The Frog Prince

Epilogue

E pilogue

F ifteen months after meeting in that San Francisco café, Alex Dawson—aka Gorgeous Guy—and I married in a simple ceremony at the beautiful Historic Seven Sycamores in Ivanhoe, marrying in late September to take advantage of the perfect weather with the views of the old brown barn and acres of citrus orchards.

Ivanhoe is a fifteen-minute drive from downtown Visalia, and fifteen minutes from Exeter, making it the ideal location for an Alex-Holly wedding. Alex and his groomsmen wore cowboy boots with their suits. Since he’d also been married before, we wanted a small wedding, with just those close to us attending, and so we had a very romantic, very fun wedding for sixty. I wore the most beautiful evening gown—not white, but a lovely antique ivory with fluttery pink and peach appliqués over stunning floral embroidery. It was a sleeveless A-line gown with a plunging neckline and a sweeping peekaboo skirt—every bit the dress for a princess marrying a rugged-gorgeous-cow-boy-science-teacher.

Alex and I bought a little place in San Mateo after we married, and the first year I commuted to San Francisco to work, and then the next year, pregnant, I worked remotely, and then once Alexander Dawson Jr arrived, I took six months off, and then another six months because I loved being at home with baby Alex who’d inherited his father’s bluest of blue eyes that crinkled when he laughed—which was virtually all the time.

We’d been enjoying our lives in San Mateo for four years when Alex got a call from a former administrator, wanting to hire Alex to head up the science department at a new private high school opening in San Luis Obispo. The pay was about the same, but the cost of living was less, and San Luis Obispo would allow us to feel like we were living in a small town again, something we both wanted.

At first Alex felt guilty moving us, but within months we felt so at home and were grateful for our huge back yard that little Alex—and his new baby sister—could play in all day long. Oh, yes, Amelia. I’m getting to her.

Amelia turned one two days after our June move to San Luis Obispo, and by Christmas was a little terror. Alex Jr. had been the most mellow, happy little guy, and I mistakenly thought Amelia would be the same. I was so wrong. Amelia walked early, talked early, and had a lot to say for herself—taking enormous pleasure in saying no, no, no, no—and shaking her finger at us as if an old woman and not a cherubic toddler. But I’d rather she stand up for herself than get squashed by society, her parents, or her well-meaning brother.

I truly love where we are, love my husband and family, and that restless emptiness of my twenties is gone, fulfilled in part by marriage to a man who is also my best friend, the joy (and challenges) of motherhood, but also by my secret hobby which is no longer a secret.

A year ago, I sold a book to a publisher in New York. It was a middle school novel about a little girl who didn’t always get it right, inspired by some of my struggles as a girl.

But instead of ending up unhappy, our heroine Hazel has adventures, lots of adventures, where like Goldilocks, she tries different porridges, different chairs, different sleeping beds. The publisher liked my novel so well, they’ve asked me to turn the book into a series featuring Hazel’s adventures. I’m not making a lot of money but I love writing for girls, telling them it’s okay to make mistakes and change your mind and experiment. It’s okay to not love all hobbies and sports, it’s great to sample and discover, it’s fine not to know who you are or even what you want.

Why can’t we try different things to find out what fits us best? Why can’t we change our mind? Why do we have to know exactly what we’re supposed to do by a certain age? What does age have to do with anything?

So Hazel is allowed to change her mind. Just like we’re allowed to change our minds, and want more, and reach—fight—for happiness.

I write to tell all the little girls out there: take your time growing up. Take your time finding yourself. You don’t have to have all the answers right away. In fact, life is more interesting when you don’t have all the answers and you get to use life to discover yourself.

In writing these stories, I tell my readers, love yourself. Like yourself. Celebrate you. Because girls—young and old—that’s what we were always supposed to do.