Epilogue
Ten years later
My mom’s round face looks back at me in the mirror.
“Tight curls, or waves?”
“Just loose waves, thanks, Mom.”
Mom stands behind me, winding my locks around the wide-barrel curling iron, with a serene smile on her glowing face.
She catches me staring. “Baby, are you okay?”
I nod silently.
One curl done, she gestures with the rod at my reflection, scolding me. “Don’t start crying now. If you cry, I cry, and then we’ll all have to redo our eye makeup, and there’s no time for that.”
May rushes over and hands me a tissue, and I carefully dab under my eyes so I don’t smudge my eyeliner.
“I’m not crying-crying. Just a teeny bit weepy,” I say.
Mom places a hand on her hip. “Well, it’s my wedding day, so you’d better not be crying at all.”
May steps in front of the mirror and looks down at me. “Don’t think about the C-word. Instead, be jealous that Mom’s hair grew back curly and yours is still poker straight.”
I laugh. “So crazy curly!”
Mom shakes her head and curls the next lock of my hair. May looks pretty in a black velvet cocktail dress. Her kids are older now, and have been given the job of ushers for the vow renewal ceremony.
“You’d done a good job with Ashley and Reece,” I say to her. “They’re terrific kids.”
My sister smiles proudly. “Thanks.”
She glances over at the corner of the room, where the eight-year-old Demetria sits reading a children’s fantasy novel.
She wears a sharp, tailored suit that matches her older cousins’.
Like her father’s, Demetria’s hair has never been cut, and she likes to wear it in a bun to match Grak’s.
That girl practically worships her father.
Although Demetria wasn’t born with her father’s green skin, she’s been known to color herself green with markers whenever she’s unsupervised. If that’s the biggest headache I have as a parent, I’ll call it a win.
“And you’ve done great with her, too,” May says, nodding at her niece.
“Thank you.”
And I really mean that. I worry sometimes about Demetria being in school, with her vestigial horns and slightly pointed ears potentially making her a target of mockery.
Other kids do have questions, but they soon got over her odd characteristics.
Turns out, most kids are a lot more accepting and welcoming than they get credit for.
May gnaws on her freshly painted bottom lip like she has something else she needs to say.
“Grak saved all our asses,” she says. “None of us would be here today, on this farm, with Mom, all of us together, without him. I don’t know how to thank him for that.”
I don’t know what to say.
Not only did the farm do well financially that first Christmas he came, but through word of mouth, Grak has become a huge hit every year since. We made enough to cover the balloon payment on the property that year.
Grak’s astonishing strength and skills have made him a phenomenal handyman, too. Dad insisted on adding Grak to the payroll, but Grak wouldn’t hear of it. But he agreed to being added as co-owner of Allman Family Farm when Dad retired. Thomas and May each own a third, and Grak and I own a third.
Mom and Dad still live in their house. Mom loves having the room for her grandchildren, and Dad can’t bear to live away from these woods.
Grak, Demetria, and I live in the cabin in the woods, where Grak spent his first night here on the farm. He’s helped us fix it up so nicely that it seemed like a no-brainer for us to move out of my parents’ basement apartment.
Although May and Thomas still live far away, we’re thriving enough to hire seasonal workers, taking much of the burden off us.
On top of everything, an anonymous benefactor covered Mom’s medical bills. Grak won’t cop to it, but I suspect this was a gift from Santa Claus.
“That’s enough sap,” I say, gently nudging her with my foot.
Mom fluffs my hair. “Done! And I agree. Enough of that. Go spray your hair, and let’s get this wedding going.”
The family all sit together, with a front row seat to Mom and Dad’s vow renewal in the refurbished barn.
In the off-season, when we’re not selling Christmas trees, the barn is used as an event center.
Couples clamor to get married at the Allman Christmas Tree Farm and Event Center, and we often have a year-long waiting list. It could be the beautiful wooded setting, or it could be that guests from out of town want to get a look at the famous handyman orc.
Whatever keeps us in the black, I’m happy, as long as Grak doesn’t get taken advantage of or treated like a side show freak.
He’s so kind to everyone he meets, I worry sometimes. But the locals have turned out to be very protective of their local orc.
My arm snugly tucks in under Grak’s arm, and I lean in and touch my head to his shoulder. My husband of nine years kisses the top of my head, and a feeling of contentment washes over me.
Ashley and Reese wear matching suits as they escort Mom and Dad to the arch in the front, decorated with white and red roses. Mom carries a bouquet that matches, and my mind goes back to the day that Grak and I were married in the game.
“Hey,” I whisper, pointing out the flowers.
“I saw it too,” he murmurs.
A few months after Grak came to me in real life, we had our own wedding here on the farm, too. Although it wasn’t a shabby chic barn ceremony, like this one. We recreated the exact scene from the game, as best we could, complete with ice sculptures and only a dozen or so close friends as guests.
It was sweet, private, and beautiful. The woodland creatures, all attracted by Grak’s pheromones, came in droves to watch.
Even the skunks.
Following the ceremony, everyone helps to clear the barn and make room for the dance.
The reception lasts into the wee hours of the night.
Grak carries the sleeping Demetria up to the main house and down to the basement apartment.
The cabin is too far to walk this late at night, especially in a dress and heels.
The whole family has decided to stay together at Mom and Dad’s, and it’s been a fun and cozy reunion.
Once Demetria is tucked in, snug in my old bed, Grak eyes the gamer desk in the corner.
The setup hasn’t changed since we moved into the cabin, except now there are two chairs and two monitors instead of one.
He then looks at me longingly.
“You want to play?” I ask.
He grunts affirmatively.
It’s two o’clock in the morning, but that never stopped us before.
I sit down in my chair, and he takes his spot at his station, and we fire up Deadsky: Survival.
“What are we fighting tonight, Grak?”
He hums thoughtfully as he types in my user name. This game hasn’t had updates for over 10 years, yet we still do this sometimes.
“What would you say to building another Christmas village with me?” Grak suggests.
I smile. “You don’t want to slay any trolls? No zombies?”
He shrugs. “Nah. I was thinking we could build a skating rink and invite all the monsters.”
“Let’s do it, and see what happens.”
Grak shuts off the lights, and we sit together in front of the glowing screens. Demetria snores softly.
We find each other in the game and start building yet another Christmas village.
If we have to fight something, we’ll do it. But building is always more fun.
In the game, and in real life.
THE END
Thanks for reading Sleighed by the Orc!