Ronan’s apartment at Cliffside had been rented out by the management company he’d hired, so when he wasn’t spending his nights here,he crashed with Miller and Violet in the house they rented while Violet finished school. But after only a few weeks, it was clear August wasn’t going to put up with that. Ronan had moved permanently into my little room in Bibi’s house and begun plans for the addition that same week.
I worried that we might be too much for Bibi, that instead of staying with her for her sake, she’d rather have peace and quiet. But from the moment she suspected I was pregnant, she’d fallen in love with August. And Ronan…
She might’ve loved him before I did. Or before I could name what I felt for him.
Ronan reappeared, carrying our son. August wore a white onesie with cartoon trucks all over it and lay against Ronan’s bare chest, his head tucked under his daddy’s chin. His large, dark eyes were open but sleepy.
“Hey, baby boy,” I said as Ronan lay down with him between us. I kissed his soft baby cheek. “Can’t sleep?”
He shook his head, his little fingers reaching for my braids. I scooted closer to him, and he curled tight into Ronan with a handful of hair, bringing both of us into his cocoon. He was asleep in moments.
Ronan kissed his son’s head and looked to me, his eyes soft under my rainbow lights.
“I love you,” I mouthed.
“Love you,” he mouthed back, his own eyes looking heavy. I grinned as he began to drift—he who had been ready for another round mere minutes ago.
I studied Ronan’s beautiful face as he slept, his arms a protective circle around August and me. The demons in him had been laid to rest, and he was determined to keep them buried. He strove to be the best father for August—the kind of father he never had. And I knew he’d never stop working for us, to make his entire life a fulfillment of his promise to his mother.
The owl on his shoulder watched me. My own eyes were growing heavy, but through my sleepy haze, it looked like she was smiling.
II: Shiloh
Six months later
“There,” Mama said, adjusting the delicate sprigs of baby’s breath in my hair. “Beautiful. Just…beautiful.”
I turned to look in the mirror in the bride’s dressing room at the Highland House, tucked deep in the redwoods. My reflection looked back—a daughter, a great-granddaughter, a niece, a friend, a business owner, a mother, and soon, a wife. And in that moment, I realized that all those things weren’t me; they were reflections of the love I had in my life. That was who we all were—reflections in the eyes of those who loved us.
I looked to my mother. With Bertie and Rudy’s help, she’d moved to Santa Cruz before August was born. She found an apartment and got a job as an assistant manager in a bank. Aside from helping me prepare for August’s arrival, she used her marketing skills—those she had set aside for so long—to help me promote the store. And once she was settled, she went to a therapist twice a week. I joined her for half of those visits, and together, we healed.
It was a slow process, but I learned to stop thinking of myself as walking evidence of my father’s depravity and to start thinking of myself as an embodiment of my mother’s strength. I stopped looking for him in the faces of strangers, because he didn’t mean anything to me. He wasn’t a reflection in that mirror.
I clasped my mother’s hand and looked to Bibi, sitting on a sofa with Bertie. To Letitia, chatting with Violet and Luisa by the window, where the sunshine streamed in. I had everything I needed.
I heaved a breath and smoothed down my dress. It was pale-pink satin, sleeveless, and tightly fitted around the bodice with a tulle overlay. Floral embroidery in periwinkle, lilac, and sage green cascaded over the full skirt. Letitia had pulled my natural hair into a loose, elegantly messy bun with tendrils falling softly to frame my face.
“Do you think Ronan will like the dress?” I asked the room. “It’s not exactly conventional.”
Bibi cackled from her seat. She looked beautiful in red with a lightweight beaded jacket over her shoulders. “Since when have you two been conventional? Doing everything backward from the get-go.”
“She has a point,” I said, grinning at Mama in the mirror. “Wearing white wouldn’t fool anyone. We have a toddler.”
I smiled, thinking of that toddler, who was currently on the men’s side of the building, readying for his role as our little ring bearer.
“Girl, that dress is stunning,” Letitia said, looking pretty stunning herself in her lilac bridesmaid dress.
Violet nodded, coming to stand with me. My maid of honor already had tears in her eyes. “Gorgeous,” she agreed. “Mostly because you look so happy.”
“I am. I never thought…” I shook my head. “I’ll cry and mess up my makeup.”
Luisa, my employee turned friend and third bridesmaid, rushed over with a tissue. “That’s my Bat-Signal.”
I laughed. Luisa Coelho was an artist in her own right—doing makeup tutorials on YouTube—and had lent her services, giving me a subtle look that complimented the softness of my hair and dress.
I looked at the assembly of amazing women in my life, marveling at how blessed I was. How it seemed like too much happiness for one person.
A knock came at the door, and Holden Parish stuck his head in, covering his eyes.