Celebrations (takes place significantly after The Positronic Man)

"Humanity is defined by our flaws?" Sheldon asked.

"Yes. It's always what makes us interesting. And lovable."

"I don't think flaws make us lovable."

Amy smiled and reached for his hand. "Really? Because I've loved sitting up here with you tonight, because you were so impatient for this update and you're so obsessed with getting everything just perfect and synchronized."

It is the simplicity of the evening that makes it perfect. Their lives have been so chaotic lately. But, lying there, his head resting on her stomach, looking at Ada's long, bare legs, her feet hanging off the end of the sofa because of her height, he feels content. The air is thick and sultry with humidity. But Ada has refused to turn the air conditioning on today for some reason. Instead, they have spent their afternoon swimming at the pool. They had a little tiff about it, because he wanted to go to the lake and enjoy nature, but she said there were less germs in the pool. He gave in because Ada looked like an old Hollywood diva, in her white rimmed sunglasses and high waisted bikini complete with a bullet bra. And a swim cap! She dove and cut through through the pale blue water effortlessly. She was always a swimmer. He used to think it odd that such a prodigy, someone who lives so fully in their mind for their mind, would enjoy a sport. It is anti-stereotypical. But when he sees her dive, he understands. It's all math to her: the parabolas, the rotations, the arcs.

"It's our last hurrah of summer before we have to buckle down. Let it feel like summer," she says about the heat. And so their idyll is almost at a close.

For one and half years, he has been with this marvelous, quirky woman. He always arranged his schedule so that he had no classes on Friday so that he could take the train down from Purdue and walk to her house late on Thursday nights. She had wanted to meet him at the station and walk with him, but no, he didn't want her out walking alone in the dark. They had fought about it, but she had acquiesced. He knows her parents, he knows from where her stubbornness comes. The fact that she let him have this victory is measure of her love. Ada was raised to believe the world will bend to her whims.

Usually, she was asleep, because she is a morning person, and he would collapse exhausted next to her. Sometimes, he would lift the blankets up and crawl up to her from the bottom of the bed, his lips gently kissing the inside of her calves until she hushed, "Welcome home" and spread her legs for him, his mouth seeking the sweet nectar he had been thinking about for days. Sometimes, he would have just laid down and she would straddle him, her long hair hanging around her body, and she rode him just as Lady Godiva rode her horse.

Rarely, he would arrive to every light burning, and Ada would be deep in her fog. First it was her book, now it is her dissertation. Her hair would be in a long braid, her clothes a distracted eccentric combination (as opposed to her normal carefully executed eccentric choices), but she would always stop what she was doing to smile at him and ask him about his journey when he entered.

"It's okay," he'd say. "You're working. Don't let me interrupt you."

"I never want you to feel like you haven't been missed. Because you have," she'd say. "I've been waiting."

Then he would kiss her head if she was at her desk or her shoulder if she were standing at her whiteboards, pour her a fresh mug of coffee, and go to bed alone as the fog descended upon her again. He has long since given up being bothered that Ada was both getting her PhD and had published a bestselling book in the time it was taking him to get his Masters. Maybe he was never bothered in the first place, as it seems just like something that would happen to her. The world bends to her whims.

Ah, the book. It had come, it seemed to the world, out of nowhere. But he knew how much work she put into it. Oddly, its success had not surprised her. A graphic novel about robots told using cubism and new geometric equations becomes a phenomena, holds the number one spot on The New York Times fiction bestseller list for thirty-two weeks? Not the graphic novel list, the fiction list. She shrugged. The world will bend to her whims.

Fortunately, her contract had not stipulated a book tour or any interviews. Because when was the last time a graphic novelist warranted such attention? There wasn't even a photo of her on the book jacket. Actually, it took eight weeks on the NYT list before there was even a printed book jacket. Reading the ebook wasn't enough, people wanted to touch it, to hold it, to read it the old fashioned way. Oh, dozens, if not hundreds, of offers came her way. She turned them all down, except for an interview for the local newspaper, because she had grown to love this Midwestern town. No photo, of course.

