EPILOGUE
MY FAMILY
I've been remade five times in my life.
You know about the first four.
And I'm sure you can guess the fifth.
Fatherhood suited me. I'd always suspected it would, but the reality, the day to day of it, blew me away.
And Bianca as a mother was all that I had ever wanted. Watching her grow into the role, growing together, it was the very meaning of my life. The purpose of my existence.
We had three beautiful children, one boy and two girls, each of them roughly one year apart. They were our pride and joy.
Duncan was a brilliant boy. I knew he had a mind for business early on. He was enterprising, born with the shoulders to carry heavy responsibilities. He looked like me and had many of my traits, with little sprinkles of his mother apparent in the little subtle movements of his face. The twist of his smile. The wrinkling of his nose.
He was a charmer, that one. But also sweet and loving.
Duncan worshipped his mother, thought the sun rose and set in her smile, would move mountains to win her approval. He got that from me.
Imogen was passionate and resilient, and terrifying in her stubborn pride. She was a fighter.
She and Duncan could have been twins, they looked so much alike.
She had a strong sense of justice and a compassionate soul. She was versatile in that she could have done anything, been anything, because she always excelled.
We never tried to predict where her life would take her. We were just excited to watch her path.
Isabella was an artist. We knew early on. She was a daydreamer. A stargazer. Our little angel was born with the ability to see and create beauty.
Obviously she got that joyous talent from her mother.
And at last we had a child that favored Bianca in looks. Except for her eyes. Those were mine.
She was sweet to a fault, a lover to Imogen's fighter.
Of course, I was her favorite.
She was a daddy's girl. Absolutely. I would move heaven and earth to keep it that way.
The real romance in life didn't come in that first sweet taste of love, as profound and life changing as it was. There was love then, yes. Obsession, passion, infatuation. All of that and more.
But the true romance came from the slow lapse of time, the inexorable passing of days, weeks, months, years, decades.
I'd hold onto her with the last breath in my body. My final thought would be that I hadn't gotten enough, I just knew it.
Because I would never have enough.
Never enough sweet moments. Never enough shared smiles.
Never enough of touching her.
Never enough grabbing her face in both of my hands and marveling at the miracle of love.
Never enough of watching her grow as a person. Growing with her. Watching her journey as the mother of my children. Taking that journey with her.
Never enough of sharing every single burden, big and small, that she would let me, and sometimes not giving her a choice, taking those burdens from her, prying them from her elegant hands and carrying them myself.
And the fights, yes, even the most horrible ones we ever had, because they taught me something about her, and more about myself.
The inside jokes, the shared humor may have just been the best part about sharing my life with my soul mate.
Nothing on this earth was more romantic than a private inside joke still going, still bringing us joy, still making us laugh as we added layers to it, after twenty years together. Then thirty. Forty.
True love was a language, so many looks, touches and one word references that told the other more than full sentences or paragraphs, more than full outpourings of speech.
Our language was extensive and beautiful, and over a joyful lifetime together, we stayed fluent in it.
Our wives were having a mommy pamper day at the spa with the girls while we had a BBQ with the kids at Tristan and Danika's house.
It was a disaster, because that was the day we realized something very troubling, something that would haunt us for many years.
We were on the patio, Tristan grilling us burgers, as we watched the kids playing in their park of a backyard.
We were both dads that prided ourselves on being our kids' favorites, but when this group got together, they forgot we even existed.
I pointed at Nikaloj, huddled together with Imogen. "No fucking way," I told Tristan. "That right there is not happening."
He curled his lip at me, waving a hand at Cleo and Duncan. They were holding hands. They were only six, but that wasn't the point. "What about that right there? What the ever-loving fuck is up with that? I'll tell you right now I won't stand for it."
"Oh you think you have it rough?" I stabbed a finger towards Isabella and Jared. They were wrestling. Oh, the outrage. "By my math I have it at least twice as bad as you."
The bastard laughed, threw back his head and laughed like crazy. "Oh man, you are right. That's so true. You do have it worse. When these kids are teenagers you are going to hate your life."
"Ming will be a teenager first," I pointed out, as it was only fair. She was the only child deemed mature enough to embrace a day at the spa with the mommies, so she wasn't there, but I felt she should be included here.
