EPILOGUE II
Six Months Later
Vaughn
It was Sasha’s idea for us to get married in the fall.
We have wonderful memories in the winter, spring, and summer, she said. We need a wonderful memory for the fall, and then we’ll live in a year of wonderful.
As far as I’m concerned, being with Sasha equates to a lifetime of wonderful, but who am I to argue with her?
A lost egg.
An ugly duckling.
A rebellious cygnet.
But now, finally, by her love and grace, a swan, ready to claim his mate for life.
“You-a ready, Vonnie?” whispers Dom, who stands beside me in a black tux. He agreed to be my best man, and—let’s face it—he is, in fact, one of the best men I ever knew.
“I’m ready,” I tell him. “Thanks for standing up with me.”
“Aw, Vonnie,” he says, swiping at his eyes. “Me and Lottie, we love you. You gotta know that by now.”
Suddenly, I remember Sasha’s words to me in London: I think you’re wrong about something: I think Dom and Lottie love you. She knew before me. Of course she did. Maybe it takes someone who has known love to recognize it being given from someone else.
“I love you guys too, Dom.”
He reaches for the back of my neck and squeezes it gently. “You’re a good boy, Vonnie. A real-a good boy.”
In the right front pew sit Irina and Sofia, and beside them, Lottie, Berto, and Sharon. And in the left front pew sits Bubbie, Yulya, Greg, Danny, June, and the four little Collins cousins. The rest of the church is filled with friends of my mother and Sasha’s family, but I only have eyes for the fourteen people in the front. Family. My family.
Seven years ago, I felt so alone that I brought razor blades to work in my pocket, ready end everything. Today, I am marrying the love of my life, surrounded by friends and family.
Life is a wonder.
An organist plays Pachelbel’s “Canon in D,” and the congregation rises as the doors in the back of the sanctuary open.
Sayaka, the matron-of-honor, steps into the center aisle, wearing a cream-colored gown and carrying a bouquet of tangerine roses. I see her catch Greg’s eye and wink at him, before sliding her eyes to me and giving me a cheerful smile.
When she’s halfway down the aisle, two figures appear in the double doorway at the back of the church: Patrick, in a tuxedo just like the ones Dom and I are wearing, and, standing beside him, the most beautiful bride that ever breathed: Sasha Collins, almost Stepanov.
I lock my eyes with hers as she walks toward me, as elegant as any ballet dancer in the world, graceful, serene, spectacularly lovely, and all mine. For life.
Patrick lifts her veil at the altar, kisses her cheek and places her hand in mine.
At first, Sasha tried to convince me to write our own vows, but I suspected that I wouldn’t be able to speak once I saw her walking toward me in a wedding dress, and it turns out I was right. I have to swallow over the massive lump in my throat just to choke out, “I do,” and “I will.”
And then, before I know it, the priest tells us that we’re husband and wife and invites me to kiss my bride. My bride. My wife.
I cup her face in my hands.
“ Душа моя .” My soul .
“ Да. Моя душа .” Yes, my soul.
Doo-sha. Ma-ya.
I am finally found.
THE END