Epilogue
ONE YEAR LATER
I smile as I cradle Hunter in my arms. He’s warm and solid, his dark curls—so like Demetria’s—nestled against the crook of my elbow. His eyes study my face with that peculiar solemnity only babies seem capable of. Almost seven months old and already sizing me up.
“What’s your verdict, little man?” I whisper, bouncing him gently. “Do I pass inspection?”
He blinks slowly in response, his tiny mouth forming a perfect “o” before his chubby fingers find the gold chain around my neck. I carefully detach his grip. One thing I’ve learned about babies—they’re stronger than they look.
“You’re a menace, you know that?” I murmur, touching the tip of his button nose. “Just like your mother. Grabbing everything that catches your eye.”
Ruby’s mother is setting the long outdoor dining table.
Martha Walsh looks in her element, arranging silverware while humming along to my playlist. It’s been sweet watching her these past three days—how easily she slips between doting grandmother-figure with Hunter and spirited conversationalist with my mother.
The sound of laughter drifts from the kitchen where Ruby and my mother are preparing an array of side dishes for tonight’s dinner.
The unlikely friendship that’s developed between them continues to amaze me.
Two years ago, I couldn’t have imagined my mother willingly spending time with my partner, let alone giggling together over cooking mishaps.
Yet here we are—Sophia Stavros, pillar of Greek Orthodox tradition, teaching my partner the fine art of making authentic tzatziki.
Out on the terrace, Ruby’s father and Julian have appointed themselves guardians of flame and meat. David Walsh gestures with a pair of tongs while Julian nods seriously, absorbing whatever barbecue wisdom is being imparted.
Hunter lets out a string of babbling sounds, his tiny hands reaching up to pat my cheeks.
“Is that so?” I reply, pretending to understand his nonsensical commentary. “Well, I completely agree. Men and their obsession with fire is prehistoric, but we humor them because the end result is usually delicious.”
I’m still not entirely comfortable holding him, afraid I’ll break this perfect, fragile creature.
But Demetria insists that I need the practice and keeps depositing him in my arms. She and Julian are great parents, especially for two artistic souls who once swore they valued freedom above all else.
They were delighted for everyone to babysit while they went out in Vegas last night, not returning until the early hours—a rare night of freedom they clearly needed.
Julian’s show in New York received rave reviews, but they decided to settle in Santorini, both agreeing it was a better environment for Hunter to grow up in.
I’m sure the fact that my mother—the trusted babysitter—lives nearby had something to do with it too; I can tell Demetria is used to being heavily dependent on her.
“You’re quite the little diplomat, aren’t you?” I say to Hunter as he yawns widely. “Bringing everyone together like this. We would all move mountains for you.”
Hunter responds by drooling on my white shirt just as Ruby emerges balancing two enormous bowls of salad. She’s wearing denim shorts and a green T-shirt, looking relaxed in a way that still feels like a small miracle.
“Look at you two,” she says, setting the bowls on the table. “You’re a natural.”
“I think that’s overstating things considerably,” I reply. “We’ve reached a temporary truce. He doesn’t scream, I don’t panic.”
Ruby laughs and moves closer, leaning down to plant a kiss on Hunter’s forehead. “Hey there, little nugget.” She smooths a hand over his curls, then straightens to meet my eyes. “You look cute with a baby, you know that? It suits you.”
Something warm blooms in my chest. We’ve talked about children. Ruby wants them, I’m open to it because it’s important to her. But seeing Ruby’s expression, the softness in her gaze as she looks at Hunter, then at me…it makes it easy to imagine us as starting a family.
“I’m just the backup,” I say, deflecting as I always do when feelings threaten to overwhelm me. “The emergency aunt when everyone else is busy.”
“Mm-hmm,” Ruby murmurs, clearly unconvinced. She brushes a strand of hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear. “I’ll grab the rest of the salads. Then I need to run home quickly to get more wine. I think we demolished most of the bottles last night.”
“No need,” I tell her. “I brought some over earlier. They’re already in the wine fridge.”
I'm struck by how seamlessly we've built our life together. The club runs like clockwork and everyone knows we belong together. We still play there, exploring boundaries and desires, but it's in our bed, in our home, where we make love.
Ruby has moved in with me officially, but she’s kept her house as well.
