Hi there!

First, I want to thank everyone who's stuck around with this story to the end. I thought this would be a quick, easy story to write, one that would flow out of me seamlessly. What I found instead is that equitably juggling eight principal characters in mostly long chapters that cover short amounts of time was kind of difficult. Like all stories, though, it taught me a lot about myself as a writer, and I'm glad I undertook this project. I enjoyed writing it quite a bit.

I apologize that it took so long for this rather short epilogue, but I've been busy lately, and it's been difficult to find time to devote to writing. I may (or may not) be taking a brief hiatus from writing until my schedule gets a bit less chaotic, so no promises on what's next (or when). In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this epilogue.

Happy readings!

TEPR

There is no one in the kitchen when Clyde shuffles downstairs this morning, his splitting headache a reminder of all the reasons he doesn't drink like that anymore, a reminder that he's no longer a kid in college. When Clyde bellies up to the kitchen table, desperately seeking coffee, Eric is on his way out the door and to the airport, back to life. He stops to smile at his friend and tells him—no, promises—that he'll try to make it to Seattle soon to see him and his boys. Eric is soon replaced by Bebe, who rubs Clyde's back and tells him that he probably should have taken it a little easier last night. He groans in agreement as he makes himself rye toast. Wendy joins them and plops her briefcase on the table. She says that she has to be back in Atlanta by noon, so she better get a move on. She winks at Bebe and says she thinks the seed has finally been planted. When Kyle and Craig walk in from the yard together, Kyle's arm jovially slung over the other's back, it is clear even to Clyde that whatever animosity existed between the two of them last night has all but dissipated.

"What's that?" Wendy asks, nodding toward a faded newspaper under Craig's arm.

He hands it to her. "I found it this morning in Kenny's closet. It's the article Eric did on him after he won the Fulbright."

"Was this before or after he turned it down?" Bebe asks.

"Before," Craig says. "I was hoping I could find the follow-up he did after Kenny declined and told the selection committee to go fuck themselves."

"I'll never understand why he did that," Wendy says.

"Neither will I," Kyle adds, shaking his head.

Bebe grins. "He was one of a kind."

"Yeah," Craig whispers.

After a moment, Clyde changes the subject. "I saw Eric as he was leaving, but where are Stan and Tweek?"

"I think Tweek's still sleeping," Kyle says. "You missed Stan. He got an early start."

"I wish he would have stuck around to say goodbye," Wendy says. "I guess life in the fast lane never slows down. I can't imagine the next time I'll see him."

"Me neither," Bebe says. "I feel like I never see anyone anymore. After we leave this afternoon, I'm not even sure the next time I'll see Tweek."

"She's staying here?" Clyde asks, skeptically. "Even after—you know?"

Kyle quickly glances at Craig and then to Bebe, who nods. "Tweek's going to stay here and keep working on the land with Craig," he says.

Wendy looks at Craig and subtly grins. "Very interesting," she says.

Craig blushes but doesn't say anything. Kyle slips his arm back around his friend's shoulder. "With all the vandals we've had to deal with lately," he says, "it's been nice having someone living here. Craig and Tweek are gonna keep the homestead operating smoothly for us, and we couldn't be more glad."

"Does that mean it's an open invitation?" Clyde asks, putting his plate in the dishwasher. "I wouldn't mind an extended vacation," he adds, grinning.

"Thanks for offering," Bebe says, "but I think we're good."

"What she means," Wendy adds, "is that it's back to real life for you. If you hurry up, I'll be nice and give you a ride to the airport on my way out of town. How's that sound?"

Clyde rolls his eyes before leaving to grab his bag, thankful for the offer of a last-minute ride. As Wendy takes her things to her car, she smiles a thank you at Kyle, who shoots a knowing no problem back at her. Craig salutes Bebe and Kyle before slipping downstairs to wake Tweek up with some good news. When they're alone in the kitchen, Bebe slips her hand into Kyle's and leans in for a kiss. They walk out to the porch to savor the rest of the morning as their friends continue to slip out and away. Once again, for a fleeting moment, the kitchen is empty.

Just before dawn this morning, Stan is out on his feet. He is not sure if it is the early hour or the shameful nature of his departure that makes him feel more like shit. Obviously, he hadn't expected to hook up with anyone while here for this funeral—let alone stay the night at her place—nor had he expected to be booted out at dawn in such a cold and perfunctory manner.

"Soldier up, Commander," Officer Bev had told him. "Clint's dad's dropping him off in a couple of hours, and I need to spruce up. Safe travels back to Hollywood."

As he rambles down the highway, back to Wendy and Kyle and everyone else, Stan wonders if anything ever really changes. When he returns to the house, his best friend appears to be the only one awake. Kyle prepares a pot of coffee but, to Stan's surprise, does not look prepared for his standard morning jog.

"Have a good evening?" Kyle asks, his knowing grin enhanced by the first glow of the morning sun.

Stan groans and finds a seat. He grabs an apple from the basket on the table and takes a bite.

"Why does life have to be so difficult?" he asks, suddenly more exhausted than he has felt all weekend.

"Oh, so it's one of those conversations?" Kyle asks, pulling up a chair and a cup of coffee. "I thought Bev might at least perk you up."

Stan shakes his head. "The sex was fine—great, in fact. I guess I just feel like I'm stalling."

"How so?"

"I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing, Kyle. I'm not a kid anymore. I have a kid, but I've not been much of a father. Miranda's starting kindergarten next year. She's not a baby anymore. She's a real person now, and I finally want to be there for her."

"Well, what's stopping you?"

Stan knows that the answer to this question is nothing. Soon he'll have to be on the road to Savannah to catch his flight, and he realizes how much he's going to miss being here this weekend. He wonders when is the next time he will see all of these people again, and it strikes him that it may not be until another one of them has gone—and even then, who's to say they'll all be there? Suddenly Stan sees why Craig could say what he did at dinner last night, about the group of them being friends more out of circumstance than anything else. He hopes that that's not true, but a part of him thinks that it probably is. Now, no longer bound by the confines of their shared experience, they have forged their own paths, and here is where those paths have delivered them. Things change, Stan thinks, and at the end of the day, maybe that's the hardest thing to reconcile.

Stan looks at his best friend and smiles. "Have time for a quick jog around the block before I hit the road?" he asks. "It's not like you to skip out."

Kyle tops off his coffee. "I appreciate the offer. I have to pass, though. There's something important I need to talk to Craig about before he vanishes again."

Stan nods. "Good luck with that. I'm worried about him."

"So am I—or, I was, at least. I'm beginning to think that things are going to work out for him."

"You always were an optimist," Stan says, rising and stretching. "Sure I can't interest you in a lap around the block?"

Kyle shakes his head. "You go ahead. I'll man the fort."

Stan walks over to hug him. He tells him that he's thankful for everything and that he couldn't ask for a better friend. Kyle smiles and says that neither could he. Then, leaving his friend there in the kitchen, Stan sets off around the block. He starts at a jog before gradually slipping into a run. When he laps the block, he decides to keep going. This time he doesn't turn like he did before. He keeps going down the main stretch, past another intersection and then another. He's blocks away before he considers turning around. Stan does not stop running in that moment, nor does he in the next. He keeps going and, for a little while, thinks he'll never stop.

Thank you again to everyone who read "You Can't Always Get What You Want", especially those who have provided feedback along the way. Your continued support of this story and my writing means the world to me. For those of you who have not reviewed yet, now would be a wonderful time to do that, as I would love to know your thoughts on the story!

Until we meet again,

TEPR