Epilogue
SINGULARITY
Rose
I’m wearing white.
Tradition might demand that I wear color, or ivory at the very least, since my uterus blob is now a discernible baby bump, but I look good in white.
Plus, the deep-V neckline of my white jumpsuit makes my pregnancy-enhanced boobs look legit amaze-balls.
And since my soon-to-be nephews say that having a bride wear white on her wedding days is an archaic tradition that glorifies defining a woman’s worth based on her level of chastity and not her person—I had all the women wear white today.
Hashtag stick it to the man.
“I can’t believe my sister is getting married in a barn.” Holt glares through the front window of the ranch house at the structure in question, shaking his head in dismay.
“Hey.” I elbow him in the ribs. “Our brother got married in that barn not all that long ago.”
“Yeah, what’s wrong with a barn?” Flynn, sitting on the steps, frowns at our older, grumpy brother. We’re waiting for Jules to text Holt and give the three of us the all-clear to enter.
Holt rubs his side. “That was different. You and Jackie had a professional wedding planner who directed a team of fifty to transform the barn into a glamorous venue.” He continues to stare out the window, watching the last guests go inside. “All Rose had us do was sweep.”
“And let Brittany decorate,” I add, wondering how many Pinterest boards she made in preparation. “You haven’t seen what that woman can do. I bet it looks freaking majestic.”
“Why did you choose the back storage area and not the larger area where the stalls are, anyway?” Flynn stands, straightening his tux. “Did you not want us to have to move the horses again?”
The memory of Vance kissing my hoo-ha behind the reception curtains makes me shiver. “Think real hard about whether or not you two want to know the answer to that last question. Because as your sister, I’m thinking this might be a case of ignorance is bliss.”
“Jesus.” Flynn rubs a hand down his face.
Holt’s phone buzzes. “Everyone’s seated.” He pockets it and smooths down the lapels of his tux.
I clap my hands. “Time to go.”
Holt holds out his arm. “You ready?”
“You betcha.” I thread my arm through his.
“’Cause you don’t have to get married, you know. We can?—"
“Holt.” I lower my head, staring him in the eyes. “I’m getting married. Right now.”
He holds my gaze for a second, then sighs. “Fine.”
Flynn snickers. As well as he’s been able to adapt to all the changes in my life these past few months, Holt… has not.
He’s afraid I’m being pressured into marriage.
After Vance and I got engaged on Christmas, I was so busy buying a house, adopting two dogs, and enjoying the horrified glances I get every Sunday after pole dancing class when I run errands to Home Depot and Lowes for all my new house projects still dressed up in my finest stripper apparel and glitter, the multicolored spandex showcasing my baby bump, that I didn’t have time to plan a wedding.
Honestly, I never dreamed of a wedding when I was a little girl. I dreamed of family.
Then Vance sat me down after one of his therapy sessions, asking if I still didn’t trust him. Apparently, he had taken my lack of wedding interest as a sign I hadn’t forgiven him for leaving me on the stripper stage after I told him I was preggers.
Could’ve knocked me down with a feather. I mean, I accepted his ring. We cohabitate. We have dogs .
But it turns out Vance was sensitive to the fact that I wasn’t in a hurry to get hitched.
Took me promising to get married ASAP and a round of lotus to get him to stop pouting.
Flynn opens the front door. “Stop getting your tux in a bunch, Holt. We have a bride to give away.” He takes my other arm, and together, all three of us walk down the porch steps and across the drive to the barn.
Even with every guest in the barn and no one around to see them, Holt and Flynn strut with their chests puffed out. They were pretty touched when I asked them to walk me down the aisle. Or, you know, the barn hallway.
Holt had teared up again. He’s such a softie.
I can’t wait to see what he does when he holds his niece for the first time.
Much to Brit’s amusement, her drunken Christmas prediction was right. Vance and I are having a girl.
Citali (Kit-tah-lee). It means star.
The music wafts out of the barn—instrumental and soothing.
We step inside, but instead of going left, we go right, toward the back storage room.
From this angle, I see Myra next to Angela, sitting behind Helen and John—my old counselor and her new boyfriend.
Another step and Jackie, Trish, and Jules are front row, each wearing whatever they wanted as long as it’s white.
How Jules found white leather pants and motorcycle boots is beyond me, but she manages to make them look badass and elegant.
Jackie’s white Converse clad foot bounces like a jack rabbit in the aisle, her eyes lighting up behind her glasses when she sees me.
(Or, most likely, Flynn.) Trish, the most traditionally dressed in a white cocktail dress, breaks the dress code with scarlet platform heels.
At the threshold, the full impact of the magical fairyland Brit created with thousands of tiny lights on thin wires that she tacked on nearly every inch of wall and ceiling surface hits me.
And then I meet Vance’s eyes. His dark, gorgeous eyes with the crinkles that catapulted us to where we are now. Full circle from the barnyard tryst to our wedding vows. Spoken right where he’s standing now. In the exact spot he first put his lips on mine. After first kissing my hoo-ha.
As one, Holt and Flynn step forward, only to be jerked back when my feet remain planted.
“Are we running?” Holt asks out the corner of his mouth.
I pull my arm out of his and roll my eyes. “No, we aren’t running.”
There’s a bit of a murmur as I reach my hand into my cleavage and pull out a small remote. With a click, the music changes. I thread my arm back through Holt’s as a recognizable guitar intro starts.
Vance’s eyes widen.
When Paul McCartney sings about a blackbird, I step toward him.
He knew where we were getting married. He knew about my brothers walking me down the aisle. He even knew about Brit’s plans to decorate.
He didn’t know about the song.
Tears form in the eyes I love so much as I get closer. One falling as I reach him.
My brothers take turns to buss a kiss on my cheeks, but my eyes never leave Vance’s.
“Blackbird,” he whispers when it’s just us and Ian, our Internet-ordained officiant.
Reaching up, I cradle Vance’s cheek, wiping his tear away with my thumb. “Thought it would be nice if your father could join us today.”
“Yeah.” Vance kisses my palm. “He’s here.”
Ian steps forward. “We are gathered here…”
We pledge to love and honor each other in front of our family and friends. All of them family, really. Family we were born to, family we chose.
We exchange rings, our hands resting on my baby bump when we’re finished.
Family we made.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife.” Ian gives us a self-satisfied smile as he looks at Vance and then me. “You may kiss the bride.”
“Come on, old man.” I lift both arms, wrapping them around his neck. “Pucker up.” His eyes move from my eyes to my boobs and then to my lips.
“Sure thing, Rosie-girl.”
We kiss.
Everyone cheers.
I press the remote again.
Glitter bombs explode.
Hashtag happily ever after.