Epilogue
Mari - Eight Months Later
“... and when we drink with Lola, she gets it down in eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one!”
I do a silent cheer as Davina’s little girl finishes off the sippy cup she grasps with two adorable, pudgy hands. I can’t believe how much baby Lola has grown in the past eight months of being introduced to the world—seventy-two hours after Kas’s fight against Ward.
“I’ll see you next week, alright?” Davina asks.
Her phone is facing Lola, who flings her sippy cup off the high chair she’s situated in. Clive comes into frame and picks it up with a loud laugh. Like me and Kas, Davina and Clive ended up being way more than friends during Vegas—their manager meetings weren’t free from romance, and Clive slipped into the perfect father role for Lola.
“Yes, next week. Love ya, Dav.”
The camera flips to show her face and newly cut bob as she blows a kiss. “Love you too, kid.”
I hang up the phone and reenter the back of the church-turned-community hall into the old kitchen. Kas is elbows deep, washing up some containers in a large, metal sink. I sidle up behind him to encase my arms around his broad, familiar frame. My nose rests against his back and I sigh at the comforting scent of bergamot.
“I love you so much.”
I end my sentence with a nip at his back. He moans and peels the rubber gloves from his hands so he can turn and do the same to me, nipping at my neck before trailing his mouth to my lips.
“I love you more.”
I groan. “Stop saying that when it’s impossible to love me more than I love you, you’re so annoying.”
He laughs into my neck and my heart beats in time with chuckles. “It’s not impossible.”
“I heard someone else decided to make the jerk chicken this week.”
Auntie’s booming voice has me rotating in Kas’s arms to face her as she walks through the door. She pins Kas with a raised-brow stare and his cheeks stain a little red. I giggle at his reaction.
“Auntie Shirley, you’re making me nervous,” he says honestly to her.
Kas and Auntie get on too well. They force our family and friends to attend a bimonthly Sunday lunch just so they can show off their cooking and watch us eat their food.
“You should be nervous, the kids are loving your chicken and I decided to try some.” She wiggles the empty container in her hand and walks forward to place it beside the sink. “Clean plates all around,” she adds.
I contribute to their conversation with a round of applause.
“So, you liked it?” Kas asks with playful anxiety.
“If I wasn’t teaching some of these kids appropriate table manners, I would’ve licked the plate,” she praises.
Her braids are long and placed in a large bun on her head with a bandana I gifted her for her birthday a few years back. I meet her eyes, an aged version of my own that look between Kas and me with tenderness only a mother can give.
“I’m so proud of you, Mari,” she says. I hold my breath as I await her comparison to my mom. Her eyes dart from me to Kas. “And you, Kas. You’re a good man.”
With a big hug and a final peck on both of our cheeks, she walks back into the hall of children and volunteers. I’m still lingering on her words exclaiming how proud she is of me. She tells me briefly and often, but today is the first time she hasn’t compared me to my mom.
She didn’t even mention her.
“That wasn’t so bad,” Kas says.
He’s well aware of how Auntie views my mom, bearing witness to her comments in real time.
“It was great, actually.”
I breathe a sigh of relief and lean into Kas’s embrace when he takes my hand, dotting kisses on my palm and up my arm until he lands on my mouth.
My uncle entering the room has us distancing ourselves. “Where’s Kacper?” he asks without looking up.
He holds a container in his hand, but unlike the one my auntie held, it’s filled with a dessert that has me cringing.
“No, Unc. Why did you have to bring a slice of black cake for Kas?” I whine.
He unclips the lid and inside are two soggy slices sitting in a small puddle of rum. “It’s two slices, and I brought it because I want Kas to try it. I had some time this week to make it better than the last.”
Kas takes a freshly washed spoon from the sink and rinses off some suds before taking a large bite. I gag behind my hand.
“Good?” my uncle prompts, stroking his gray stubble.
“Delicious,” Kas confirms with a smile that shows no hint of a lie.
I can smell the rum on his breath after one bite.
“My man!”
Unc smacks Kas’s hand and pats his back with the other, laughing loudly as he disappears back into the main hall.
“Overdoing it,” I mutter. “There’s no way the black cake is that good.”