He couldn't help but read the reviews, most of them glowing and effusive in their praise. A critical darling. A masterpiece of logic and emotions. An unique, seminal event in the history of literature. But the few detractors, the pockets of back lash, the there-is-no-art-in-math-nor-math-in-art crowd, the why-does-it-have-to-be-so-complex whiners wound him deeply, his heart being pierced in place of hers. Perhaps because it always has been hers. He had asked her why she read so few reviews, why she seemed so unconcerned. Ada spoke with her usual calm, "I had something to say, something to prove, and I did it. I have said my piece, and I know it's as good as it can be. Let them have their say now. Let them prove me wrong." A little uptick in her lips. "If they can." He knows her parents, he knows from where her confidence comes.

And so their weeks maintained their rhythms. Even during the summers, as Ada worked on her dissertation and he took classes to finish sooner. But two weeks ago, he finished his last class. It was just his thesis now, so he was able to move down to Bloomington permanently. Ada told him she wanted a honeymoon to celebrate. No work, no classes, just them. Two weeks of laziness.

"But we're not married," he had pointed out. "It can't be a honeymoon."

She had shrugged. "Call it whatever you like. But you know I hate the word staycation."

Now, the late July mugginess hanging about them, he thinks it truly has been a honeymoon, and not just for the obvious reason. The cats are sitting by the open window, sniffing the approaching thunderstorm in the air. Jeopardy! is on, tossing the holograms of questions into the center of the room. Ada is both reading a novel and blandly announcing all the correct answers at the same time. It is a habit she has.

"Ada, do you ever get one wrong?" he asks.

"No." He knows her parents, he knows from where her honesty comes. After the turn of a page and a murmured "Cicero," she says, "But sometimes I don't know the answer, so I don't speak. Anything sports related. Potent Potables stumps me. Pop culture isn't my best category. Yasmine used to always beat me on those questions."

"Yasmine, a Jeopardy! champion?" He smiles and rubs his finger along the little strip of exposed skin just above the waistband of her shorts. "Your brash friend is quite the secret keeper."

It occurs to him, suddenly, in retrospect, that Yasmine had kept quite a large secret for a very long time. He should thank her.

Ada chuckles but puts her index finger on the back of his hand to still it. "Stop it. That tickles."

Before he can comment, the book - one of those old, frayed cloth-covered ones, who knows where she got it - slams shut above his head with a cloud of dust. "Mom would love this book." A pause. "Computer?" Ada calls, her voice louder. He hears a familiar chime. It seems incongruous, technology in this old, beat-up rental house. But for all her whimsy, Ada is not a luddite. "Send the last book I checked into Goodreads to my mother as a reading suggestion."

After Siri chimes again, he says, "You can call her now and tell her yourself if you like. I don't mind."

"No, I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because it's Book Club Night. First they want to be alone to discuss the book and then they have book sex."

"Ada!" he says, as he lifts his head off of her stomach to look up at her.

"What?" she blinks, looking down at him, her blue eyes piercing behind her glasses. "It's true."

"Gross! They're your parents!" Although he is curious about what exactly book sex is . . .

Ada smiles. "How do you think I got here? I have no doubt my parents have a very healthy sex life. Have you seen the way they look at each other?"

"Jesus, Ada." He rubs his hand over his face to try and rub out that mental image and puts his head back down. "What would they say if they knew you were talking like that?"

"Dad would be mortified. Mom would be proud."

What can he say to that? Nothing. She may be correct; she probably is correct. He does not want to know. The Final Jeopardy! theme song begins and he starts to hum along.

"Don't you hope we'll still be having sex at their age?" she asks softly.

He raises his eyebrows. Honeymoon.

Maybe he should have thought of this before. Ada is not subtle. In fact, subtly is so far from her wheelhouse, he's certain they weren't even hints. Ada wouldn't hint. Ada never hints. He watches her in the thunderstorm after they have made love and after she has fallen asleep. Her copper hair glows with each strike of lightening. How does she sleep through this? He has never gotten use to the tornado sirens, and he is tense, listening, waiting for one to start. Why is she not afraid of them? Granted, it is not like Ada to be afraid of anything, but isn't that the story of how she broke her arm as a child? He has some hazy memory of a tornado being involved.

Suddenly her eyes are open, with that little line between her brows just like her mother. "What?" she mumbles.

"I can't sleep," he admits. "What if there's a tornado?"

She puts her hand over his. He did not even realize he was fidgeting. "It will be fine. Go to sleep. I'm here now."

Yes.

Yes, he should have thought of this before. The excuses he has to make. He has to wait for the work fog to descend before he can leave unnoticed. Because he is used to always telling her where he is going. Fortunately, the fog is frequent and intense. She is putting the finishing touches on her dissertation as she has a date to defend in early October. Her parents are coming for it.

