“We didn’t get married last night,” Frankie said. She was just a few feet away now, and she looked pained from her run. “I mean, if you need to propose to what’s-her-name, we didn’t get married last night.”

“You know her name,” he said.

“Fine,” she answered. “To Mimi. If you need to propose to Mimi.”

“You remembered?”

She nodded. “We didn’t get married officially, I guess I should say. Like there wasn’t a paper; we didn’t have a priest.”

“I’d never have a priest,” Ezra said. “And Alec Barstow is definitely no saint.”

And Frankie smiled. “Finally, something we agree on.” She paused, uncertain. “And Mimi? Where is she?”

“Gone,” Ezra said simply. A beat passed. Then: “How’d you know where to find me?”

Frankie took a long look around. At the kids setting off fireworks, at the starry sky above, at Burton in front of her.

“I just knew,” she said. Ezra started to speak but she held up a hand. “Let me this time. Let me be the one to finally chase you.”

FORTY-FIVE

Frankie

Frankie wasn’t sure if she truly had it in her, but she knew she owed it to herself, and to Ezra, to at least try. Maybe it would be ugly and maybe it would be ineloquent, but she’d shown plenty of men her ugly parts; she’d just never asked them to love her in spite of them. Frankie had made a life for herself, a career for herself, with those ugly parts: the brashness, the brazenness, the overconfidence.

But now, she was standing in front of Ezra and saying: love me anyway, choose me anyway.

“We didn’t get married,” she started. “But I put on the ring, and you put on yours, and well, I guess for a few minutes, it was lovely to think about.” She paused because she wanted to get this right. “I don’t . . . I don’t think that will ever be for me, Ezra. The white picket fence, the two point five kids with a golden retriever and dinner every night at six. And I guess I always knew that but wanted to have you for myself anyway.” She was surprised to find herself blinking back tears. “And even though it’s been over between us forever, and even though I spent that forever hating you, I just . . .” She sighed. “I owe you an apology. Because I should have tried harder. I should have been better. You didn’t deserve to find out that I had a miscarriage three thousand miles away from you, and you didn’t deserve to hear the relief in my voice when I told you, even when I could hear the pain in yours.”

“Frankie—” Ezra said.

“Please, let me just—” She stopped, blew out her breath. “It’s New Year’s Eve, you know? And if I don’t say this now, I never will.” He nodded, so she steadied herself and continued. “I don’t expect for you to forgive me; I don’t expect for you to come to LA and take me to dinner. But, I mean, I was thinking—last night, we pretended for a minute that we were together, and I had a head injury and you were pretty drunk—”