Jovie & Bash

Epilogue

|EPILOGUE|

Present Day

The streets of New York City are swarming with people. Always. It's one of the many things that drew me to the area after living in Ashwood Creek. The constant buzz of police sirens and the instant gift of invisibility in a place as intimidating as the city had me packing my bags.

Past the flash and the glamor and the concrete jungle mayhem, there is something perfectly simple about life here. The stress of having to be perfect seems to vanish in a world as chaotic as this. And, while most people heave in anxiety, I sink back and relax into a world so unlike the small town I grew up in. I get the bigger picture, somehow.

I walk everywhere here the same way I biked everywhere in Ashwood Creek. I've never lived in a place that required any other sorts of transportation, and it's the kind of thing that keeps me thinking about home.

Home, where Meredith and Henry are. There's a note on my fridge reminding me to call Meredith and another telling me that Quinn's baby is due this month. If someone would have told me six years ago that these are the kind of things that would be important to me, I wouldn't have believed you for a second.

But, the reality of this life is that if you don't hold onto the people who love you, it's going to be a lonely journey. After breaking up with Bash all those years ago, I felt that loneliness. And, to help me cope, I filled the pages of that journal I requested as a birthday gift from Quinn. I filled those pages with the story of Bash and I. The ups, the downs, an explanation for the decisions I made and why, the fondest memories, my favorite words. And then, because I had snooped into his journals and read all of the personal entries he would let me, I sent my journal to Bash to return the favor.

He replied with a short letter that read:

Jovie,

You cannot possibly understand how grateful I am for your journal. You have given me a key with which to unlock the world. Thank you.

-Bash

I still don't understand just what he meant by his letter, but I was glad he got it. It was therapeutic to me, writing that journal, and by doing it I realized just how Bash remained as composed and cheerful as he did.

The mind is a cluttered place, and straightening everything out through writing offers serenity.

Despite the many detours and accidents it took to get where I am, I'm happy. Even as the sun bakes the pavement and the humid waves of heat cook me as I walk past a row of darkly painted buildings, I'm not disappointed with the way things turned out for me.

Well, at least, that's what I tell myself as I push past an oddly dense crowd of people on Crosby Street. When your bobby pins are falling out of place and you're trying not to sweat through your white blouse, being swarmed by this many people as though it's Times Square is the last thing you want to deal with. And, trust me, I've dealt with a a lot of bullshit today.

"Hey, Miss, what do you think you're doing?"

I blow a frizzy strand of hair from my face and turn toward the older gentleman with as much patience as I can gather.

"Excuse me?"

"You're breaking up the whole line."

I blink in confusion. "What line?"

"Didn't you see the sign back there?" the man asks hoarsely. "This side of the street is closed. The Bookstore Café is holding a signing."

I look back down the crowded street with furrowed brows and then glance up at the bookstore. Who the hell attracts a crowd like this? I just want to get home and call Meredith and check in on Quinn. Is that too much to ask for?