No. No. No. Even the most unique one is too shiny.

"Too big, too showy?" The saleswoman is trying to be helpful.

"Oh, no, she lives for showy." He smiles. "Too new, I think. Thank you for your time."

A completely different type of store. Musty. Stuffy. Art deco? Maybe. Art nouveau? Maybe. Not too shiny, not too new. Then it clicks. Too expected.

"Do you have anything that isn't a diamond?"

"I have some cocktail rings. I'm not sure they're what you're looking for. Some woman find cocktail rings . . . conspicuous for everyday wear."

"She's a conspicuous kind of woman." The clerk raises his eyebrows but pulls out another tray.

Jade, the perfect shade of green. Emerald cut. Surrounded by seed pearls. And is that rose gold? He picks it up gently, holding up between his thumb and forefinger to catch the light.

"You'll never find another one that unique," the clerk says.

"It's perfect." He can barely whisper it, so much of his breath is gone.

He definitely should have thought of this before. Maybe back when he was born. Because it would take a lifetime to come up with the perfect plan. Nothing, absolutely nothing, is too over the top for Ada. Except publicity. She likes to be wildly eccentric, but very privately so. He ruminates all the way into early October.

It's not because he's going to ask her father for permission. Or even both of her parents. Ada would hate that; all of her mother's feminist ideals have become hers. But he's carried it everywhere for weeks, and it's burning a whole in his pocket. So he volunteers to take them out to dinner for Ada while they are visiting. She claims she is not nervous about her defense, and, although he believes her, he talks her into a night alone to relax. "You've been so busy with your parents and preparing to defend. Just take a bath, read, pet the cats, relax."

After a little coaxing, she agrees. It is a sign of her love.

"I need your help," he can't help but blurt out to her parents at the restaurant as soon as they are seated, he is so nervous.

They raise their eyebrows in unison. It is a habit they have.

"Yes?" Amy asks.

"Uh . . . um . . . uh." This is awful. His hands are shaking as he pulls the box out of his pocket and sets it open on the table. "How? When? I can't think of anything."

Amy gasps and put her hands to her mouth. "Oh!"

"What?" Sheldon asks.

"He's going to propose," Amy whispers.

"Oh." Sheldon's eyebrows fall deeply as his brow furrows.

This has gone from bad to worse. They are shocked. They are disappointed or unhappy or something. Then he feels Amy's hand on his. "We are so happy for you."

"You are?" he asks.

"We are? - ouch!" Sheldon says, shying away from his wife's elbow.

"We're gaining a son, Sheldon, not losing a daughter," Amy whispers sharply to him.

Sheldon is staring at him. Oh, that can't be good.

"Do you love her?" Ada's father asks.

"Yes, of course."

"She's only twenty-three, you know. Probably too young to marry," Sheldon says.

Feeling his heart sink, he replies, "But she's very mature. And so accomplished."

"Obviously. She's a Cooper. But you do know she still has her Noble Prize to win? She doesn't need distractions."

"Sheldon!" Amy breaks in. "Stop it. He loves her. She loves him. Leave them be." Amy smiles over at him, and he warms to Ada's mother even more. She's odd, but kind. For all their oddities, he has always liked Ada's parents. Once, in Boston, Ada mentioned they were getting old, and that struck him as a such an odd thing to say. Yes, her mother's hair is all gray now, and if he looks closely he notices a few gray hairs at Sheldon's temples, but they remain as vibrant and opinionated as he has always known them. At least they still have all their hair, unlike his own father.

"Hmmmm. You really, truly love her?" Sheldon asks again.

How could he doubt it! "Yes! I'm crazy about her!"

"No, that's not what I meant. Anyone can be crazy. Not me, of course, my mother had me tested. What are her flaws?"

"Her flaws?" He raised his eyebrows.

"Yes. Someone very wise once told me that it is our flaws that make us both human and lovable. Meaning, in part, that it takes love to know every single thing you can't stand about a person and yet you can't imagine being driven mad by anyone else. So what are her flaws?" Sheldon leans forward over the table to whisper, "I know she's a Cooper, but even we aren't perfect. You never heard me say that." He sits back up. "Go on."

