The Dirty Ones

Emily got her life back. She comes to stay with us a couple times a year. Got a boyfriend and shop on Esty making some artsy shit she learned how to do in the hospital. She even had her own gallery show in New York last year. Sells a buttload of… whatever it is she calls that stuff. Sculpture? Maybe? With a side of weird?

She was always weird but now she’s just New York artist eccentric weird. i.e. All the right kinds of weird.

“First,” Hayes says. “And most importantly, Connor Arlington would like to announce—”

People begin cheering. They have no clue.

“—that Kiera Arlington is pregnant and they’re expecting their first child in April.”

Everyone stops cheering. There’s the usual whispers. “What did he just say?”

“Oh, and second. He won’t be running for the Senate. He humbly asks that you please do not write his name in on the ballot. Thank you for coming.”

Hayes turns and walks back into the cottage and closes the door.

The camera pans around the disappointed crowd. The reporter begins to talk to her news station anchors with a confused look on her face.

“I love it!” Kiera yells. “That was the best.”

They keep thinking I’m gonna run.

But I’m not. Ever.

I would never give up this simple, perfect life for a job that would suck my soul dry and leave me dead inside like my father.

I made a decision that day back at Dr. Louise Livingston’s mansion. A vow, of sorts. To the truth.

And that vow is at odds with what these people want from me, so I’m just gonna have to continue to disappoint them.

“Now tell me,” Kiera says. “What’s that?”

I look down at the gift, perfectly wrapped in navy blue ribbon and gold paper. “Open it and see.”

She squeals and runs over to me, taking the present from my hand.

She has no use for ribbons and paper, so she tears them off and opens

the box. Holds up the book.

A hardcover version I had specially made just for this. Because Kiera’s writer heart would be broken if I ever gutted this book to make her the notebook she holds now.

“Oh, my God. I love you.”

“I know,” I say, pulling her in for a hug.

“A Bunny in the Oven notebook with handmade pages. Did you—”

“I did,” I say. “For you both.” I rub her swollen stomach under her too-big sweater.

Because I have learned two important things since the truth came out five years ago.

One. I know how to make a decision. I can commit. I have committed to Kiera in every way imaginable but I’m constantly challenging myself to think up new ways.

And two… our dream world is gone. The parties we thought we went to, the good times we thought we had, the illusion we thought we lived… all fake.

But it doesn’t matter anymore.

Because our reality is so much better.

Kiera might not think she likes the happily ever after, but she does.

And we’re gonna write it together.