Kas continues shoveling bites into his mouth until both slices are finished as if to prove a point. On his last swallow, I place my lips on his sweet, alcoholic ones. I imagine it’s how I tasted on our first kiss if the Coke was replaced with mixed fruit.
“Seriously, be honest, was it disgusting?” I ask against his lips.
Kas thumbs my necklace as he pulls away. “Not disgusting enough for me to not eat the second slice,” he says.
My eyes are glued to his wide, charming smile. Kas might be the only person on earth who finds the alcohol-potent dessert edible; it’s one of the many reasons he fits perfectly into my family as an extra brother to Quinn and my cousins, and an extra son to Auntie and Unc.
Kas isn’t just my person, he’s my family’s person too, and for that, he’s absolutely perfect.
We walk up the gravel path to Kas’s mom’s resting place. The gravestones are surrounded by healthy grass that’s well maintained despite the arid Arizona earth. Kas’s footsteps slow when we reach the thin pathway leading through the row of rectangular gravestones, all different sizes.
“Sorry, this part fucks me up,” he whispers.
“It’s okay, no rush. You look so smart, perfect,” I reassure with a light kiss on his cheek. My hands dust the lapels of his suit and straighten the hem of the jacket.
Kas is adamant about wearing a suit to his mom’s resting place. The first time he wore a suit in her presence was at her funeral, and he said that wearing it to visit her is a habit he kept up. I asked if I needed to wear something formal too, but his insistence on me wearing the sunshine tee and overalls that he claims show off my personality is the reason why I’m wearing exactly that.
He peers down at the several bouquets in my hands, plus a small angel statue no bigger than my palm. “Is that one Auntie Shirley’s?” He nods to the small figure tucked beneath my arm.
“Yeah, she said you don’t have to put it on her grave if you don’t like—”
“I love it,” Kas interrupts. “It’s perfect.”
His eyes are glossed over and a faint smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.
Over the next hour—maybe longer—we pay our respects, placing the angel ornament and flowers beside his mom’s grave, Joanna’s grave. I step back to let Kas have some time with his mom, but he doesn’t let me. He picks me up and hugs me with his face nestled into my neck.
I’ve seen Kas pleased, but today, he glows from the inside out.
“I’ve never come here feeling proud, today is the first.”
“What do you mean?” I question, my voice wobbling with emotion.
“I feel proud to have you by my side, proud that I have an achievement to show Mom, and proud that I can share this moment with you. You’ve made a home for yourself in my house and in my heart too.”
My heart leaps and soars, but it ends up settling into a steady rhythm, a sense of peace I can only find with the man holding me in his arms.
“I’m your biggest fan, Kas. I’ll always show up for you, I’ll always want to make you proud.”
Kas’s phone vibrates against our chests. With his strength, he manages to keep me held up with one hand and pulls out the phone with the other. He angles it so we can see the message.
Davina: We need to talk. Would a title shot be of interest to you?
Kas sighs and I gasp. A scowl graces his face, one that used to be ever-present when we first met. It’s almost nostalgic seeing it now. Kas reluctantly releases me, and I slide down the front of his body.
“A title shot?” I ask.
This is huge, and I’m pretending it’s not to match Kas’s attitude.
“A shot for a title,” Kas confirms. “How do I tell Davina that I don’t want to do it?”
“Woah! Have you even thought about it?”
Kas looks to the sky and pouts his pretty pink lips for less than a second. “Thought about it. My answer is no.” I swat Kas’s arm with the back of my hand. “You just hit me in front of my mother.”
He laughs at his own quip, and I hesitantly join him.
“What if it’s in Vegas and we get to relive our time there?” I ask with encouraging inflection.
Kas’s lip twitches and relinquishes into a smile. He’s impossible to convince, but his reaction makes me giddy at the memory. I wouldn’t just do Vegas again, I’d relive the entire experience if this is the result.
I’d go through the embarrassment of catching Kas jerking it, him discovering the raunchy book, the wrath of Isaac, the temporary fallout of the team, and the stress of the fight if it meant I could be where I am today.
Right here with Kas: in his home, in his arms, and in his heart.
The End.