Taking a deep breath, he squirms in his chair. Ada's father is serious, he can tell. "Um, well, she . . . she steals all the hot water for her shower." Sheldon looks unimpressed. "I never have any closet space. Or hangers." Sheldon rolls his eyes. A deep breath. "She can be a little -" he makes a twirling motion around his temple "- all up here sometimes, like she's a barely present on Earth. She can be arrogant. She's very stubborn. Sometimes she, um, makes a bad choice and she refuses to let go of it . . ." He coughs, feeling that perhaps he has revealed too much of an opinion about Ada's past. "She can be too honest and blunt in public and that offends some people." He stops, feeling very uncomfortable saying all these negative things about the woman he loves to her parents. Was it a test? Should he have refused to answer?

But Sheldon smiles. "Yes, that all sounds about right." He actually looks satisfied when he nods, as though he'd pick all those flaws for himself if he could. "Can you tell when she's not in bed even in the middle of a deep sleep? Is she the first person you want to tell anything and everything to? Do you feel like you'll never fully understand her? Do you want die trying?"

He sucks in his breath. He has never heard Sheldon say such . . . personal things before. Amy is looking at her husband like he just invented love. Swallowing hard, he nods.

Sheldon nods back. Then he smiles slightly. "You'll just know."

"Know what?"

"The how and the when. You just know when to propose."

"May I ask, how did you purpose to Amy? I've never heard the story. Does Ada know the story?"

Sheldon looks mortified. Amy looks proud.

Oh, gross. He should have never asked.

"How do I look? Do you think this dress is okay?"

It is then that he knows she really is nervous. Ada has never once questioned her appearance. And why should she? The world bends to her will. And she knows it. She actually doesn't look like herself. She's wearing a dress he doesn't remember seeing before, something navy blue and simple, too simple for Ada. A string of pearls - oh, yes, he has seen those before, they were her grandmother's. Her hair, her beautiful hair, is twisted up tightly at the base of her neck. He doesn't like it, it's too plain and expected; he lives for her idiosyncrasies.

"You look . . . professional," he says and it sounds like a disappointment even to his own ears.

Ada frowns. "I think I should today."

"You're probably right."

"Where is she?" Sheldon grumbles, looking around Bloomington's swankiest restaurant.

"It's fine, Sheldon, she said she'd be right back. She probably wants to call Yasmine or some other friends," Amy replies.

Relief floods him because he, too, is baffled by where his girlfriend ran off to as soon as they arrived at the restaurant. A flash of something bright catches the corner of his eye and he turns. Ada. She has changed clothes; where? in the bathroom? is that what was in her leather satchel? Her hair is down now, her dress is blindingly shiny and gold in the candle-lit space. She looks like a statue walking toward them. So much better. God, he loves her.

Raising his glass as he stands, he speaks, loud enough everyone in the restaurant turns to look at them. Although, they were probably already staring, Ada has that effect. "Congratulations, Dr. Ada Fowler Cooper!"

She twirls for him, and he laughs. "It's my winged victory dress!"

They eat and they laugh. Ada is radiant, satisfied. Her parents are bursting with pride. Sheldon, especially, peppers her with questions about her future. Ada waves her hand dismissively. "I have the house through the summer. And we're waiting for this guy to finish his Masters. Maybe I'll take some time to relax. Read. Maybe write something else. I don't know. I don't need to be constantly working."

Although he is embarrassed that she is perhaps putting her life on a short hiatus for him, the look on Sheldon's face is priceless.

"What are you doing tomorrow at four a.m?" Sheldon suddenly asks over their appetizer.

"Four a.m.?" Ada is surprised. "Sleeping."

"But the Nobel Prizes are announced tomorrow," Sheldon protests.

Ada waves her hand over her plate. "I'm sure if it's somebody we know, you'll call."

For most of the meal, he watches them. Ada and her parents are such an odd trio, and yet so well suited for each other. They finish each other's sentences, for crying out loud. Ada, especially, likes to pick at her father, to challenge him. Amy's smirks at him across the table, as though he is now allowed to share her enjoyment of this. They are all so happy tonight. Well, why not? Ada is now, finally, Dr. Cooper. There's this game they play he can never follow. Counterfactuals. What does the title even mean? He has no idea what they're talking about.

Suddenly, it all becomes clear.

"Excuse me," he timidly pipes up. "Ada is correct. It all depends on whether or not the mandrake root is an annual or a perennial in order for cross pollination to occur. Without cross pollination, werewolves would not transform just on the full moon."

