Epilogue
“You guys have outdone yourselves,” I call out and give credit where it’s due.
Because Julia eloped way back when, this is technically the first wedding in our family, and the women in my life know how to throw a party. They have pulled no stops on creating a tropical wonderland of nuptial joy. My sisters and Abuela flitter about in their forest green gowns, primping flower petals, adjusting votive candles, and greeting guests.
I stand in my tuxedo at the end of the long rectangular fountain where the flower arch crowns the scene, taking deep breaths and being grateful for milder February temperatures.
The risky weather location notwithstanding, the Casa Blanca garden could not be more perfect for this day. For us. Known in Old San Juan for being the Ponce De León family’s home, it has all the colonial charm, romantic canopied trees, a sunset view of the bay, and even its own garita . Everyone walks around on an aesthetics high, and I can’t blame them.
The subdued background music stops, and the strains of the string quartet start up, signaling for the small group of guests to settle. I look down and adjust my suit sleeves, trying to keep it together.
“No, you outdid yourself, Rico, dear.” Abuela stands next to me, and my sisters wave reassuringly from the opposite side of the arch. Abuela nudges me and puckers her lips with a nod that points down the aisle.
I look as Lena turns the corner, her auntie guardians, Meche and Monse, on each arm. The sight of her in her tea-length wedding dress, an angel straight out of Funny Face , would have been enough to have me weeping. But the wide smile and unrestrained delight in her eyes send me straight to blubbering.
Abuela nudges me again and hands me a handkerchief. I take a bracing breath of overwhelming happiness.
Lena makes her way toward me as a swift breeze lifts the soft waves of her hair, and Alonso’s journal entry comes to mind.
It is my soul’s truth that Almighty God sent the winds that delivered me to this island and directed my path to . . . To her.
I am not overstating when I say these months since Lena moved close have been the most blissful, soul-satisfying time of my life. It’s also been torture that I’ve still been staying over at Eagle-Eye Abuela’s while Lena stayed at our colonial fixer-upper. Working all day together, whether DIYing some of the renovations or with research, tour events, and business, to then part every night has provided the most excruciating build-up for this day.
No one will let me live down how, after three months of grumbling goodbyes every night, my proposal mostly consisted of blurting out, “I can’t take this anymore. Let’s get married.” I’ve since tried to make up for it in the romantic gesture department, but what matters is that Lena giggled like never before, threw her arms around my neck and declared it the best idea ever.
And now here we are.
Tomorrow we leave for the Dominican Republic for a week of paradise relaxation at Las Terrenas—and so Lena can come to her own conclusions between Puerto Rico beaches and the Dominican coastline. And then we’re both keynote speaking at a Hispanic genealogical society symposium in Santo Domingo. Life with Lena and killing it at what we do. I can’t wait.
As they arrive in front of me, Lena hugs her aunts, both wiping at their eyes. I take a step down and hug them too, whispering my thanks. Taking Lena’s hand, we center ourselves under the arch. I look her up and down appreciatively, and she grins as I mouth a “wow.”
Vows were never more eagerly made, even though they were barely intelligible through all the happy tears. Once we’re pronounced husband and wife, I take Lena in my arms and give her a brief peck on the lips. She narrows her eyes at me, and, as expected, our very vocal Latino crowd immediately calls out its dissatisfaction. I wink before I dip her back and kiss her thoroughly, to the attendants’ cheering until my sisters call out, “Enough!”
When we straighten, both breathless, I keep her pressed to me and whisper, “So you’re staying, profesora ?”
She smiles at me with shining eyes. “I guess so. I’m vital, remember?”
I chuckle and press our foreheads together. “Oh yes. You are to me, mi vida.”
It’s twilight by the time all our loved ones sit at the long tables draped in white linen and tropical flowers set in Casa Blanca’s brick courtyard. The happy hum of conversation and clinking of silverware almost drowns out the sound of the waves below. Surrounded by centuries-old stucco walls, I look up at the sparse stars and am once again struck with what’s lasting, what remains, what stays.
I glance over at Lena, my wife, glowing as she laughs with the whole table. Grabbing her chair, I pull her closer to my side. She immediately leans her head on my shoulder with a contented sigh.
The insistent clink of a fork against a glass calls everyone’s attention. Julia and Mari stand from their seats, meaningfully clearing their throats.
“Yes, yes, the most anticipated event of the evening is about to begin,” Mari says into a microphone that magically appeared. She grins even though I’m sure she didn’t miss the warning in my eyes.
Julia chimes in with her own microphone. “As matron and maid of honor, and event-planner rockstars, we are honored to address you.”
One of our already tipsy cousins calls out, “Sing, Julia!” The group seconds the motion, chanting, “ Que cante! Que cante!”
Julia chuckles nervously. “Not tonight, Jimmy. Maybe Mari can do ‘the robot’ at the end or something.”
Whoops of approval ring out as Mari visibly nudges Julia. “Eh, no promises. Let’s start, shall we?”
“Okay, yes.” Julia clears her throat again. “For a long time now, us Morales siblings have been our own little unit, with Rico our determined, if unwitting, leader. No one has seen him like we have. Growing up, we’d see him racing us to the bus stop, helping us with homework, chasing off bullies. We’d see him making us laugh and dancing around in his under—”
“ Cuida’o! Careful now,” I cut in as everyone laughs.
Julia shrugs and continues, “Rico somehow found a way to always be there for us even while he lived and breathed excelling at what he did. We would see him at the height of his career, and even then we knew his nurturing heart had so much more to give. Since the move to Puerto Rico, we’ve seen his relentlessness to help the family while searching for purpose and true fulfillment.” My eyes lock with Julia’s, and so much understanding passes between us.
