Post Epilogue #2
When I first met Moira, I feared that she might be a little controlling, but I quickly realized, despite Ariel’s protests to the contrary, that she simply wants to help.
If she has the time and the capability to make her family’s life easier, she will.
No hesitation. No checking her diary first to see when she can fit them in.
If I called her in the middle of the night, crying because I’d had no sleep, she would be here before I could walk downstairs and fill the coffee machine.
Which makes me feel even guiltier.
We all wander through to the den. Cash and Bash place the twins in their bouncers while Moira fetches their bags, and I sit in the rocking chair by the window.
The guys bought it for me for nursing, but I find myself sitting here more frequently now that the days are longer, watching the birds in the garden, and allowing my body to heal from the trauma of childbirth.
I know my hormones are all over the place. I’ve read the leaflets; I understand that it can take up to twelve months for the body to heal after pregnancy, so I haven’t put any pressure on myself to exercise or join mom-and-baby groups or think about college.
And Cash and Bash have been here every step of the way. Massaging my back, feeding the babies, trawling the city for cabbage leaves in the middle of the night when my milk came in and my breasts were swollen and tender. Frozen cabbage leaves inside my bra—Moira’s advice—and it worked.
But I don’t want to spend the rest of my life dependent on them for everything.
Sienna has her art gallery.
Victoria has her interior design business.
I want something too.
I stare out the window at a hovering butterfly. It almost looks as if it has spotted its own reflection in the glass and is trying to be friendly.
Moira spots the butterfly too when she enters the room. “The soul of someone close to us wants to come in.”
I snap to attention and watch her closely. I don’t miss Cash shaking his head warning her that this isn’t a good time. “What do you mean?” I ask.
Moira places the changing mat on the floor. “The Irish believe that if a butterfly follows you, it’s someone departed trying to let you know that they’re here.”
“Danielle,” I whisper. “I found tiny stars on her grave today.”
Moira smiles. “She’s trying to tell you something.” She and her sons exchange glances. “And I think I know what it is. Are you going to tell her?” she asks her sons.
“Tell me what?”
Cash swallows. “We’ve been sitting on this for a while but weren’t sure if you were ready.”
“But when you said you wanted to visit Danielle’s grave today,” Bash joins in, “we realized that now is probably the perfect time.”
“Perfect time for what?” My pulse is racing and sweat is pooling between my breasts and trickling down my spine.
“Maybe we should just give you this.” Bash slides a document from the back pocket of his pants and hands it to me. “Read it. It’s for you.”
I unfold the crisp paper with trembling hands.
I barely finish reading the words at the top of the document before my vision blurs with tears. The Danielle Jones Drug Rehabilitation Center.
“We bought the premises six months ago,” Cash says. “We’ve been renovating ever since.”
“But it’s ready to open whenever you want,” Bash adds. “Your call.”
“But…” The twins. College. I don’t know the first thing about running a center. I don’t even have my degree yet.
I shake my head.
“Yes, is what she means,” Moira says, firmly. “I’ll take care of the babies while you finish college, Remy.”
“And Isabella has agreed to run it on your behalf and teach you the ropes when you’re ready to take over.” Cash shrugs with a gentle smile. No pressure.
“She has?”
My two beautiful men kneel in front of me and hold my hands.
“You’re the best mom to our babies,” Cash says.
“You put everyone else’s needs before your own.” Bash raises my hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles. “So, we thought it time that you put yourself first.”
“We know you want to finish college, Remy.” Cash’s thumb makes a circle pattern on the back of my hand. “We want you to finish college.”
“But… the center… it’s too much.”
I’m still trying to process it, but some part of my brain can already picture it, is already thinking about the difference it will make to so many lives. The difference it would’ve made to Danielle if only she’d gotten the chance.
“It’s nowhere near enough,” Bash says.
Cash adds, “But it’s a start.”
I pull them both into my arms and bury my face between them while they hold me for the longest time.
When we finally pull apart, Moira is in the armchair across the room, a baby in each arm, feeding them both at the same time. They are both content, and I feel a kind of serenity I didn’t realize was missing until now.
I glance at the window, but the butterfly is gone.
And that’s alright too.
Because my sister knows I’m happy. She knows that I have everything I could possibly want right here.
Bye, Dan. The words feel heavy inside my heart, but they’ll grow lighter in time.
I look at Cash and Bash, and my chest swells with love for them. They did this for me. They know me better than I know myself.
“Thank you.”
There are tears in their eyes too. But they’re happy tears.
Thank you for reading Remy’s story.