Sheldon's eyebrows go up. Amy grins. Ada turns to him, and he basks in the full glow of her smile. She is so happy - with her new doctorate, with her family, with this game, with him. It has all come together in this restaurant, it has all become clear.

"Ada, I -" he stammers. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out the box. "Maybe this isn't the right time or place, but I think it is." Her eyebrows go up as he pushes his chair back and gets down on one knee. Feeling hot and flushed and embarrassed as he knows all eyes turn to him, he opens the box. "Dr. Ada Fowler Cooper, will you marry me?"

She starts to cry and nods repeatedly. He has surprised her and that is not an easy thing to do. "Yes, yes, yes!," she croaks.

Then there is applause from the restaurant and tears from her mother and a hand shake from her father and he picks her up even though she is taller and he spins her round and round for all to see as she laughs, because she is going to be his, this genius in gold.

Later, after they have drunk champagne until they were tipsy and made love in front off the fireplace where they first did, they fall into a deep, fulfilled sleep, visions of their wedding filling their dreams.

Until every electronic device in their house goes off at four a.m., when the phone calls start to come flooding in.

"My princess really looks like a princess!" Uncle Raj coos, his arms already wide for Ada's hug. "You look beautiful," he whispers in her ear.

"Thank you." Ada pulls away and smiles, then turns to get a hug from Uncle Stuart, too.

"Here, we brought you something," Stuart says, holding out a small box.

Pushing aside her veil, Ada opens the lid and smiles. Inside is a white handkerchief, trimmed in lace, and embroidered with the words "The Bride" in pale blue. "It's lovely. Thank you."

Stuart starts, "Your something blue -"

"- And something to dry your tears of joy," Raj finishes for him. "Look, I have my own." He holds up a handkerchief without the lace, the words "Uncle of the Bride" clearly visible. Ada chuckles.

Mom leans in close, and Ada hands her the handkerchief to inspect. "Thank you both so much. And for coming out here for the wedding."

"No where is as important as this," Raj says, his voice breaking already, and Ada opens her arms to encompass both of her favorite uncles. In the middle of their group hug, Stuart says, "Raj, you'll ruin her dress if you keep blubbering like that."

They pull away and Ada squeezes their hands before the leave, Raj crying, Stuart's arm around him.

"They miss you terribly, you know," Mom says softly.

"The feeling is mutual. Our weekly phone calls just aren't the same," Ada replies, turning to inspect herself one more time in the mirror. She can't believe the day has finally come. It seems so foreign, that tall woman in the most gigantic white wedding dress she could find looking back at her.

Yasmine brushes her shoulder and Ada looks over at her and smiles. She allowed Yasmine to select her own dress, and she's chosen black, of course, something long and lean and simple. It's perfect. Taking the handkerchief back, Ada brushes the finely sewn words and says, "I don't have anything borrowed."

"What?" Mom asks. She looks lovely, too, in the same blue dress she wore to Ada's Nobel Prize ceremony, her hair twisted up intricately.

"My dress is new, my necklace -" she reaches up to touch Grandmother Fowler's pearls "- is old, this -" she squeezes the gift "- is blue. But I don't have anything borrowed. I need something borrowed."

"I thought you didn't believe in all that," Mom says. "That's what you told Dad when you said you weren't wearing your Nobel Medal as your something blue."

"I need something borrowed and I'm almost out of time!" Ada can hear her voice getting higher and she doesn't quite understand where this hysteria is coming from.

"Blimey, Junior, you picked a fine time to become superstitious," Yasmine says, but she begins to dig through everything they brought with them to get dressed.

"Here." Ada turns and sees her mother twisting and pulling her wedding rings off. She takes Ada's hand and sets the pair in her palm, folding her fingers over them.

"Mom, I can't take these. I've never seen you without them," Ada protests softly.

"Just for the ceremony. From one very happy bride to another."

Ada reaches up with the handkerchief to wipe the tear away from her mother's face. "You'll ruin your make-up."

"It doesn't matter," Mom says, and Ada accepts her hug and squeezes the shorter woman tight before she slides her mother's wedding rings down a finger on her right hand. Then, before she can tell how much fun she's had planning this wedding with her, how much she regrets their arguments in the past, how much she loves her, how much she's always loved her, how she was correct all along about love and . . . everything, there's a knock at the door. "That will be your father. Come on, Yasmine, let's go get in line and give them a moment of privacy."

