Epilogue
Nami’s room reeked of hairspray. Aya, wearing a red silk dress, sat in front of the mirror as her mother put the finishing touches on her hair.
Red wasn’t a conventional choice for a bride, but she loved the dress.
“I would’ve helped you get some shoes that actually matched,” her mother muttered. “But there wasn’t an opportunity!”
Aya grinned. “We were only engaged for a week, Mom. That didn’t exactly give you a lot of time.”
“I suppose a lot of those wedding preparations are a waste of time anyway.” Her voice was still muffled by the bobby pins in her mouth.
“You wouldn’t have wanted me to diet?”
It slipped out. Aya never talked to her mother about weight.
She cocked her head. “Why would I ever ask you to diet, Aya?”
The truth hung between them. In the past week, through many conversations with both Noah and her friends, Aya had started to unpack how she felt about her body. But she had never told her mom.
“It felt weird that you didn’t let me do the pageants,” said Aya. “Like I wasn’t skinny or pretty enough, but Twyla and Martha did all of them.”
“I never wanted any of you to do them!” said her mother, incredulous. “And you were the firstborn, so I stuck to my guns.”
Aya frowned. “I always figured you let the twins do them because they were skinny.”
“They wore me down,” her mother said, shaking her head. “Begging me for months, whining constantly. You know how they are when they decide to be a team. And I still regret it! Do you know what one of the other parents said to Twyla before Miss Love Hollow?”
Aya shook her head.
“This is the age when a lot of girls start getting big thighs,” said Aya’s mother, breathless with rage. “Can you imagine?”
Aya could imagine it. She had hated her own thighs for ages, refusing to wear shorts or anything but the longest skirts, never feeling at ease even when her legs were toned and strong.
“I’ve always been protective of you girls. And I didn’t want to tell you how pretty you were all the time. Because then I thought you would think about looks too much! I wanted you to have the joy of ballet without all that insecurity.”
She was crying, and Aya passed her a tissue. Fortunately, there were plenty on hand.
“I feel beautiful today,” said Aya, and it was the truth.
A knock sounded on the door.
“Come in!” said her mother.
Nami entered. “I’m about to walk Hana down,” she said, kissing her baby’s hair. “Time for you both to get out there.”
Aya stood, taking her mother’s arm.
They walked out of Nami’s room and down the hallway. It was only about ten feet, but everyone stood, even Ella, who had her guitar.
The Katos’ living room was packed with people. Martha and Twyla were standing at the front with Nobu, Nami, Hana, and Justin, who was officiating. And Noah’s smile was so radiant that Aya could hardly look at him.
The Katos, soon to be Aya’s parents-in-law, were off to the side. The Chang family stood with them. Chen and Sheena had come all the way from California, and they had a phone pulled up with Emi on it.
“Dearly beloved,” intoned Justin as Aya took Noah’s hand.
They couldn’t stop grinning at each other. Finally, they’d gotten it right.
Author’s Note
Be sure and check out the Bonus Epilogue at It’s only available here!
Love Hollow, that charming little town, does not actually exist. There is no interment camp there, and it is not based on any real or fictional place.
Japanese-American interment, however, is all too real.
I’m part of the same generation as Aya and Noah. One of my grandparents was in an internment camp with other Japanese-American young people, and it’s hard to overstate the impact that has on a person’s life. It has an influence on future generations, too, though that is more subtle.
If you’ve ever visited Washington, DC, you may have seen the memorial to people who were in these internment camps.
Most likely, though, you missed it. It’s off the beaten path, not quite on the National Mall, not overly close to the main sights.
After all, not everyone wants to be reminded of this shameful chapter in America’s history, and it might be awkward if it were too near the memorial to the FDR. After all, he was responsible.
One day, I went to great lengths to see this memorial.
My kids were with me, both young enough to sleep in a stroller, and I started thinking about all of the people who were in different camps.
When I passed the name of the camp where my relatives were, I started to cry.
I was overcome with emotion, thinking about both the tragedy of the circumstances and the resilience of the people who endured them.
And then I noticed that one of the camps was called Heart Mountain.
Now, is it just me, or is that the PERFECT name for a romance novel?
Alas, I have never actually visited Heart Mountain, and I didn’t want to slander the people who lived there.
Plus, the museum seemed to be doing pretty well.
So my husband came up with the name “Love Hollow” and this project was born.
Thank you for reading, and please stay tuned for the next installments in this series! Don’t worry, Emi will eventually get the attention she deserves.
Until next time,
Eve MT