Epilogue Elijah Six months later
EPILOGUE
Elijah
Six months later
For centuries, I hated June. July was worse, and August not far behind–those long days taunting me, the sun up for an eternity.
I’ve lived so many of the wretched summer months, and I didn’t start despising them until I became immortal.
These short, hot nights, and hotter days where I was forced inside or underground until the sun set.
It wasn’t always this way, though.
In my first life, I remember a fondness for summer days, the weather balmy and hot, but the sun-speckled water cool on my skin.
There was an acute joy in sunburn, though it didn’t feel a joy to me then.
To find respite in the shade was a delight, and to tip back your head and close your eyes to take in the sweet rays of sunshine felt like a blessing after the harsh winter where you longed for heat.
Of course, by the end of summer, there was a longing for autumn, but by spring the craving for long days and warm nights would return.
Distance, I suppose, does make the heart grow fonder.
I craved so much for so long, thirsted for human blood, felt shame for the craving, and was never full–I longed for the taste of an orange, or fresh honey from the comb, the buzzing of bees still sounding nearby.
And the sun, I think, I missed the most.
And now, after all those years of longing, this: Two people sitting on a beach–a writer and her husband.
They sit on matching chairs, and on a table between them are hot pink blended drinks, half-drunk, in plastic glasses that sweat with condensation.
The writer sleeps on her lounger, book forgotten at her side, a receipt used as a bookmark, and her husband sits in his own chair, sunglasses on, staring out at the water that’s so blue it astounds him.
An old ring from his mother’s collection rests on the writer’s left ring finger, a dark green emerald that sparkles in the sunlight. A simple gold band on his.
They were married last week, an indoor ceremony at sunset, his eccentric family members shoulder to shoulder.
If anyone thought them bizarre, they didn’t say so, embracing them as they had the man.
Her brother’s daughter sprinted down the aisle, forgoing throwing any flowers until she could deposit them all in a perfect heap at the groom’s feet.
He wore a suit that he sweated in, and a thin layer of sunscreen on his face and neck (a new habit, because, you see, his fiancée told him to–skin cancer is a real concern these days).
She wore a gown made by the groom’s brother and her hair was secured painstakingly using dozens of pins by her mother.
They smiled and cried through the whole of the ceremony, squeezing hands tightly as the officiant asked if they’d love each other till death do they part. They kissed to joyful cheers, filled with a love so bottomless and large it frightened them.
Because to love is to fear, and to keep loving anyway.
And what a supreme gift it is to plan on spending as many moments as the man can in his time left, with someone like her.