Yasmine rushes over to hand her the bouquet and they embrace for just a second before the two woman scurry out the door. Gripping her flowers tighter, Ada takes a deep breath and looks at her father, framed in the doorway.

"Hi, Dad."

"Hello." He steps inside, shutting the door behind him, and walks up to her, and Ada sees his eyes, taking her all in, from train to veil.

"Thank you for doing this. I know you think walking me down the aisle - this whole wedding - is overkill, outdated traditions for sentimental minds, but -"

"Your mother says I've gotten sentimental in my old age," he says, shrugging. Ada smiles. "I understand it is part of the father-of-the-bride ritual to impart sage martial advice at this moment. I thought about discussing the need to fold the hand towels properly or assist in the taking out of the recycling, but I think that's beneath someone of your intelligence."

"It's okay, Dad." Ada reaches for his arm and steps up next to him, preparing to take this singular walk with him. "Remember, just squeeze my hand if you get nervous. Everyone is looking at me, not you."

"But I have advice." Ada turns to look at him. "My advise is to love him more than he deserves. There are many, many times your mother loved me when I didn't deserve it. And, no matter what I'd done wrong, it was always her love that pulled me back to her. Love him every single day of your life."

"I've loved him ever since he called me Jesus Christ," Ada whispers.

"It was a good sign. He recognized your greatness."

A chuckle escapes Ada's throat. "My point is he's always loved me far more than I deserve."

"I know." Dad nods. "Oh, Ada, I cannot tell you how happy this has made me. He's what I always wanted for you."

Before the tears can start flowing, the music swells and then someone opens the door. Ada steps out into the hallway and to the next door, then out into the sunshine with her father. She watches Yasmine's back retreating from her, and then the music changes again. One last look at her father, who squeezes her hand tight as the crowd stands, and Ada takes a step with him, her gown rustling and fanning out behind her.

As she walks slowly and smiles for the photographer, Ada looks around the crowd. Aunt Missy, of course, and her two cousins, although she never really felt like they had much in common. There is a ting of ache in heart, that MeeMaw and Grandmother couldn't be here. Aunt Penny and Uncle Leonard, Penny still a beautiful woman, still cuddled up to Leonard. Their family takes a whole row, all four of Ada's honorary cousins and Fenton's girlfriend. Uncle Raj on the aisle, taking his own video as he asked to do, but Ada knows it will be useless as his hand shakes in time with tears streaming down his face. Uncle Stuart is holding his arm, giving strength and smiling. Even the Kripkes have come: Barry, Sarah, and Corrina. Faisal and Oliver made the trip, too. Howard and Bernadette, and even at this moment, Ada cannot help but see their hands intertwined. Jacob is right, after all these years, they really are getting back together for good, it seems. Lucy is with them, a broad smile on her face. Yasmine has stopped and turned in her appointed spot and she winks mischievously, causing Ada's heart to expand even further. Most importantly Mom, in the front row, looking regal in her blue dress and silver hair, happy, beautiful tears streaming down her face. Ada feels Dad's grip on her arm tighten, and she knows that it's because he's caught sight of her, too, and his heart is fluttering for his own bride. Ada's thumb bends in to trace the rings her mother has let her borrow, as she knows she has finally gained what her parents have.

They've all come, everyone in their lives, who had helped them make it to this milestone in some fashion. Even though she knows she is young, it seems like so many years. Too many years of remaining ignorant before she could get to this moment. Too many years wasted for a mistake. But it didn't matter now. Today, Ada is surrounded by love and joy and only the brightest of horizons.

And, there, at the opposite end of the aisle, he stands as short as and even more handsome than she ever remembers him. There is a swell in the music as it approaches the end of this march, and her eyes meet his, even though he has been watching her all along. For that moment, for every moment thereafter, for so many moments before, Ada only has eyes for Jacob.

Thank you in advance for your reviews!

I realize these time shifts in some recent chapters of After Dark may not be everyone's cup of tea, that perhaps they aren't what you read After Dark for or perhaps you find them too jarring or confusing. And that's okay; I respect your opinion and can understand it. I did consider these factors and others when I debated within myself about whether or not that was the direction that After Dark should go. It could very well prove to be a mistake in the end, but, ultimately, it's the way I want to tell my story; not just to recount Ada's story but also to tell it out of order, to link the themes to Sheldon and Amy's story. Never fear, yes, you will eventually get all the details about Ada and what happened to Dylan and how she ended up with Jacob. Until then . . .