“Oh, well. For being old, for being alone, for being ineffectual. The usual. But the point is that you were a surprise. You reminded me that there still were surprises that could happen to me. And that I still had something to offer. You can’t know how essential that is—to feel as though one still has something to offer. And I hope it isn’t too terribly patronizing to say that I’m very proud of you.”

Greta bloomed. She threw her arms around Muriel.

“Thank you. Also, I’ve never said this because I thought it sounded weird, but you’re the most glamorous person I’ve ever met.”

Muriel’s tinkling laughter glittered through the room as someone grabbed Greta’s shoulder.

“Hey, bitch! Good work.”

Ramona was wearing white linen overalls and a black bandeau, big red hoops, and platform boots, and she was smiling.

“Hey, thanks for coming!”

“Wouldn’t miss it. This shit is delicious, by the way. I subscribed.” She pointed to the lemonade.

“That’s awesome, thank you.”

“So how’s your shiny new life going?” Ramona asked. She looked even more pleased with herself than she usually did.

“Very shiny indeed. How are you?”

“Two for two,” she mused, smiling.

“Huh?”

“Oh, just both you and Truman. I’m amazing.”

“You are? I mean, you are, but…why are you?”

“Duh, who do you think was Gossip Girl here?”

“I never watched it.”

Ramona rolled her eyes. “You and Truman? Both of your lives sucked shit, but you were too scared and complacent and nice”—she said nice like she was saying covered in pustules—“to do anything about it. So you needed a little fairy godbitch to, uh, motivate you.”

Greta laughed. “Well, thanks for your fairy godbitching. I hope you’re proud of yourself.”

“Oh, I am. I’m very proud of myself. You wouldn’t even believe the altars I had set up for the two of you,” Ramona muttered almost to herself. “You think it’s easy to get two self-contained introverts to do anything that involves meeting or contacting other people?” She made a phew gesture of effort. “No, no, I don’t need any thanks for my toil. I’m just glad you’re both happy now.”

“What do you mean, altars?”

Ramona waved that away. “Just don’t worry about it, and enjoy your new life, Greta Russakoff, resident of New Orleans and lover of Carys.”

Like Carys was a magic word, Greta broke into a grin. Whatever Ramona thought she’d done, Greta didn’t really care. She had the woman of her dreams, friends she adored, and a life that felt like it was just beginning. She hugged Ramona hard, and when they let go, Ramona winked at her and slipped into the crowd.