This is a modern Great Gatbsy told in a Rashomon-style; everybody’s perspective varies. I encourage readers to read chapters 1-3 and then pick their own favorite narrator to continue the story!
Erin — One | Two | Three | Six | Seven | Ten | Thirteen | Fifteen | Sixteen
XVII
Annaleigh’s Epilogue
When I take my anxiety meds regularly, my thoughts are orderly and generally optimistic. It’s like those vitamin bottles proclaim — “resistance to stress” and “mood stability” or a “sunny outlook” — but with more consistent and obvious results.
When I don’t take them, my thoughts are fragmented.
Quick.
Desperate.
Looping.
I’ll admit I’d forgotten to take them a few times — or maybe more than a few — in the early aughts.
But I took them much more diligently after the pie party. Nate and I had landed in a good place and I didn’t want to go back to wherever we had been before. So I tried harder.
Nate came back for winter break and spent as much time with me as he could manage between family obligations and whatever else twenty-year-old males do. He’s always been private and I’ve done my best to respect that since the incident at the pie shop.
Over time, Boston became less of a verboten term, and once Nate moved back, I scarcely thought about it. Or that other girl, whoever she was.
We did talk about her, once or twice. It was in our thirties, when our memories had softened at the edges, and we were both stable and mature.
But Nate kept to the fact he never wanted to hear anything about those “other guys,” and that was fair.
Neither of us were saints in our twenties. Who was?
I’ve heard some people refer to the aughts as the “naughties” — and I think it’s appropriate. Or at least it was for me. I don’t begrudge Nate not wanting to hear the details.
When Alex left for college, we both moved out of our parents’ house and its barren vastness. I’ll admit, at times, I miss all the privileges that came with living there. But when I think back to it, I picture an abandoned, pristine, mansion. One time Erin called it the Overlook Hotel, and it wasn’t unlike the truth. I can see all those empty rooms, haunted with the promises of a life that never was. And then I don’t miss it, even slightly.
Fortunately, I still had abundant connections and exceptional coordinating skills, so I became a party planner. It was Erin’s idea, actually. I had never considered a profession or a need for income. But when Nate and I decided to make a true go, I knew I needed to finally kill everything about Hannah. And that included dependence on my parents and their money; the money they’d chosen over their children.
Annaleigh had to be all that was left. But the real Annaleigh, not the one I had invented to keep everyone intrigued — but distant — in my twenties.
I was initially cautious about my friendship with Erin, but she proved herself over the years. We both left online journaling for our mental health, and I’m often grateful for her snarky — but truthful — commentary via text message.
I’m still not comfortable when Joan is around, which is admittedly rare. She and Tom have book tours and press junkets, and whatever else successful power couples do. But Nate’s still friends with them, so they come to dinner every few years.
When I see her, I know she is studying me, though I pretend not to notice. Perhaps I’m inspiring one of the books she’s written. I wouldn’t know because I’ve never read them. But I know that time — and Tom — have given her enough tact to never ask about the past.
Erin sometimes tells me stories and rumors that used to circulate about me. That I was some modern Gatsby, destined to be undone by my own longing and misspent youth.
And then I know that I am lucky. And fortunate.
I made myself into a better person. And then I became a better person.
My story worked out, even though it felt bleak and desperate when I was young. Somehow, I endured, and I was rewarded with the love of my life.
I hope you’re one of the lucky ones too.
The End
Thank you, dear reader, for taking this ~24k word journey with me. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.
And if you feel like looping back to the start — or reading from a character you haven’t yet, go ahead and browse through the index!
Move through the story:
Erin — One | Two | Three | Six | Seven | Ten | Thirteen | Fifteen | Sixteen
nice ending to a wonderful serial
Just starting to read your story. I admire your commitment to your craft! I'm new to Substack and am considering posting short stories or perhaps serializing a longer work. Your courage to share inspires me. Thank you!