Mari clears her throat and says, “And because we’ve seen our brother, we know there is no one more deserving of all the happiness he has now. The missing puzzle piece, or research link, was Magdalena. Seeing Rico and Lena work together, bicker and laugh together, make each other better, and be each other’s safe place is everything we hoped for him, and we love to see it.” Mari’s voice cracks and Julia puts an arm around her as she sniffles.
Julia takes a deep breath and raises her glass. “So please join us in toasting Rico and Lena and their enduring love.”
Everyone stands with their glasses raised as Mari adds, “I mean, if there was hope for Rico, there’s hope for us all!”
“Heey!” My complaint is drowned out by laughter and everyone’s loud “ Salud!” followed by multiple clinks.
My sisters look over at me with misty eyes. Their trembling smiles make them look so much like the two little girls I grew up with. I push my chair back to go to them, but before I do, Lena jogs over to where they stand, already teary before she gets there. They throw their arms around her and join in the happy-weeping.
I sigh because I know they love me, but it’s clear that if forced to choose, they would keep her. Can’t say that I blame them.
Of course, the dance party portion of this celebration has to be epic. A dance floor was set up under the huge rubber trees generously gilded with twinkle lights, and everyone crowds around it eagerly.
Don Benny and his snappy suit came all the way from the west to hand off Lena to me for our first dance. I understand that, besides Abuela, both my sisters had to have their turn during the wedding dance, but I am ready to have Lena in my arms.
I mouth a “finally” at her, and she smiles. But when I take her hand to have our moment, she walks me over to a lone chair that faces the dance floor and abandons me there.
My confusion and impatience fade when the distinct rhythms of a paso doble start blaring, and Meche and Monse appear at Lena’s side. Their hands shoot up, castanets in between their fingers, and the dance begins. Applause roars, and my jaw drops as Lena’s eyes never leave mine. Her adoptive aunts stick to the basic steps while Lena stomps, twirls, and dazzles. My wife is on fire, mano .
When I can tell the music is reaching its end and my jaw has recovered, I can’t take it anymore. I walk onto the dance floor to grab Lena as she hits that last stomp. She laughs through her panting and the deafening shouts and whoops.
I keep her close and say to her ear, “That was amazing. You’re amazing.” I kiss her forehead. “Can I have my turn now?”
She nods, and the slow bolero we chose plays. We dance on one tile, wrapped in each other, our hearts full and racing. Eventually, the music shifts to a salsa, and the guests join in.
Lena grabs my hand and whispers. “Come with me, Federico.”
“Anywhere, wife,” I reply in a happy daze.
Lena chuckles and stops to grab something from under one of the tables. It’s her tote. She carries it close to her, but I do catch that today’s design says, “Insert Genealogy Pun Here.”
“Cute.”
She looks back at me with a sly grin. “It has more than served its purpose.”
I laugh as Lena leads me to the garita near the property’s entrance. I should find out why there’s always been a turret sitting in the middle of this little plaza, but right now, all thought escapes me as she pulls me inside.
“I already like this idea.” I wrap my arms around her.
“One moment, husband.” A groan of approval escapes me because I’ll never get tired of hearing that .
She pulls a paper-wrapped box out of her tote and hands it to me. I look at her, and she nods at me to open it.
It’s a carved wooden box, clearly artisan-made with smooth ridges. The bartizan little window of the turret lets enough moonlight in for me to see there’s an etching on the lid. I study it closely, running my fingers across the meticulous detail.
A family crest has been carved on it. Our last names together. Morales Martín .
The shape of the shield is divided into four parts. Inside each section, there’s an etched symbol. The first I notice has a flaming torch. I look over at Lena as she holds the tiny torch charm that I’ve never not seen around her neck since she returned to me to stay.
Eyes brimming, she nods at me to focus on the shield. Another part of the design has a tree with its roots and another has a tower. The last symbol has me narrowing my eyes to make sure what I’m looking at is right. The fiercest-looking chicken I’ve ever seen is carved into this shield.
I let out a watery chuckle as my eyes travel down to the bottom where a banner emblazons a family motto. “ Flamma amoris manet,” I read aloud.
Lena blurts out the translation. “The flame of love remains.”
I take a bracing breath as I realize it’s an adaptation of the De Guzmán family motto we discovered what feels like a lifetime ago.
“Open it, my love,” Lena whispers.
I need another bracing breath as I reverently lift the lid. The box is as beautifully finished on the inside, and it holds a few photos and scraps of paper. A selfie of us with my sisters and Abuela at the Rogativa statue. A picture of us on the other side of the Guajataca tunnel, basking in the sun we found once we crossed its darkness. The flattened wrapping of Lena’s favorite coconut kiss cookie. A napkin we both used to test the pen before signing the closing of our San Justo property.
When my eyes find Lena’s, hers widen as if to say, “There’s something more, dummy. Look.”
I glance over the opened box once more and find there’s a carved inscription inside the lid. I instantly recognize it as those life-affirming words from Diego’s journal.
It is my soul’s truth that Almighty God sent the winds that delivered me to this island. Thanks be to His Divine Providence, I found my true path and home in my love, Federico.
The name swap at the end has me grateful I don’t have any wedding make-up to ruin.
My heart swells to unhealthy levels, and I pull Lena to me while still holding this small treasure chest. I sputter out, “What can I say? This is beyond words.” I nuzzle her neck and whisper my meager attempt. “Thank you, mi vida .”
Lena tenderly lifts my face and wipes a tear. She smiles but shakes her head. “No, thank you, Federico. You have given me everything—everything I most treasure.”
I start to contradict, but her eyes narrow in warning, so I sigh into her hair. “Truce. We’ve given each other everything?”
She huffs, nods, and settles contentedly into our embrace.
As Alonso, a.k.a. Diego, must have said: anyone claiming you can’t have it all—come talk to me.