My friends, the end is here. I think my delay in updating was at least in part reluctance to end this story. Not to mention that I have Cablevision, so I didn't have Fox for the past few weeks. I was in Glee withdrawal. But it's been a great ride, and it's been an honor and a privilege to share it with you. Bien merci, from the bottom of my heart.

The other facotr behind my delay is, as usual, work. Though this year is a vast improvement over last year, it's no cakewalk. And my students' jibes about my accent are really getting old. Honestly, I know it sounds a little...unusual...but it's really not that funny, kids.

I'll save my goodbyes for after the story. I hope you enjoy this last chapter.

By the way...any Ohio natives out there? You guys watch Dick Clark on New Year's Eve? My cousins down in la belle Louisiane do, an hour behind us Eastern Standard Timers. Don't know if it's popular in Ohio, though, and I don't know anyone from around there to ask.

The Best Is Yet To Come

The sky outside the fogged-over window had darkened to blue and then to indigo hours ago. There was a buzz of festive conversation as the guests enumerated their picks for tomorrow's Rose Bowl game, described Christmas presents from Hell they had thankfully returned, blushing, to the local mall days ago ("Three sizes too big and was it ever UGLY! What was she thinking?"), or otherwise traded New Year's resolutions ("This is gonna be the year I quit for good. I mean it!"). The lights on the Christmas tree sparkled in the dim indoor lighting ("ambience," Dad had called it) just as the lights adorning the neighboring houses twinkled in the almost absolute darkness outside.

The Abrams house was crowded, all available seats taken. Mrs. Abrams was standing at the kitchen counter, gossiping with her work friends as she arranged hors d'oeuvres artistically on a platter shaped like a snowman. Mr. Abrams was pouring out champagne into plastic champagne flutes adorned with a glittery '2011'. Stretched out on the floor right in front of the TV, Brooke was watching Dick Clark's New Year's Rockin' Eve With Ryan Seacrest, eagerly anticipating the long-awaited ball drop and calling out up-to-the-minute updates every minute of so. Behind her, seated comfortably on the sofa, were Molly and the boyfriend she'd brought home from college to face her father's scrutiny.

Artie and Tina sat side-by-side, wedged between the Christmas tree and a folding snack table laden with a half-empty bowl of cheese puffs and some paper napkins. Though she had refused to abandon her fishnet arm-warmers, Tina had donned a sparkly sequined black and silver top for the occasion, which was not only festive in Artie's opinion, but also seemed—strangely enough—to match her cheap 'Happy New Year' tiara. It was a similar tiara, a violently magenta one, that she was trying to force onto Artie's head with limited success.

"Come on, Artie, put it on! I'm wearing one!"

"And I'm not, so let's keep it that way!"

"Your sisters are wearing them!"

"Sisters, Tina!"

"I think I spotted your brother Joe in one, too," quipped Tina with a wicked grin. Artie looked unmoved.

"That's not remotely surprising; I dropped him on his head when he was a baby."

"Artie!" cried Tina, torn between disapproval and a mad desire to laugh, while Joe, who was walking by with a brownie in each hand, promptly dropped his treats and howled, "What! Mom! Did Artie ever drop me on my head?"

Tina let out a huffy breath. "Fine," she conceded. "Will you at least wear the top hat?" she asked, holding one up. "Sure," said Artie with a laugh, plopping the unfortunate-looking cardboard hat on his head and grinning.

"Four minutes and thirty…no, twenty seven—twenty six—seconds to go!" announced Brooke importantly from her spot on the floor. She had tied individual strings of tinsel to her New Year's tiara one at a time, in an effort to make it look more glamorous.

"Give it a rest, Brooke," advised Molly, "you've been telling us how long 'til midnight since about eight o'clock." Her boyfriend chuckled and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, at which point Mr. Abrams emerged from his intense discussion of the Bengals' chances for the playoffs to sit between his daughter and her guest and launch into a lecture on a father's duties in regards to his little girls and their…gentleman callers. Forcing down a laugh, both Artie and Tina turned away.

"So, did you make a reservation?" Tina asked. Artie shook his head. "Nah…I thought of resolving to become the coolest kid in school, or buy a Cadillac, or something like that, but then I remembered I'd done all that already."

Tina giggled. "What about you?" Artie asked interestedly. "You never showed me your Thanksgiving list, so you owe me a secret, anyway."

"You're never gonna let me live that down, are you?" Tina asked in mock anger, swatting Artie lightly on the arm. "Fine—I've resolved to talk more in class."

"Who made that one up for you, Mercedes?"

Another swat, not entirely playful this time. "Not that kind of talking! I mean participate!"

"I know, I know…just kidding, Tee." Artie beamed at her. "That's really great, Tee…I'm proud of you."

She blushed. "C'mon, who are you...my mom?" she asked, though she was smiling. She was so beautiful when she smiled…

"One minute!"

"We'd better get a spot near the TV, if we want to actually see the countdown," said Artie, waving a hand vaguely behind him to the spot where his sister was practically dancing up and down in excited anticipation. Tina nodded and together, they picked their way through the crowd that was now moving in towards the TV screen.

The clock on the screen registered thirty seconds to go as Mr. Abrams started to pass out the champagne, yanking a plastic flute out of his younger son's hand with a not-entirely-joking, "Yeah, right, Joe, come back in a couple of years, son!" Artie looked down and saw that Tina had taken his hand. Twenty seconds to go…

Everyone else was on their feet, Brooke standing precariously on a chair to lead the count. "Ready?" she asked.

"Ten!"

It was all coming to an end, the past year…the turbulence, the uncertainty and finally the joy they'd experienced together.

"Nine!"

What would he remember the most, when he looked back? The jokes they'd shared, which few other people even understood? The times they'd gone shopping together, teasing each other good-naturedly over their respective fashion faux-pas? The kisses they'd stolen in hidden corners and unanticipated moments?

"Eight…seven…six…"

And what would next year bring? What lay ahead for the two of them? Will me and Tina be together to ring in the next New Year? Will we have another Christmas together? Another Valentine's Day? How many times will I get to tell her how much I love her? How many times will I dare?

"Five…four...three…"

Artie looked up at Tina, her dark eyes shining with the promise of a fresh start. She looked so beautiful…in this moment, poised on the brink of a brand-new year, anything was possible. Anything could happen this year, and Artie was determined to make sure that it was a good sort of 'anything'. He gripped her hand more tightly, his other hand closed tight around the confetti he was poised to release in a heartbeat…

"Two…one…HAPPY NEW YEAR!"

As confetti rained down in a multicolored shower of glitter and light and the sounds of champagne glasses clinking dully and "Auld Lang Syne" playing swelled around them, Artie leaned in and kissed Tina—for good luck, of course. It had been a very good year, the one they'd left behind…but surely, the best was yet to come. After all, all the others had been very good years, too.

And that's all, folks. Exit stage left. I want to thank all my readers, subscribers and reviewers one last time, and I hope that before the holidays get in full swing, I can start posting some new pieces. Keep an eye out for me...I don't plan on fading away.

Bien merci, mes cheres. You guys kept me going so many times this year. It hasn't been a very good year for me or my family, but writing this story and seeing all the positive responses it garnered really helped me to pull through at times. Your suggestions, comments and praise have been like little, unexpected-but-much-adored gifts to me.

I'd normally bid you 'On va se 'oir' here-' 'Til we see each other again'-but I'm not sure who I'll be seeing, or when, so...one last time, Gleeks:

DON'T STOP REVIEWIN'!

Yours, as always,

Delilah

Aw, what the hell...

On va se 'oir!