Epilogue
Stevie - Six Months Later
My dress hangs from the closet door.
I bought a simple silk sheath with a low back. No train. No corset. No lace shouting for attention. The skirt whispers when I move. The neckline sits where I can breathe.
Mom attached a thin ribbon from her own wedding dress as a belt, checking “old,” “new,” and “borrowed” off the list.
Joni pins a small sprig of a blue-violet delphinium into the low knot she coerced my hair into for the “blue” factor. “Hold still or I swear I’ll hot-glue your head to this chair.”
“So romantic.” I smile at her through the mirror.
“She heard Grandpa tell the story about Grandma’s veil catching fire on a candle.” Lila slathers on lip gloss. “I think she’s trying to create a TikTok moment.”
Mom laughs from the cedar chest as I slip the dress over my head. “No, she’s probably remembering the time I made red glitter hair bows for some school pageant. Those suckers shed for three entire Christmases.”
Her fingers shake when she ties the ribbon around my waist. She looks so proud.
Her eyes, rimmed pink already, feature lines I never noticed before.
I glance at the bed where Padraig and I spent our teenage years exploring our sexuality.
It’s hard to believe it’s over twenty years later.
Back then we didn’t have a clue the years to come would blow us sideways.
Joni squeezes my wrist. “How are you doing?”
“Good.” I smooth my dress over my hips. “Better than I thought I would be.”
Isla snorts with a snicker. “You look calm. Scary calm.”
“Must be the therapy,” I jest. “Progress feels real though.”
Mom’s mouth lifts. “Progress looks real too.”
“Does progress mean not hiding in the pantry crying over a science chart,” Joni deadpans, then flinches at her own joke. “God. Too far?”
“It’s okay.” Isla laughs with ease. “Not everyone gets two amazing dads.”
Her hair falls in soft waves. A charcoal smear stains the side of her hand from last night’s sketch.
She’s wearing a borrowed dress of mine after deeming the one she chose last week too “juvenile.” She and I have come a long way.
We’re not perfect. We step on landmines occasionally, which is to be expected, considering.
Lila taps the gloss against her palm. “Iz, can I be nosey?”
“You always are.” She quirks a brow.
“Are you meeting Kane after?” She tries for nonchalant and lands somewhere near flashing sign.
Isla shrugs. “Maybe. Depends on what we’re all doing. A few friends have a bonfire planned, Kane said he might come if I go.”
Joni waggles her brows. “Might.”
Mom pretends to fuss with the ribbon so she doesn’t grin.
I keep my face calm on purpose. Pushing works like a broken clutch with Isla; everything lurches or burns out.
It’s hard to know if she returns Kane’s interest. Lila, on the other hand, can’t keep her infatuation with Isla’s suitor under wraps to save her life.
“Well, maybe I’ll tag along.” Lila twirls in front of the mirror.
Footsteps thump in the hall. Dad’s voice floats up the stairs, then a quick knock on the door. He leans in before he steps in, as if crossing thresholds requires permission in a house he paid for. His tie sits crooked like it always does, the man hates to dress up.
“You ready, kiddo?”
I cross the room and kiss his cheek. “Ask me in five minutes.”
“Want a shot? I won’t tell Padraig.” He winks.
“Give me your arm instead.”
Dad juts out his elbow with mock formality. Joni presses my bouquet into my palm. No roses. No peonies. More delphinium, a sprig or two of garden jasmine, some sweet peas all tied together with the other ribbon from Mom’s dress.
We move toward the stairs in a cluster. Joni runs back to fetch shoes I forgot to put on in my haze. Lila and Isla fall in behind me as we go downstairs and through the kitchen to the backdoor.
Mom strung a length of muslin between the plum tree and the fence to soften the light near the arch Cillian built for us. Padraig’s brothers wound cafe bulbs across the yard last night, and set up tables and chairs until midnight.
Voices drift over the hedge from next door where the McGloughlins must be in the middle of their own pre-ceremony circus.
Seamus laughs at Marcella shushing Elias, who’s singing some song at the top of his lungs.
Brennan and Cillian argue over grill duties.
Rory grumbles about needing an extension cord and Maureen tells him to hush before he trips over one.
