Special Chapter Where We Belong
YSABEL
Our baby is six months old today, and I have spent the morning trying to convince a very determined small person that the yarn necklace around my neck is not, in fact, a toy.
"No," I say for the third time, gently unhooking tiny fingers from the cream-colored loops. "That's Mama's. You have your own things to chew on."
The baby makes a sound of profound disagreement and reaches for the necklace again.
Leon appears in the doorway of the nursery, already dressed for the day, his hair still damp from washing. "Losing the battle?"
"I'm not losing. I'm strategically retreating." I hand the baby over and tuck the necklace inside my collar. "There. Problem solved."
"Until the collar comes untucked."
"Then I'll tuck it again." I stretch, easing the stiffness left by two interrupted stretches of sleep. "What time is it?"
"Almost eight. Your parents called. They're on their way with the focaccia."
"Already? I thought they weren't coming until ten."
"Your mother wanted to help set up. She said something about chair arrangements."
I groan. "She's going to rearrange everything we did yesterday."
"Probably." Leon bounces the baby gently, a motion that's become second nature to him over these months. "But it'll make her happy, and the chairs will end up in almost the same places anyway."
He's right, of course. My mother has been looking forward to today for weeks, ever since Leon and I finally set the date.
We'd wanted to wait until after the birth, until we'd found our footing as parents, until we felt ready to celebrate in front of everyone we loved.
We chose today together, sitting at the kitchen table while Leon balanced the baby on his knee.
I wrote the date in my order book before either of us could start worrying about the guest list. Yesterday I hung a note on the shop door: closed for our vow renewal.
Beneath it, Gia added that anyone hoping for cake should come to the hillside.
"I should finish getting dressed," I say.
"Breakfast first? I can make something."
I consider the dress waiting in our room. "Yes. Before I put on anything I can spill coffee down." I take the baby back and settle into the chair by the window.
He drops a kiss on my forehead, then one on the baby's head. "Toast? Eggs?"
"Both. And coffee."
"Coming up."
He disappears down the hall, and I'm left in the quiet of the nursery with our child in my arms. The morning light is soft through the curtains, painting everything in shades of gold. From here, I can see the tops of the almond trees on the hillside where we'll stand in a few hours.
"Big day," I murmur. "A party for your parents. Try to look impressed."
The baby responds by grabbing a fistful of my hair and attempting to eat it.
"Fair enough," I say. "We'll set realistic goals."
***
By noon, the hillside above the almond groves has been transformed.
Not elaborately, not expensively. Just chairs arranged in loose rows facing the spot where Leon and I will stand, tables along one side holding food that's been arriving in a steady stream all morning.
My mother's focaccia, Gia's orange cake made from my recipe, dishes from half the families in town who wanted to contribute something.
The almond trees spread out below us, their green leaves catching the midday light. It's the same view I've known my whole life, the same hills I grew up seeing from the estate's windows. Today there are people waving at me from every direction, and I keep stopping to wave back.
People are arriving, filling the chairs, greeting each other with the easy familiarity of a community that's gathered for celebrations before.
I see Signora Benedetti near the front, deep in conversation with her husband.
Gia is arranging something on one of the food tables, occasionally glancing up to wave at new arrivals.
Tommaso is pulling out a chair for Lucia, who has stopped to greet someone from town. She catches sight of me and waves.
My father finds me at the edge of the gathering, the baby held securely against his side, one broad hand supporting that small back.
"Your mother wants to know if the officiant needs water," he says.
"I brought him water twenty minutes ago."
"I'll tell her that. She'll probably bring him more water anyway."
"Probably."
He looks at me, his weathered face doing something complicated. "You look beautiful, Ysabel."
"I look tired. The baby woke up at three."
"Tired and beautiful. They're not mutually exclusive." He adjusts the baby's position slightly. "Are you ready?"
"I think so." I smooth down the front of my dress, simple cream linen that feels right for the occasion. "It's strange, doing this again. The vows, I mean. We've already said them once."
"Your mother and I said ours once too. It hasn't stopped her reminding me what I promised."
"Does she need to?"
"Occasionally." He looks toward her and smiles. "Usually when I've agreed to fix something and forgotten."