"Fuck," he said, low and succinct.
This time it was me that couldn't stop laughing. The idea of Tristan as the father of a teenage girl as she started to date was just priceless.
"All of the kids are closely paired up in ages, every one but Ming. Our daughters, Bianca, Tristan's rowdy boys are going to try to take our daughters!" I had to get it off my chest. It was too much for any father to have to bear alone.
She laughed, not looking at all worried, not understanding how serious and terrible this was. "Yeah, we figured that out already. And they all like each other, too. Imogen told me the other day that she was in love with Nikolaj and wants to marry him."
I shook my head. "No, no, no. Just no. I forbid it. Categorically, no."
"And Duncan, too. Him and Cleo. They're inseparable."
"That's not as bad, since he's a boy."
"That's sexist," she pointed out.
I supposed it was, but something about boys getting near my little girls was just much more disturbing to me, more inherently unacceptable. It went beyond logic and into gut reaction territory.
"Jared and Isabella are sweet to each other, too," she added, rubbing salt in my wound.
I thought of something that cheered me up. "Can you imagine Tristan, when Ming or Cleo start dating?"
She got a real kick out of it, too.
We were still laughing when Imogen busted in on us.
We were in Bianca's painting studio, at the Vegas house. She was painting, and I was sitting in my favorite spot, a sofa angled just perfectly to watch her work. As always, it was a joy to watch her, one of life's greatest pleasures. Sitting right here, in this exact spot, brought me peace, more peace than I thought I'd ever have, ever deserve.
Imogen took in the room, zeroed in on me, a brilliant smile breaking out across her face.
I smiled back. She was drop dead gorgeous and a shameless heart breaker to boot.
She'd recently had her dark blonde hair cut into a bob with short bangs that made her eyes positively glow in her face, their brightness contrasting in a startling way with her dusky skin.
She was bouncing on her feet, her bob bouncing with her. It was about the cutest thing I'd ever seen.
"What's going on, princess?" I asked her, knowing there was something.
She kept smiling, batting her lashes as she came and climbed on my lap.
I tousled her hair and kissed her temple.
Bianca and I shared a smile. She was up to something, for sure.
Isabella came skipping into the room, her tangle of blonde hair flying wildly. She scrunched her face up and blew me a kiss before heading to her own workstation beside her mother, setting up her small easel and canvas all by herself and without a word, absorbed in her task. Bianca incarnate.
Duncan came in next, holding a phone and looking at Imogen, his expression stern.
"What's with the phone, bud?" I asked him. He was six. He was not old enough to need a phone. "And whose phone is that?"
"Clark's," he said, pointing at the little angel in my lap. "Ask her what she did."
I scooped her up and cradled her, smiling down into her guilty face. "What did you do?"
She scrunched up her nose, craning her head to glare at her brother. "Tattletale. I'm going to tell Nikolaj and Jared that you're a tattletale."
"Wouldn't that just be you tattling on my tattle? What's that going to solve?"
I tried and failed to hide my laughter.
"And I guess you get to ask them soon," Duncan added, "since you invited them over."
"How long have you had Clark's phone?" I asked.
Duncan pointed at Imogen. "She had it. I just now got it from her. She's been using it to call the Vega kids. She invited Nikolaj over for tea. And now they're all on their way over."
I bent down and kissed the tip of her nose. "You been talking to boys? No more of that, princess. Not until you're thirty."
She giggled.
I set her on her feet. "I want you to return Clark's phone to him. You need to say sorry, since you were the one to take it." My tone was gentle but chiding.
As she left the room, Duncan on her heels again, I called Tristan.
"My daughter stole a phone to make a call to your son," I told him.
He laughed and laughed. "Oh man, that is the best. What will they do next? My money is on them knocking off a bank. We'll have a little Bonnie and Clyde on our hands. Better start setting aside the bail money now."
"I heard a rumor that you're on your way over here."
"Not me, no. Didn't you hear?"
"Hmm?"
"We're not bringing the kids over. They left without us."
"What? How?"
He was laughing hard. "Imogen sent them a car and driver."