Page 79 of Mistakes We Never Made

I nod again. I wouldn’t trade my friendship with Sybil for the world, but I think we’ve both realized this weekend that some of our dynamics haven’t been the healthiest. It still hurts a little to loosen my grip, to let Sybil fend for herself and not swoop in to save the day. But it’s only natural for friendships to grow and change with time. And I know our friendship is strong enough to take it.

“Well, if I’m not going to be dealing withyourshit anymore”—I roll my eyes playfully—“then I guess I’ll have some more time to deal with my own. Like, you know, my budding romance with one Finn Hughes.”

“Yourwhat?!” Sybil lights up.

“I’ll tell you about it later. I think somewhere around here there’s a groom missing his bride. I love you so much, Sybs. No matter what.”

“I love you, too, Em.” She squeezes my arm and walks down the path toward Jamie’s bungalow.

I don’t know what Sybil is going to say—or what Jamie will say back to her. I don’t know if thirty minutes from now will see me walking down the aisle and holding Sybil’s bouquet during the vows, or if we’ll end up back on the road with a true runaway bride. And I remind myself it’s okay that she doesn’t know what she’s about to do, that none of us knows what will come next. All we can do is step bravely into our lives, and trust that we’ll be okay—even if we make mistakes. I don’t know if my dad will text me—if we’ll repair our relationship or build a new one. I don’t know how my review at work will go, either, but I have a pretty good idea that something major needs to change. It’s time I finally admit what it is thatIwant. Even if it means breaking out on my own.

As for Finn? I don’t know if things with him will last, but I’m willing to give forever a shot. And for the first time in a while, I really like our chances.

After all, we always did make a great team.

I watch as Sybil reaches Jamie’s door, and the last of the setting sun lights up around her in a halo. She takes a deep breath, then gives two soft knocks. There’s a pause, and then the creak of a door opening. Sybil moves through the doorway into her future, whatever it holds.

EPILOGUE

Six Months Later

AFTERIGOT BACKto New York, I took that Monday meeting with my boss. I tried one last time to advocate for myself, but when it was clear that I wouldn’t be able to grow any further at Maywell, I put in my two-week notice. I spent the summer working on a spec portfolio, and taking networking meetings, and by August, I’d packed up my tiny one-bedroom and shipped everything back to Texas. Finn flew out to NYC to meet up with me, and we shared a much more leisurely drive through the eastern half of the country on our journey back to Dallas. It was blessedly uneventful: no runaway brides, no car wrecks, no screaming into abysses to release decades-old childhood trauma. We stopped a couple of nights to see Willow and the new baby, but otherwise, it was just me, Finn, and a rented cherry-red Mercedes convertible.

When we finally made it to Dallas, I put most of my stuff in storage and lived with my mom to save up some money. The first night we were back, my heart flip-flopped in my chest when Finn showed up on my porch with a bouquet of bright yellow butterfly ranunculus. My mom pushed us together on the stairway and forced us to take a picture. It wasn’t quite the prom photo we missed out on (I was in jean shorts and a flowy white blouse, while Finn was in his “performance fabric” chinos and plain gray T-shirt), since we were just headed for tacos and margs. In it, I’m looking up at Finn and he’s looking down at me, and we can’t keep the smiles off our faces. It’s been the background of my phone ever since.

Finn, as promised, was Emma Townsend Design’s first client, and he gave me nearly free rein to redesign his house (though he did nix my plan to tent the entire dining room in striped blue and green silk after several rounds of debate). His mom, when she moved into her new condo, was my second client. Friends from high school and college started reaching out about design help, and soon, I was able to put together a solid book of business—not enough to buy a Singer of my own (Finn’s, thankfully, made a full recovery), but enough that I was able to buy an original powder-blue Mustang. Right now, it’s parked in front the Dilbeck while I confer with the photographer who spent the day documenting all the work we’ve done on the house. Mostly I’m just glad we were able to get all my boxes unpacked and out of the way before the cameras showed up. When I told Sybil earlier this fall that Finn and I had decided to take that next step in our relationship, she shrieked through the phone for a solid minute.

“Oh my god! Moving in together after just four months of dating? That’s rather reckless of you, missy. Who do you think you are, me?”

I laughed. “No competition there, I assure you.” Sybil’s fateful wedding weekend had ended in a way that trulynoneof us had expected, and we were all still reeling from it—but that was another story. I was more focused onmy ownfor once. “What can I say,” I sighed. “When you know, you know.”

NOW, THE PHOTOGRAPHER ANDI say our goodbyes, and Finn joins me in the living room. My hand lingers on a giant electric-blue vase, which is currently resting on my vintage Italian roulette table. Because yes, that needed to find its forever home here. I turn to him. “We don’t have to keep this vase, by the way. It was just for the staging photos.”

“Do you like it?” he asks.

“I love it. The color is perfect in this room.”

“Then we’re keeping it.” The warm, fluttery feeling that hasn’t left me since our kiss in Malibu rises to the surface.

I start rifling through the fridge, checking to see whether we have enough leftovers to cobble together dinner, or if we need to order in, when Finn calls out to me.

“Hey, Em? Can you take a look at something in the den for me?”

“Sure.” I follow Finn to the back of the house, but he motions me ahead once we reach the den.

Finn’s voice comes from behind me. “Do you think that painting above the fireplace is straight?”

I reach up ready to readjust the piece hanging above the mantel but drop my hand almost immediately. “Hmm, I do actually. I—”

There’s a soft sound behind me, and I turn to see Finn with one knee on the floor, holding a small red velvet box in his hand.

“Wh-what are you doing?” Finn and I have talked about getting married, and in my head, I knew this was coming. But I’m still not prepared for the adrenaline that spikes through me. I want to think of something else to say, but the only thought in my brain is a ticker tape ofIt’s happening.It’s happening.It’s happening.

“Something that I’ve been wanting to do for a long time.” He’s smiling at me, but there’s a thread of nerves running through his voice as he asks, “Emma Mae Townsend, I am not a perfect man, but when I’m with you, I feel like I could be. I know we’ve made mistakes along the way, but I am just glad that all the mistakes I’ve made in my life have led me back to you. Would you do me the honor of marrying me?”

This is one of the most important moments in my life, and I try to remember every detail. The way the evening sunlight filters through the sheer curtains onto the wood floors. The smell of the lavender candle I burned earlier this afternoon lingering in the air. The nervous smile on Finn’s face. “Emma, please say something.”

His words break me out of my sensory trance. “Yes. Yes, of course I’ll marry you.” I have never felt so certain of anything.

I throw my arms around him, and he lets out a laugh as he falls against the armrest of an overstuffed leather chair. Pulling me onto his lap, he slips the ring on my finger.

“I do have to have one objection to your proposal, however. A critique, really.” The diamond sparkles in the light as I brush my fingers across Finn’s face. Once again trying to memorize everything about this moment.

Laughing, he says, “Of course you do.” He catches my hand and presses a kiss to my wrist.

“I think youareabsolutely perfect.” Finn’s smile widens, and then his lips are on mine, and I know I’m home.