"So I should have put something about cupboard doors in mine?"
"It's not too late."
He offers me his free arm. "Come on. Leon's waiting, and if we don't start soon, your mother will reorganize the entire event."
I take his arm, with the baby tucked safely on his other side, and together we walk toward the rows of chairs. When we reach the front, Papa kisses my cheek and takes his place beside my mother, keeping our child on his lap.
Leon is standing at the front, looking almost nervous, which is absurd. We've been through so much worse than a ceremony. But there's something vulnerable in his expression, something that makes me want to reach out and steady him the way he's steadied me so many times.
"Hi," I say when I reach him.
"Hi."
"You look terrified."
"I'm not terrified." He pauses. "Slightly overwhelmed."
"That's just the crowd. They're on our side."
"I know." He takes my hands, and some of the tension leaves his shoulders. "I know they are."
The officiant clears his throat gently. When we met to talk about today, he asked what mattered to us and wrote down our answers before offering any advice. We'd agreed we didn't want anything too formal. Just words, and witnesses, and each other.
"Friends, family, neighbors," the officiant begins.
"We're gathered here to witness something special.
Leon and Ysabel have asked us to be part of their vow renewal, a celebration of the marriage they've been building together for the past several years.
Not a new beginning, but a continuation. An acknowledgment of promises kept."
He looks at us both. "They've asked to speak their own words."
Leon's hands tighten around mine. "I'll go first. Before I lose my nerve."
"I'm listening."
"You'd be surprised." But he's smiling now. "Ysabel. I had something written down, and then I listened to you this morning trying to reason with someone who can't talk yet."
I laugh. "I was making an excellent argument."
"You were. Nobody was listening."
"That has happened to me before."
His smile softens. "I know. And I promise to keep doing better at that. To listen before I decide I know what you need. To make time for us, even on the days when something else is asking for every minute."
He looks down at our hands, then back at me.
"I love coming home to you. I love our family. And I love that you still have things you want for yourself. I want to hear about them. I want to be there when they happen."
My eyes sting. Behind him the leaves stir, flashing their pale undersides in the breeze.
"I promise to stand beside you," he says. "When it's easy, like today. And when it isn't. You shouldn't ever have to wonder whether I'll take your hand."
He lifts it and kisses my knuckles.
"Your turn," Leon says.
I take a breath.
"Leon. I was prepared for you to make me cry. I wasn't prepared for you to tell everyone I argue with our baby."
"They've met you."
There's laughter behind me. I wait until it quiets, keeping my eyes on his.
"I love the life we have now. Even when neither of us has slept and you've put the clean laundry in the wrong drawer again."
"There are so many drawers."
"Four, Leon."
He bows his head, laughing, and I squeeze his fingers.
"I promise to tell you what I need instead of hoping you'll guess. To listen to you too. And to make room for this." I lift our joined hands. "For us. We're parents now, and there will always be something that needs doing, but I don't want to stop finding time to be your wife."
He looks at me so intently that I forget the next sentence I meant to say. I don't try to find it.
"I love you. I like you, even when you're impossible. I want to grow old with you and complain about how loudly you insist you aren't snoring."
From somewhere in the crowd, the baby makes a loud, emphatic noise.
The tension breaks. People laugh, and I laugh too, turning to see my father settling our child against his chest while my mother retrieves a dropped cloth.
"I think that's approval," Leon says.
"I think that's a commentary on how long we've been talking."
The officiant is smiling. "May you keep these promises in the life you share. And may all of us gathered here have many more reasons to celebrate with you."
He nods to Leon. "You may kiss your wife."
Leon doesn't hesitate. He pulls me close and kisses me, soft but certain, and I kiss him back without caring who's watching. Someone cheers before we've finished, and Leon smiles against my mouth.
When we pull apart, there's applause. Real applause, from people who showed up because they wanted to be here. My mother is crying. My father has the baby and is pointing toward us, probably explaining something. Gia is grinning and clapping louder than anyone.
"We did it," Leon says.
"Again."
"Again." He's smiling in a way that makes him look younger, lighter. "Ready for the party?"
"As ready as I'll ever be."
The celebration flows naturally across the hillside as the afternoon deepens.