Epilogue
Vedder
Three Years Later
I was a rube in a gymnasium full of dignitaries. Everyone here was in their best business clothes, though some opted for traditional wear. Hanboks, dashikis, Barang Tagalogs, silk-blazered suits…
It was all more than our Sunday best, and poor Marc and I were getting choked by our own neckties.
“Can I take this off?” he asked, tugging on it for the fifteenth time since we’d taken a seat.
“No, just hang on until we get pictures with her, then you can throw the damn thing in the trash.” That was what I’d be doing.
Chief Justice something-or-other was their guest speaker, which really hammered home how little I knew about any damn thing. It was clear people cared about what that person had to say, and their biography listed a bunch of positions and presidents that were obviously a damn big deal.
Unfortunately, it meant jack all to me.
The only thing that mattered was the moment they started calling the names of the graduates—and oh boy, it took a while, because she was now stuck at the end of the alphabet.
As soon as they called out “Melody Amber Vedder,” the kids and I screamed like our sports team had just won in overtime. We held up signs like the fucking small-town idiots that we were, and I did not care. She didn’t either.
I yelled, “That’s my wife!” as she crossed the stage, accepted her brand new law degree, and walked off.
I was officially the husband of Melody Vedder, Esquire. Or was it Melody Vedder, JD? Doctor Melody Vedder? I’d only recently figured out JD stood for Juris Doctor, and the reason she was in the funny graduation caps was because it was the equivalent of a PhD.
I knew she’d be in for a rough summer, because she’d have to get ready for the bar exam, but I was content as hell being a stay-at-home dad, rebuilding and cleaning my own little farmhouse with a growing orchard in the back.
It’d be a few more years before those trees would fruit, but I didn’t care. Just planting them was evidence enough that I was here for the long haul.