Page 114 of Four Weekends and a Funeral

We walk hand in hand like that all the way home, and I can’t imagine anyone else I’d rather be.

Epilogue

Three Months Later

“Get your head in the game, Mullally!” Mara yells, my cell phone pinned to her forehead.

Sprawled out on Adam’s leather sofa with my legs on his lap, I’m hardly in a game-ready stance, but while I’m recovering from surgery, Heads Up at Adam’s house is our group’s temporary pub trivia stand-in.

Yesterday, I had my fallopian tubes removed laparoscopically to decrease my risk of ovarian cancer until I decide when to have an oophorectomy and hysterectomy. I made the choice not for my mom, but for me. If Adam and I decide to have kids someday, it’ll happen in a doctor’s office, but I don’t want fear to force our hand.

Back in November, I would’ve found the prospect of fertility planning with Adam Berg ludicrous. Now I don’t know how it could have gone any other way. He’s my favorite person and—as he’s constantly telling me—I’m his.

“Cheers!” I shout.

“Cheers was an ensemble show!” The buzzer cuts her off. Her lips narrow to a tight line when she reads the celebrity name on the screen. “Danny DeVito wasn’t even in Taxi Driver,” Mara bites out.

“You were thinking of Taxi.” Adam rubs circles into my knee, swallowing his smile.

I wince. “Oh, yeah. Sorry, Mar. I think I’m still foggy.”

“What’s taking Chelsea so long with the food?” Patrick asks. “Adam, do you have any snacks?”

“Thin Mints in the freezer,” Adam says. Despite his rants on the Girl Scout business model—What kind of company requires adults to engage in financial transactions in Target parking lots with children, Alison?—he keeps a stash ready for me at all times.

“Sorry about that.” Chelsea breezes in through the front door, arms loaded with carryout bags of Thai food. “Riley’s neighbor filed a complaint over his backyard chickens, and it’s really shaking his sense of community.”

“Who’s Riley?” Patrick asks from the freezer.

“The DoorDash delivery driver,” Chelsea answers, plopping the bags on the coffee table in front of me. A starving Patrick rushes to pick at the appetizers. “I hope you don’t mind, Adam, but I gave him one of your cards from the workshop. He wants to hire you to design a more suitable coop for Thelma and Louise.”

Adam’s hand freezes on my thigh. “You went into the garage?”

Chelsea bobs her head, oblivious to the tension building in Adam’s posture. “Yeah, that rocking chair looks amazing. Who’s it for?”

“Someone ordered a rocking chair? I want to see it.” I start to stand, but Adam holds my legs down on his lap.

“Sit down. You’re horrible at surgical recovery,” he complains.

I scrunch my nose. “I’m phenomenal at recovery. You’re a grouchy caretaker. And that was barely a surgery. They didn’t even give me the good drugs.”

“Yes,” he groans. “You complained about that to multiple nurses. I think they put you on a list.”

Flatware clanks together in the kitchen as Chelsea and Patrick bicker over dinner, but Mara and I have our eyes trained on Adam.

“It’s for you,” he admits. “It’s a rocking chair like I made for Otis. I thought we could put it next to your bookshelf.”

Patrick delivers me a bowl of green curry. “I hope it’s more stool than chair. Have you seen Al’s apartment?”

“It’s for here. I built the bookcase in the spare room for you. I thought it could be your office. I was going to give it to you as a gift and ask you to move in when your lease is up in May, but now you know, and the surprise is ruined.” His boyish pout is too adorable for words, and a face-splitting grin blooms between my cheeks. Even my heart smiles.

“Are you serious right now?” I ask him. Chelsea squeals somewhere behind me, but it’s like the world has faded out around the edges. I only hear him.

He grabs my hand. “Of course. I love you, and I want you here all the time. I can’t wait to take that next step with you.”

An unwelcome thought douses me in cold water. “I signed a new lease.”

He freezes. “You said your lease is up in May. Like the end of May.”

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