Page 111 of Fundamentals of Being a Good Girl
For just a moment, I let myself imagine a short little white dress and a nonsensical veil because why the hell not. And red lipstick. Always red lipstick.
It’s just the two of us in my imagination. Our lives are full of people we love and treasure, but I like the idea of this moment taking place discreetly in a building where lives change in big and small ways every day. That our union is a contract, a promise, and not at all a performance.
I leave the browser open on purpose right there next to Bram’s inbox, because almost everything I do is for a reason.
Sitting in the windowsill is my prickly pear because Bram said that the lighting in his office was ideal at this time of year and that this office is ours now, and he likes that it shows evidence of me. The soil appears to be a little dry, so I take out the mister and shower her with a little bit of water.
It feels silly to hope, but every time I check on the spiky little thing in her shiny red pot, I get a little giddy as I catalog every minute change and development. It all feels very subtle, but Bram has promised me that one day this spring, we will wake up to find that she is flowering all at once. And because we will have witnessed her every day until that moment, Bram and I will know that even though her blooms will appear to be sudden, the truth is that they have been finding their light little by little every day for months.
I leave the cactus in the window and go back to the desk to retrieve my laptop and charger, taking one last look at the open web page on Bram’s browser, and I know that for anyone else who might see it, the silent and completely informal proposal might feel abrupt, but for Bram and me, there’s never been any sort of casual space between meeting as strangers and a deep, life-altering connection. So this—the idea of us committing ourselves to each other in a legal and binding way—was a seed planted early on before either of us even knew what we might become, which was in no way sudden and yet, like spring, abruptly lush and alive all at once.
Epilogue
One Month Later (Seriously)
Ican’t believe these devious little scabs,” Leo says, taking the courthouse steps two at a time, his coat fluttering cinematically around his heels. “During the day! A weekday! Some of us have jobs!”
“You never seem to work at yours,” Sloane points out. The accusation comes with the signature breathlessness of trying to speak outside during a prairie freeze.
“Seriously, though, I had to get a sub at the last minute,” complains Joey. Not that he minds missing this afternoon, secretly. His students are doing the Second Industrial Revolution right now and he hates having to spelllaissez-fairein front of an audience.
“First they didn’t invite us,” Alessandro complains. “And now I’m on call in an hour, which means that Bram and Maddie need to be quick about it all.”
“Isn’tquick about it allthe heart and soul of a courthouse wedding? Of their very relationship?” Leo asks, yanking the courthouse door open. “I can’t believe we’re here. I can’t believe someone we know is getting married at a courthouselike French people do.”
Sloane’s phone rings and she crosses her arms over her chest the moment she hears the voice on the other side. “Yes, I am participating in the charity date auction this year. No, I will not be attending as Lucien’s plus one despite what his RSVP card might say.”*With a roll of her eyes, she ends the call and rejoins the group.
“Did you ask if they’ll have the deviled eggs again?” Joey whispers into her ear.*
Sara is standing just inside the doors with Asher and all three kids.
“We’re going to be flower girls,” Letty announces to the Andromeda Club before anyone else has a chance to speak, and in concurrence, Berry holds up a basket filled with what looks like an assortment of petals, leaves, and snipped herbs from Bram’s greenhouse. Joey sees a few plastic-wrapped logs of string cheese peeking out from under the mess of random flora and gives Berry an approving nod. Game recognizes game.
Meanwhile, Sara is staring at them with dark-eyed horror while Asher is quietly cracking up behind her.
“Bram is going to be sopissed,” Asher chokes out between laughs. “Oh my god.”
Sara lifts her hands. “How did you even—it’s supposed to be asecretceremony, a private thing, family only—”
“First, how dare you imply the Andromeda Club isn’t family,” Leo prosecutes, “and second, if it was supposed to be secret, then why did he have it written down on his desk planner where anyone who’d let themselves into his office and sat at his desk could see it?”
“Why were you looking at his desk planner?”
Leo gives her a look that saysplease, we have real things to discuss. “You may as well tell us where to go now. We’re not missing noble Dr. Loe dirty up all his laudable ethics because someone finally wore red lipstick in front of him. Shall we?”
Sara glances at her fiancé—who is still laughing too hard to help—and sighs. “Fine.Fuck.Fine. This way.”
As a herd, they tromp their way through the marble-floored courthouse until they come to a room with a closed door. They crowd inside—Leo bickering with Sara, Fern trying to remind the twins not to throw their petals until everyone is back outside—and find Bram and Maddie handing clipboards to a court employee as a very, very short judge waits behind the podium.
Bram and Maddie turn as a unit, and Bram’s ears go bright red above his suit.
He stands up and strides down the courtroom to the other Andromedas, meeting Leo in the middle of the aisle.
“No,” Bram says. “Under no circumstances. This is supposed to beprivate.”
“I’m private,” whines Leo.
“Nope.”
