Candy Hearts, Vol. 2

Epilogue

EPILOGUE

NICO

“Cufflinks?”

“Check.”

“Pocket square?”

“Check.”

“Bouton—bouton—what’s it called, amore?”

“Boutonniere,” my husband says, straightening my black, skinny tie. “And I think they’re still in the fridge.”

“We need them!” I say, probably too emphatically. “It is almost time! We must get to our seats APSA!”

Greg smirks at me. “Rilassati, tesoro. Andrà tutto bene.”

“Relax? How can I relax when our son is getting married today? We must check on Andrew; we must make sure he has everything he needs.”

His face crinkles in confusion. Though to be fair, after almost thirty years together, his face is always more crinkled than it was when I met my shy neighbor. I love it regardless. “Check on Andrew? But not Evan, our son?”

“Evan will be fine. He is like me,” I say, straightening his clothes too, even though he doesn’t need it. I feel better when I touch him; he’s so handsome in his black suit. “But Andrew? He is so nervous, I can tell. He would rather get married during the commercial break at the Timbers game than this hullaballoo.”

“Hulla—” Greg breaks off, bending over, laughing so hard that no sound comes out.

“Amore! This is no time for laughing!” I clap my hands at him, but he gives no response. “We must go! I will not ruin this most important day for these boys!”

“Where did you even learn that word?” my husband asks, straightening, as he wipes a tear from his eye.

“From you, amore! Obviously from you! Come now, we must go find those flowers … ”

“Wait,” Greg says, grabbing my arm to haul me back against him as I make for the door. “You’re really not going to let me look at your speech?”

I recoil. “No! You don’t trust me?”

“No, no, no, I do. I just … know that giving speeches can be … nerve-racking.”

“For you, maybe,” I say, giving him a kiss, but he doesn’t let me go.

“Can I just check it for minor mistakes? For idioms?”

“I am not an idiot,” I say, my temper getting the better of me.

“No, I said idiom . I didn’t—ugh, I’m sorry. You’re right,” he says, taking off his glasses to rub at his face. “You should give the speech you want to give. And if there’s a little mistake, it doesn’t matter. The sentiment will be there.”

Okay, he’s making even me a little nervous now, but I practiced a lot. I can’t change it now. When he puts his glasses back on, I take a moment to look at him, then pull him into a hug.

“Remember when we got married?” I put my hand on the back of his head and feel his shoulders drop a little. “Was not perfect.”

He chuckles, squeezing me tighter. “Given that our son had the stomach flu and your family got stuck in immigration at the airport? No, not perfect.”

“But at the end, we are married. And we can tell the story now. It will be the same for Evan and Drew. They are starting their life, and we are here. That is what matters.”

His tears now are not from laughter. “I knew you were going to do this to me today.”

“Dads?” The church wedding coordinator—I can’t remember her name—is motioning us out into the hallway. “Let’s get you flowered up.”

“Thanks, Donna,” Greg says, giving her a watery smile, swiping at his face. “We’ll be there ASAP.”

Oh, right. I still get those mixed up.

The next few minutes are a rush of activity: the boutonnieres, lining up the groomsmen, finding Drew’s grandmother, escorting Drew’s grandmother down the aisle, then watching as my beautiful son comes in from one side of the stage of the church, and his amore comes in from the other, meeting in the middle. I wasn’t wrong: Andrew looks nervous … until Evan captures his gaze, and then he seems to forget about the crowd. He doesn’t give us a second look.

“Well, this is a momentous occasion,” the pastor says, a tall, bulky white man with thinning hair. “Our first wedding as an independent church, and I can’t think of a better couple to commemorate the decision to leave our denomination. These two men have been the definition of love and devotion, and I have enjoyed getting to know them better in the past few months.”

I look up at the cross and think how happy his nona would be to see her grandson getting married in a church. Greg squeezes my hand like he knows, and I smile at him. They keep it short and sweet, and soon, Evan is reading his vows. Greg helped him with them, I know.

“I vow to have your back, through every season of life and whatever changes the future will bring.” He pauses, and I know he’s fighting for composure, not wanting to cry in front of all the people.

Those words, they mean something to this man, who loved Andrew before his gender transition and loves him still. They mean something to me also—it was not easy when Greg changed his major and his life for me, just as it was not easy for me to stay in San Francisco. But we made it.

When Drew silently hands my son a white handkerchief, Evan takes it gratefully, dabbing at his face. But then he seems to decide to just let them flow, tears running down his cheeks through the rest of his vows, and based on all the sniffles behind me, we all decide to join him. His Uncle Enzo, who always gave him good advice; his Auntie Cathie, who carried him for us; his biological aunts and uncles and cousins from Italia; Greg’s parents. Everyone.

“We did good with him,” I murmur to Greg, and he just nods, clearly feeling emotional too.

After the ceremony, we get in the car and drive to another venue for the reception, because the church wouldn’t serve alcohol. Marrying gay people? Sure. Leaving their denomination to do it? They said yes. But still no wine afterward, even though Jesus makes it in the Bible for a wedding ? I do not understand this, but Evan says I am not to bring it up again, so I zip my lips.

Until it is my turn to give my speech.

“Thank you all for coming tonight, and to the Kahananui family for hosting this wonderful wedding.” I practiced their name so much, and I nail it. It gives me confidence to do the rest of it too. “When I was twenty-three, I moved to San Francisco from my village in Italia for work, and Evan’s father, Greg, also moved there from Kansas City, Missouri. We were neighbors for some months, but we did not know each other. Then Greg decided to have un’avventura—when we start an affair in Italia, we don’t call it that. ‘Affair’ is a word for business; we call it ‘an adventure.’”

There is some giggling in the crowd, and I glance down at Greg. His face is as red as the rose in the boutonniere. Oops . I rush on.

“It was not easy—we did not speak the same language; we did not always understand each other. We made mistakes. But even though it was not so smooth at first, I am glad he chose me to have his adventure with, and even more glad that he chooses me still.” I glance at him again, and he’s smiling at me now, love shining through the embarrassment.

“Evan has made a good choice also in Drew, and I wish you as much happiness as we have had.” I lift my glass. “May your marriage be un’avventura, today and always.” Everyone is still clapping when I sit down, and Evan is laughing, pressing his face into Drew’s neck, but Drew gives me a thumbs-up with a shit-eating grin.

“See, amore? Everything is fine,” I say, giving his still-red cheek a kiss, and Greg just laughs.

“Yeah, an adventure is right,” he murmurs, kissing me back. “And I don’t regret a minute of it.”