Epilogue
NOAH
10 years later
T he last time I felt this nervous, I was walking up three flights of stairs. Heading for the wedding that would change my life. Looking back, that day has nothing on today.
Just like that afternoon, my suit pants itch at the skin on my thighs and my collar presses against my throat. Pulling in a long shaky breath, I begin loosening my tie when Cassidy pokes her head into the room. I give her a quick smile before turning back to the standing oval mirror.
“I don’t think she would care if you took it off,” she says.
“Nuh-ah.” Squeezing between Cassidy’s legs, Evie pushes her way into the room and races to my side. “Mummy said to make sure you were ready and that means you need your tie on.”
I wrap my arm around my four-year-old daughter and hug her shoulder. Her near-black hair has been primmed into delicate curls, and there’s a hint of sparkle to her puffy cheeks. Smiling up at me, I see nothing but love and adoration in her eyes, and I’ll cherish that look for as long as I can get it. Callum’s told me all about the teenage stage, so I’m going to soak in my little baby girl for as long as I can.
“She didn’t actually mention the tie,” Cassidy corrects as she comes into the room. Perching on the couch along the wall, she crosses her ankles and fluffs out her silky pink dress.
Evie’s dress is a complementary shade of purple, matching the tie I’m still debating taking off.
“But she did say it’s time to go. The photographer is waiting outside her room for you and Evie. I’m going to head to the cellar door.”
Cassidy watches in the mirror as I fiddle with my tie once more, trying to hide the way my throat bobs as I gulp down my nerves. Doing a bad job at hiding it, apparently, because Cassidy stands and moves next to me. She reaches up to place a calming hand on my shoulder but faces the mirror as she speaks.
“She’s really excited. More than I thought she would be.”
And then she’s gone. I’m still staring at the space where she stood when Evie tugs my hand. I drop to my knees beside her and she throws her arms over my shoulder.
“Wait until you see Mummy!” she squeals in my ear.
After all these years, I’d gotten used to the thought that today might never come. It didn’t matter. I had Amira, and she had me, and eventually, we had Evie. Everything we wanted and needed. A marriage certificate wasn’t going to change the love we shared.
Until last month Evie had turned to us at dinner and asked out of the blue, “Daddy, why aren’t you married to Mummy?”
I held back the way the words stung a little, wondering why she phrased it like it was my fault. Sure, in most straight passing relationships the man proposes, but all those years I stood by what I had promised. I wasn’t going to ask until I knew it was what Amira wanted. We’d talked about it in the past and she continued to insist it wasn’t important. Now that Evie was asking though, I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d missed a whole lot of signs. My heart had begun to sink.
“It’s not his fault,” Amira’s voice from across the table was soft and kind. “Once, I told him I never wanted to get married.”
“But why not?” By now Evie had dropped her fork and was standing on her chair. Her initial question had been completely innocent but now her voice was laden with miniature accusation.
“I … it doesn’t matter.”
Reaching for Evie, I guided her back into her wooden chair. Under the table, I stretched my leg out to press my calf against Amira’s. Our silent signal that we are always in this together.
“We could though, if you’ve changed your mind?”
I’d only been half-serious, mostly trying to appease Evie’s sudden inquisition, but a month later, here we are.
The photographer greets me with a smile and goes through the mechanics of the first look. She’ll head into the room and give a signal when they’re both ready for me and Evie to enter. My heart is pounding in my chest as I turn my back while she slips through the door. My ears thrum with electricity when Amira calls out for us to come in. The sweet honey of her voice trickles through me, calming and warming me from the inside out. Evie grips my hand tighter than I thought possible, tipping on her heels.
“Let’s go,” she squeals.
And so, we do. I push the door open slowly at first, but as soon as I get the slightest glimpse of Amira’s long dark hair, I force my way into the room. Evie has to run beside me to keep up.
“Cupcake,” I breathe out as I reach Amira.
She’s facing a mirror much like the one that was in my room, only the view in this one is far greater. Amira’s hands are clasped in front of her stomach and she plays with her fingers, but that’s the only hint of nerves on her.
“I never thought we’d get here, you know,” she says as she leans her head against my shoulder.
Kissing the top of her head, I reach around my waist for Evie and lift her onto my hip. Faintly, I register the clicking of the photographer’s camera, the subtle sounds of her moving around the room to snap pictures of us from every angle. But I don’t care. All that matters to me is what I see in the mirror. My beautiful daughter, and Amira. Who’s about to become my wife.
“Neither did I, but Cupcake?”
Evie giggles when I use her Mama’s nickname, just like she always does. And Amira’s nose scrunches up like she hates it but the twinkle in her eye is just as bright as it always has been.
I shift Evie to the side, ignoring her protests, so I can lean down and whisper into Amira’s ear. “I would have been happy either way, you know that right?”
I don’t want to call this whole thing off, far from it. But I need Amira to know we don’t need this if she doesn’t want it. My last final check. Her happiness is all that matters to me.
“I know,” she whispers with a gentle sigh. “And I don’t need this to be happy either, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want it.”
My heart hasn’t been mine for a long time, not really. Amira laid claim to most of it a long time ago, and when Evie was born she took the last pieces for herself. And in this room, preparing to tie us together formally in a way I never thought we would, it beats in time with theirs. Joyous, content, and loved.
“Let’s go get married,” Amira says as she steps away from our embrace. She fluffs out the flowy skirt of her dress. The hem sits around her knees, trimmed with a delicate lace that matches the off the shoulder long sleeves. It’s elegant and simple, and stunning.
And I was right, all those years ago. She does look better in white.