–June French in Cosmopolitan
Epilogue
“A Stranger Comes to Town”
BLAHBLAH WOULD HAVE APPROVED OF THE SERVICE. IT HAD BEEN elegant and cheeky and a touch theatrical. Just like her.
They interred her ashes at Hollywood Forever Cemetery, six weeks after she died, and were currently having a garden-party reception at Seasons. Sewanee knew Blah would have wanted to wait that long to be put to rest if it meant more people were able to attend, social butterfly that she’d been.
It had worked.
Marilyn and Stu flew in from the Panama Canal and were chatting with Dan, who was helping Sewanee bartend the event and had just brought them two martinis; Mark was over by the food, telling Alice about the condo he’d found in Costa Rica; Adaku had wrapped the Angela Davis project the previous week and was talking with Mitzi–well, listening to Mitzi–who was still going strong and loud; Henry was on the bench Sewanee had sat on with Nick all those months ago, conversing with Amanda.
Adaku left Mitzi （not that she seemed to notice）， took a Mallomar off the massive platter, and came sidling up to Sewanee. She followed her friend’s gaze over to Amanda and Henry and whispered, “Is he making a move?”
Sewanee swatted her.
“What, at least she’s age-appropriate! Progress!”
Sewanee reluctantly laughed as Dan came back, dropped off his tray, and left again to get more ice. The two women quietly assessed the crowd. Adaku hooked her arm into Sewanee’s and murmured, “She would have liked this.”
Sewanee nodded softly.
Adaku gave her a knowing squeeze. It had been a rough six months even before the last two, which had been horrible. But it had also been the most productive time of Sewanee’s life; professionally, personally, emotionally. She could feel everything, including her grief, settling now into a new, consistent normal.
“Sorry about Nick,” Adaku murmured.
Sewanee huffed a forlorn sigh. “Please, don’t remind me.”
“Yeah, I wouldn’t bring it up, it’s a real sore spot,” a sexy voice said, and they turned to greet it.
He was wearing the suit he’d been wearing in Vegas and the voice that had made him famous. “Maybe his flight wouldn’t have been delayed if he’d flown into Burbank,” he continued, as he came around to stand in front of the bar, “which someone definitely tried to tell him to do.” He beamed down at her. “What a fart-head.”
She reached over the bar and grabbed his face, bringing it to her own. She kissed him half as ardently as she wanted to and threw her arms awkwardly around his neck. He turned his lips to her ear and said, in his normal voice, “I’m so sorry. How are you holding up?”
She swallowed and pulled back. She smiled at him. “Better now.”
With everything going on in each of their lives, they hadn’t been together for the past couple of months, though they’d spoken nearly every day. In some ways, the distance had brought them closer. But now that he was here, in front of her, she wanted to close the door on everything and everyone else and lose herself in them. First, though: “I see you brought a date.” She turned her attention to the dark-haired man standing next to Nick. “Something you want to tell us?”
“Aren’t you the funny one?” He was back to the Brock voice.
Her laugh broke through as she said, “Jason, I presume?”
The two dimples that appeared on his olive-toned cheeks wrenched an almost imperceptible gasp from Adaku. Wuh-woh. “Sewanee.” He held both hands out to her over the bar. “It’s so good to finally meet you.”
She clutched his hands and squeezed. “Finally is right!” The one time she’d gone to New York, they hadn’t left Nick’s apartment; all their other visits had been in L.A. because she hadn’t wanted to leave a deteriorating Blah. By that point, Blah’s original protestations had been forgotten, and Sewanee had been able to have the ending she’d wanted with her grandmother. “It was so nice of you to come.” She released his hands and pivoted to Adaku, who already had her palm out, winning smile attached. “This is my best friend, Adaku.”
“Best friends should always meet,” Jason said, taking her hand. “A pleasure.”
“Always,” she parroted. She turned to Nick, cocked an eyebrow. “And hello to you, Mr. McNight. Nice to have you back.”
“Please.” He brought his hand to his chest. “Mr. McNight’s my father. Call me Stiffy.” He turned to Jason, saying, in his own voice, “Okay, I’m done. Never again.”