound of the orchestra fills the theater, and I hold hands with my favorite person in the world as the musical begins.