I catch sight of Liam slipping through the opening with his guitar. He lifts his gaze long enough to meet mine, a flicker of a smile slides across his mouth. He looks happy, peaceful. Almost like the boy he once was before everything…
Isla leans in. “You look beautiful. I’m glad you two will finally make it official.”
Tears threaten to spill so I look up and blink rapidly before kissing her hair. “Thanks, baby. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“Everyone ready?” Dad asks.
“I think so. Where are Teagan, Torin, Tristan, and Raff?”
“Not a smudge between the four of them.” Ronni and Mara guide the kids, who are tossing flowers and carrying rings.
We line up and the doors open. Conversation hushes into a tide that recedes and returns. Liam strums a melody he wrote at nineteen and pretends isn’t about us even though everyone knows it is.
I spot him under the arch.
Padraig wears a suit in soft charcoal. White shirt open at the throat with no tie.
His boots are polished and his hair is tucked behind his ears.
He’s the same boy on the school bus with drumsticks in his back pocket and charcoal under his nails because he sketched when he should have been in algebra.
When he sees me, he beams. Wipes his eyes on his sleeve.
Teagan sprinkles the path ahead with petals. Isla, Lila, Jude, and Seamus serve as our bridal party. Dad steps forward with measured care. I hold on to his arm, then let go when the path narrows and we stop beside Padraig and he hands me over to my man.
Liam switches keys without showmanship and folds his melody into silence. The officiant clears his throat, and we say our vows in front of our families. We exchange rings without fanfare. Our kiss isn’t cinematic. No dip. Simple but passionate, we press our lips together while everyone cheers.
We turn toward our families as someone pops a cork on sparkling cider.
Tables fill without drama. Maureen’s feast is carried to the buffet by Padraig’s brothers.
Slow-roasted beef, salmon with dill, buttery new potatoes, and bright summer vegetables.
At the center of it all waits our two-tiered wedding cake.
One layer lemon cheesecake. The other chocolate fudge.
Our families fill their plates with food.
Padraig carries Kellan to join us at the head of the table where he and I are sitting.
Stories start without anyone having to ask for a prompt.
Rory starts the toasts—or roasts, because all of the brothers slag Padraig and me to death.
By the end of it, my stomach hurts from laughing so hard.
I’m surprised when Isla stands and grabs the mike.
“So, this isn’t a speech, I’d call it a vow.
” Her gaze steadies on us. “The past will always be part of me, but it no longer holds me back. What matters now is the love I see between you, and the way it pulls us forward. I believe in it. I believe in us. I’ll keep choosing this family, every day. I promise.”
No one claps. Applause would flatten it.
I lean on Padraig’s shoulder, he wraps his arm around me.
I’m overcome with emotion and gratitude.
Rory bows his head over his water, he’s a man who knows what vows mean when they’re spoken for real.
Ma presses the corner of a napkin to her eye. My mom blows me a kiss.
Dusk folds across the yard. Café bulbs spark to life, softening every face.
Liam moves to the edge of the deck. Connor and Avonna join them and they play a medley of LTZ and Fireball songs with a sprinkling of other hits thrown in.
Padraig’s hand slips into mine beneath the table, his thumb traces the ridge where my wedding ring now sits, as if he’s reminding himself this moment belongs to both of us.
It's not a dream anymore. We’re finally married. It only took us twenty-plus years to get here.
“I love you.” He nuzzles my neck. “Dance with me.”
We stand and he holds his hand out. The air pulses with our love and all we’ve endured.
From our youth and breakup. passionate nights to days where silence cut sharper than words, mornings when Kellan’s laugh stitched me back together cell by cell, hours in quiet rooms where therapy gave us permission to speak and to heal.
It all lives in the fabric of our blended family, woven into the scent of roses. Illuminated by the glow of the bulbs strung overhead and the energy of our amazing extended family.
I lift my eyes. “I love you too. So much.”
Evening light glances along his chiseled jawline, which softens into the smile I’ve known since we chased each through the hedge at seven.
The boy lives inside the man. The man holds the life we’ve built with stubborn, tender hands.
He leads me over stones my father set when I was ten.
Voices fade until only Liam’s guitar remains, strumming our wedding song.
The only thing remaining is me and the man who is and always will be my forever flame.