Epilogue
“I’m a wreck,” Nick said.
Ed Nolan grinned and shook his head. They were seated across from each other in a booth at the Faulk Street Tavern. It was three o’clock on a Saturday afternoon, and they both nursed iced teas, Ed because he was on call that weekend and Nick because he would be leaving for Boston in fifteen minutes.
“You’ll be fine,” Ed assured him.
“Do I look okay? I thought about getting a haircut, but Diana told me not to.”
“I’d say you’re better off pleasing her than pleasing her parents,” Ed said. “And yes, you look okay.”
Nick was wearing a suit. The full deal—jacket, tailored trousers, button-down shirt, tie, lace-up shoes. He’d bought the outfit last week. He’d never owned a suit before, never needed one. But then, he’d never driven to Boston to meet the parents of the woman he planned to marry. The very rich, very proper parents.
“I feel like a freaking stock broker.”
“You look like a guy who cleans up pretty well,” Ed said, then shouted over his shoulder to Gus, “Tell Nick he looks okay.”
“You look gorgeous,” Gus shouted back. The bar was just beginning to fill up. Carl Stanton sat on his usual stool, hunched over a whisky. A half-dozen young guys were gathered around another table, laughing and swapping stories, a pitcher of beer and a platter of wings forming a centerpiece. A half-dozen young women sat two tables away, sipping exotic martinis and checking out the guys. Manny Lopez stood behind the bar with Gus, unloading clean glasses onto a shelf. If Gus wanted to shout across the room to Ed and Nick, no one seemed to mind.
Nick knew he didn’t look gorgeous. He looked clean-shaven and clean-cut and nothing like who he really was. “What if I blow it?” he asked.
“Listen to me.” Ed leaned forward, his beefy hands planted on the table on either side of his glass, his expression stern yet fatherly. He looked the way Nick’s father had never looked, and that alone gave Nick courage. “Diana loves you. You love her. You make her happy. You treat her right. If her parents are good people, that’s what they care about. If all they care about is that you haven’t got a fancy title or an executive office, then they’re not good people and you don’t have to worry about impressing them.”
“In other words, I win either way.”
“Exactly.”
Nick sighed, checked his watch, and swigged the last of his iced tea. “What if I use the wrong fork?”
“What do you think? They’ll point at you, snicker, and call you a moron.” Ed snorted. “Use whatever fork you want. As long as you chew with your mouth shut, they won’t mind.”
“What if they say they want us to get married in some mansion in Newport?”
“Diana’ll decide where she wants to get married. She’s no pushover, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“I’ve noticed,” Nick said with a grin. That was just one of the things he loved about her—the thing about her that had changed the most since she’d heard the song.
He glanced over at the jukebox, wondering if there was another song in it for him, something that would give him the fortitude to get through this evening with Diana’s parents. He was supposed to meet them, along with Diana and her sister, who was visiting from England, at some fancy French restaurant in downtown Boston—he doubted they’d be wearing plastic bibs with smiling lobsters on them, and dining at a table covered in butcher paper—and by the end of the meal, he hoped they’d accept him as the man their daughter loved. Actually, he hoped for more. He hoped they’d like him. He hoped they’d find him smart and honorable and pleasant, the ideal addition to their family. But he’d settle for acceptable.
Diana had sworn that her sister would love him. She wasn’t about to vouch for her parents, but she’d told him to be himself, because Nick himself was the man she loved.
How could he be himself when he was dressed in this tailored gray suit?
“I’ve got to go,” he said, nudging away his empty glass and sliding out of the booth. “Wish me luck.”
“You found Diana,” Ed reminded him, standing as well. “How much more luck do you want?”
“What I want…” Nick’s gaze drifted to the jukebox, standing in splendid isolation against the far wall of the tavern. “What I want is a song that’ll give me courage.”
Gus swung around from behind the bar and strode to their table to pick up the empty glasses. She patted Nick’s shoulder. “You don’t need another song,” she said. “You already got your magic, Nick. Run with it.”
He turned to face her. She was smiling, something she rarely did. Impulsively, he kissed her cheek. “You’re right,” he said. “I’ll run with it. No—I’ll fly.” He gave Ed a nod, then strode to the door and out, off to Boston to be with the woman he loved.
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