We’re using it as a guest house, which has proven useful with both our families in town and when we’re not expecting visitors, we rent it out privately.
The office has been securely locked, ensuring no one can see the comings and goings on the driveway when club members arrive.
Demetria appears with Sarah and Erik in tow. “Look who I found!”
Sarah and Erik have been over regularly since moving to Vegas a while back—Erik for his new position in marketing at a major casino group, and Sarah, now a junior associate at Ruby’s firm.
“Oh wow,” Sarah says, taking in the scene before her. “I didn’t realize the entire extended family would be here!” Her eyes widen at the sight of Hunter in my arms. “And the baby! He’s so cute. Can I hold him?”
“If you can pry him away from Athena,” Demetria says with a grin. “She’s been hogging him all afternoon.”
“I have not been ‘hogging’ him,” I protest, even as I instinctively tighten my hold. “He’s been perfectly content where he is.”
“Translation: ‘Back off, he’s mine,’” Ruby stage-whispers to Sarah, who laughs.
I roll my eyes but carefully transfer Hunter to Sarah’s waiting arms. She coos at him immediately, and Erik leans in, making ridiculous faces that somehow charm Hunter into a gummy smile.
“Man, we are not ready for one of these,” Erik says.
“Speak for yourself,” Sarah replies, not taking her eyes off Hunter. “I wouldn’t mind…”
My mother emerges from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishcloth. “Ah, the young couple has arrived! Good, good. Now we are only waiting for…” She pauses, glancing at me. “Who else is coming, Athena?”
“Zara,” I reply. “She should be here any minute and she may or may not bring a plus one.”
“Zara?” Demetria asks. “Who’s Zara?”
“Zara Nova. The singer,” I say.
Demetria chuckles, assuming I’m joking. Then her eyes widen comically as realization dawns. “Wait. Seriously? Why didn’t you tell me? I would have made more of an effort!” She gestures down at her outfit—yoga pants and a loose t-shirt with visible baby food stains on the shoulder.
“Don’t worry,” I assure her. “I told her it was super casual so please don’t make a big deal out of it.”
“Zara Nova is coming to dinner?” Sarah frowns as she looks up from baby Hunter.
“Who is Zara Nova?” my mother asks, joining the conversation.
As if on cue, the gate buzzes again and moments later Zara steps into the backyard, radiant in a simple pink jumpsuit, her dark curls piled on top of her head. She’s carrying a bottle of champagne and wearing oversize shades.
“Sorry I’m late,” she calls, her smile brightening as she takes in our gathering. “Traffic on the Strip was a nightmare.” She leans into me, then adds in a lower voice, “My date couldn’t make it.”
“Let me guess,” I murmur. “Stuck in Washington?”
“You know it,” Zara sighs dramatically. “She sends her love, of course.” She moves through our gathering, charming Ruby’s parents, accepting a glass of wine from Julian, bending to coo at Hunter.
It’s been a privilege watching her find her footing over these past months, both professionally and personally.
My mother introduces herself to Zara, then claps her hands together as she addresses the group. “Please, sit, everyone!” she announces, claiming the head of the table with the authority that comes naturally to her. “Sit, sit! The food is getting cold!”
Platters of grilled meats and vegetables sit at the center of the table, surrounded by bowls of colorful salads, rice, dips, and baskets of bread.
There’s a flurry of movement as everyone finds a place. I end up between Ruby and Sarah, with Hunter’s high chair positioned nearby. Wine is poured, water glasses filled, plates passed.
Ruby’s hand finds mine under the table, warm and familiar against my palm.
I glance at her, taking in the subtle lines around her eyes, the way her whole face illuminates when she smiles.
Love still catches me by surprise sometimes—how completely it has transformed my life, how vastly different my world looks now.
My gaze travels around the table. My mother is in deep conversation with David Walsh about Greek versus American medical practices.
Demetria helps Julian feed Hunter while Martha plates for them.
Sarah and Erik listen raptly as Zara tells them about her planned world tour, and Ruby beside me, simply sits contently, like me, enjoying the moment.
This tableau before me represents everything I once feared and now cherish. I’m a partner, daughter, sister, aunt, friend. The path that brought us here was neither straight nor smooth, but standing at this destination, I wouldn’t change a single step.
Don't miss Zara Nova's story in The Residency. Coming Fall 2025