EPILOGUE II |

Forever & the Sweetest of Things

 

PATRICK

 

We were married when we were thirty-three.

Three decades after we first met.

Better late than never, I told myself whenever I found my mind focusing on all that wasted time in between. Those missing pages from the story of Kinsey and me.

My brothers Sean and Ryan stood next to me, both sharing the duties of Best Man. Once identical, time had taken them in completely different directions, setting Ryan apart from Sean with black hair dye, a body of tattoos, and a permanent cloud of cigarette smoke circling his head. But, underneath it all, they had the same face, the same voice, and they still finished each other’s sentences.

To my right, on the other side of the aisle, stood Kate and Meghan. They wore matching dresses and higher heels than I would’ve preferred on my thirteen-year-old daughter.  Thirteen years old, excited to have Kinsey as her stepmother, and looking more and more like a woman every day. Hell, with her red hair all done up and her face painted with way too much makeup, I hardly recognized her.

My little girl. She was once small enough to lay comfortably in the crook of one young, terrified arm, and in the blink of an eye, she was wearing makeup and having her mom take her bra shopping.

Feck, I thought, my jaw ticking and my heart clenching.

Speaking of her mom, Christine had decided not to move to New Jersey. After hearing about the rekindling of Kinsey’s and my relationship, she realized that I wouldn’t be leaving good ol’ RC. I was willing to make it work. I could handle the drive down to Jersey every weekend, if I had to, but Christine wasn’t stupid. She knew that ripping Meghan away from her school, her friends, and, most importantly, her father, was a surefire way to make the kid hate her for all eternity. So, she said that five years wasn’t a very long time, and she could wait until Meghan was eighteen and able to make her own decisions.

It was the nicest thing she had ever done for me.

Ryan nudged me in the ribs. “Hey, you nervous?”

“Why the hell would I be nervous?” I chuckled, shaking my head.

He raised a pierced brow. “Well, considerin’ your first marriage …”

“Consider who he was married to,” Sean countered, and the two of them cringed.

“Hey,” I warned, “remember what I said about talkin’ about her in front of Meghan. She’s still her mother.”

Ryan nodded apologetically. “Well, all I’m sayin’ is, there’s plenty to be nervous about. You could be faced with more child support in another ten years. That’s why I’m not ever gettin’ married, man. Feck no.”

Sean snorted. “Yeah, because you’re avoiding the possibility of child support by sleepin’ with any woman with a pulse.”

“You’re just jealous that I’m gettin’ to ‘em first.”

Sean shouldered Ryan, shoving him into me, and I shoved back. Mam scolded us with a hissed “boys” from the front row of chairs, and we shared a moment of warning glares at each other before breaking into a trio of smiles. Because while little girls were growing up and ex-wives were suddenly doing nice things, some shite never seemed to change, and as I thought about the woman waiting inside, I said a silent prayer for never-ending consistencies.

Then, as a gust of wind blew into the yard, the hired guitarist began to play Van the Man’s “These Are the Days.” I clasped my hands together tightly, straightened my back, and bit my lip with anticipation, and then …

There she was, standing on the steps of her parents’ back porch, on the arm of her father. The warm wind jingled the chains of the swings behind me, and I watched with bated breath as she slowly walked toward me in that dress fit for an angel, wrapped around the swell of a growing belly. My sweet thing.  

It took all my strength to not rip her from her father’s grasp, as he brushed a strand of her brown hair off her face and kissed her on the cheek. He pulled back, smiling warmly at his own little girl, and I felt like I was three again, waiting for my turn, fighting the urge to bounce around where I stood.

Then, she turned to look at me. Her hair floated on the breeze behind her, and I saw that little girl in her Little House on the Prairie dress. She smiled at me in the sunlight, and I hoped someone was snapping a picture from somewhere in that backyard, because, God, she was beautiful, and, God, I loved her. 

Mr. McKenna outstretched his arms toward me, pulling me into a hug that surprised me. At the rehearsal, we had planned to shake hands, but there he was, with his arms wrapped around my shoulders, and my arms wrapped around his. There was nothing formal about it; he squeezed me the way a father would squeeze a son, and I squeezed back.

“I’d welcome you into the family, but you’ve always been a part of it,” he said close to my ear.

“I know, sir.” My voice was rough to my ears.

“I’m glad I’m here to finally see this happen.”

I unwrapped my arms, realizing all at once that had he not had his brush with death, it might not have been happening at all. No divorce, no second chance, no second child, and I truly realized for the second time in my life that the sweetest of things can come from the shittiest situations.

You know, silver linings and all that.

“So am I, sir.” Then, with a clearing of my throat, I felt the need to add, “Thank you.”

He shook his head, clapping me on the shoulder, gripping with gentle force. “Okay, enough with this ‘sir’ crap. Marry my daughter.”

And then, just like that, she was mine, taking that final step toward me. All mine.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hi.”

“You’re beautiful.”

One of her hands came to rest over her belly. “Shut up. I feel like a beluga.”

“Prettiest whale I’ve ever seen.”

I stared at her and the flowers in her hair longer than maybe I should have, my smile stretching so wide, my cheeks hurt.

“Patrick,” Kate hissed, and I pulled my eyes away from Kinsey just long enough to glance at her.

“Yes?”  

“Shut up, and take her hand! God …”

“Oh, thank you so much, Kate. What would I ever do without ya?” And as a dull murmur of laughter came from the crowd, I did take her hand.

We listened to the minister, and recited our vows. You know, all the formalities of getting married that nobody really pays attention to, because your insides are too busy jostling themselves around. But the next part …

That was my favorite.

“By the power vested in me by the state of Connecticut, I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the minister said with an old wrinkled smile.

I glanced over at him expectantly, and I guess my expression must have said it all, because the little old guy laughed. “Yes, Patrick, you can go ahead, and kiss your bride.”

In a split second, my arms were around her waist, pulling her as close to me as her belly would allow, and her arms were around my neck. With eyes closed, my lips pressed to hers, sealing the deal, embarking on another journey of adventurous firsts and sweet things; this time, with a shared last name.

“What did I tell ya?” I said, pulling back long enough to gasp for air. “Kinsey Kinney.”

“He hasn’t said it ye—”

“It is with great pleasure I present to you all for the first time, Mr. and Mrs. Kinney.”

There was applause, roaring around us in the backyard of Kinsey’s parents’ house. Cameras flashed, the guitar played, but all I saw, all I heard was her.

“He didn’t say it,” she said with a teasing smile.

“Uh, yes, he did. He said, ‘Mrs. Kinney.’ That’s you. Kinsey Kinney.”

Her eyes sparkled, pressing her hands to my face. “Oh my God,” she said, smiling around a burst of tears. “Finally.”

I kissed my bride again, and it was truly in that moment when I realized, as Kinsey would say, we had closed the door on boyfriends and girlfriends, on fiancés and fiancées, and walked hand-in-hand into the eternal room of husbands and wives.

Until death do us part, and forever after.

And I was never letting go.