Epilogue Ivy
Mom says weddings are about love and promises and family, but from what I can tell, they are also about grown-ups forgetting where they put things five seconds ago.
I know this since Maya has already asked for the scissors twice and somebody keeps shouting, “Where is the white ribbon box?” like the ribbon box ran away on purpose. I’m sitting in a chair by the window with my flower basket in my lap, trying very hard not to mess up my dress.
“Ivy,” Maya says, crouching in front of me with one earring on and one earring still in her hand. “Did you see the box with the white ribbon?”
I look at the floor, then the table, then my basket. “Which white box?”
Her eyes get big. “The white one.”
“There are a million white ones,” I tell her.
She shuts her eyes for one second. “You are too smart to be this unhelpful.”
“I get that from Mom.”
That makes her laugh, which is good since she looked one second away from lying down on the carpet and never getting back up.
Today is Mom and Dad’s wedding day.
I still think Nathan in my head sometimes when I’m remembering before, but mostly he’s Dad now. It just sort of happened. One morning I said it while he was making toast, and he looked at me so fast I thought he might cry right into the butter.
He didn’t, though.
He just cleared his throat a bunch of times and said, “Morning to you too, sweetheart,” in a funny voice, and then he burned one piece of toast and acted like he meant to do that.
I’m glad he’s my dad.
And now he gets to marry my mom, which honestly took long enough.
The hotel room is busy in a very grown-up, very silly way.
People keep coming in with flowers and makeup bags and dress bags and shoes they definitely shouldn’t be able to walk in.
My dress is blue and puffy and has little flowers on the sleeves.
My shoes are shiny, and Mom said I could wear them since beauty wins sometimes.
I think she already regrets that since I keep sliding across the floor in them.
“Please stop skating,” Mom says from the makeup chair.
“I’m not skating,” I say, while absolutely skating.
She looks at me in the mirror. “Ivy.”
I stop.
Mom turns a little in her chair and opens one arm, so I go over and stand between her knees. Her lipstick is only half done, and there’s still one curler in her hair, so she looks less like a bride and more like somebody halfway through turning into one.
“You okay?” she asks.
I nod. “Are you?”
She smiles, but I can tell she’s nervous. Not bad nervous. Big-day nervous. Love-can-make-you-shaky nervous.
“Yeah,” she says softly. “I’m okay.”
I touch the ring on her finger. She still looks at it sometimes like it surprised her by showing up there. “You really get to keep him now.”
Mom laughs. “That’s the plan.”
Maya suddenly appears behind us holding up a box. “Found it. It was under your flower basket, you tiny menace.”
I think about that. “That sounds like bad planning.”
Mom kisses my forehead before Maya can answer.
Then there’s another knock, and Grandma Veronica comes in.
That is still weird. Mom and Grandma are trying to get better at each other.
That’s what Mom says. In real life it mostly means they drink coffee and talk in very nice voices that are not actually nice.
One time Maya came home after seeing them and said, “Well, nobody threw stuff around, so I’m calling it progress. ”
Today Grandma is wearing green and pearls and her careful face. She smiles at me first, then looks at Mom and does that tiny pause she always does before she says anything. “You look beautiful,” she tells Mom.
Mom goes quiet for a bit. “Thank you.”
Grandma smooths the top of my dress. “And you look very grown-up.”
“I’m flower-girl grown-up,” I explain.
“That sounds serious.”
“It is.”
Mom looks at Grandma through the mirror. “We’re mostly on time.”
Grandma looks around at all the pins and flowers and open bags and Maya carrying three bouquets like she’s doing battle. “That feels optimistic.”
Mom makes a snorting noise before she can stop herself.
I hear it. Grandma hears it too.
For one tiny second they almost smile at the same time, and I don’t say anything since that feels like the kind of thing you can scare away.
Then a lady brings in the wedding dress, and everything gets quiet.
Even me.
Mom stands up.
Maya and another lady help her into the dress, and there’s so much white fabric for a second I think she might disappear inside it. But then she turns around, and she looks so pretty I forget how to blink.
Nobody says anything.
Then I do. “Dad is going to lose his mind.”
Maya laughs so hard she has to put the bouquet down.
Mom covers her face with both hands. “Ivy.”
“What?” I say. “He is.”
Grandma reaches for a tissue. “The child is right.”
Then Mom laughs too, and then she cries a little, which makes Maya cry, which makes one of the makeup ladies cry, and then I have to hand out tissues like I work there.
By the time we get to the wedding place, I know three things.
One, weddings involve too many adults asking if you have the rings when you are not the ring kid. Two, Maya can walk in heels and still boss everyone around, which I respect.
Three, my dad is not handling this nearly as well as he thinks he is.
I know this since I see him before Mom does.
I’m supposed to stay hidden with her until the music starts, but I peek through the side door anyway. Dad is standing up front with Daniel beside him, and he looks very handsome and also very stressed. His suit is dark, his tie is straight, and his hair is behaving for once.
He also looks like he accidentally drank too much electricity.
Daniel says something to him.
Dad doesn’t answer.
Daniel says something else.
Dad finally mutters back, “If you say one more thing, I’m removing you from the wedding.”
Daniel grins.
Then Dad looks toward the doors, like he can feel Mom before he sees her, and that’s when I know he’s done for. Not bad done for. Love done for. If she told him to jump into the harbor in fancy shoes, I really think he might ask how deep.
The music starts.
I take my basket and stand where they told me to stand and try very hard to remember that flower girls are not supposed to run. The doors open, and Mom steps in beside me with Grandma on one side and Maya fixing the train behind us. The whole room stands up all at once.
Mom squeezes my hand for one second.
Then we walk.
I throw the flower petals the way I practiced, not too many at once, not all in one lump, and I do not trip even though my shiny shoes are probably planning something. People smile at me as I go by, but I mostly ignore them since this is not their main event.
Dad is looking at Mom.
Only Mom.
He isn’t looking at the flowers or the guests or Daniel or even me in all my flower-girl greatness. He just looks at her like every bad thing that ever happened got pushed out of the room the second she came in.
When we get to the front, I go stand where I’m supposed to with my basket and my hands folded and my best serious face. Grandma kisses Mom’s cheek and steps aside, and then Mom is standing there in front of Dad and he lets out this quiet breath that I only hear since I’m close enough.
“Hi,” Mom says, and her voice shakes a little.
Dad looks wrecked in a very expensive way. “You’re breathtaking.”
I feel very smug about being right.
The wedding part is mostly beautiful and a little too long, which I think is a fair review. But I like the important parts.
I like when the person up front talks about choosing each other after fear.
I like when Mom says Dad’s whole name in that quiet voice she uses when she means every word.
I like when Dad says, “I love you, Athena, and I choose you every day after this one,” and half the room sniffs.
I like when they both laugh a little during the vows since Dad goes off-script and says something about school lunches and emergency room coffee and wanting all of it.
And I really like when they kiss. Not since kissing is the best. It is still a little gross. But they both look so happy when they do it, and I decide to allow it.
Daniel wipes his eye then pretends he has allergies. Maya cries out in the open and does not care who sees.
Grandma Veronica stands very straight with her hands together, and when Mom hugs her after, Grandma hugs back hard enough for it to count.
At the party after, everything gets louder and shinier and more fun.
There is dancing and cake and so much talking.
Daniel gives a speech that starts sweet and then gets rude and then gets sweet again.
Maya’s is better since she says, “against all odds and several catastrophic communication choices,” which makes Mom laugh into Dad’s shoulder.
I get to dance with both of them.
Dad dances with me first.
He bends down and says, “You look very elegant.”
“I know,” I tell him, since he taught me what the word means just a few days ago.
Then he picks me up and spins me anyway, which is not elegant at all but is definitely more fun. I wrap my arms around his neck and look over his shoulder at Mom while she watches us from the edge of the dance floor, smiling like she forgot anybody else was in the room.
“You happy?” Dad asks quietly.
I think about it. About the new apartment. About my new school. About the way he comes back every time now. About the way Mom laughs more. About how Grandma still says odd things at brunch and Mom says odd things back and somehow they both still keep showing up.
“Yeah,” I say.
He holds me a little tighter. “Me too.”
Later I dance with Mom, and she smells like flowers and perfume and warm skin and home. I put my head on her shoulder and let the music move us around slowly.
“Grandma was nice today,” I say.
Mom laughs softly. “Mostly.”
“She told Maya the seating chart was very messy.”
Mom closes her eyes for one second. “That sounds like her.”
“But she also said your hair looked beautiful,” I add. “And she didn’t say anything rude about the cake.”
Mom pulls back just enough to look at me. “That may be the nicest review she’s ever given anyone.”
I grin. “So maybe you guys are getting better.”
Mom sighs, but she’s smiling. “Maybe. It’s still going comically badly half the time.”
“Who knows,” I say, using her own words on her.
She smiles wider then, the real kind. “Who knows.”
At the very end of the night, when my shoes are off and my flower basket is lost somewhere and I’m so tired my eyes keep trying to close by themselves, I sit between them in a booth while people gather jackets and purses and leftover cake boxes.
Dad has one arm around Mom and one hand resting on my knee.
Mom is leaning into him in that easy way she does now, like she trusts falling when he’s there.
I look at both of them and think this feels like the rabbit story I used to make Mom draw. Not the pretend version. The real one.
Not one big brave minute where everything gets fixed forever, but more like people coming home and then staying there.
Dad looks down at me. “What?”
I yawn and shrug. “Nothing.”
Mom smooths my hair back. “That is never true in this family.”
Maybe she’s right. Still, tonight I don’t need to say all of it out loud.
My mom and dad found each other all over again. And now they’re married.
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