Epilogue – Kholton

“You’re my Braden Carmichael.”

 

 

Thirteen months later

 

 

 

 

“You’re late, boy!” Aunty Reba yells at me when I burst through the doors of The Roti House.

I plant a quick kiss on her cheek before searching the crowd for my fiancée, because Reba’s wrath is nothing compared to hers.

I don’t see her.

“She’s late, too,” Reba supplies.

I glance down at my favorite Trinidadian. “Really?”

“Yes, really!” she plants her fists on her hips. “Everyone else, except the two of you, showed up on time to your own gender reveal party.”

She sucks her teeth and points sturdily to where two chairs are set up in the middle of the room, wrapped with silky white material and decorated with pink and blue roses. “Get your overgrown white butt over there and call your woman.”

Like an obedient little boy, I do as she commands and plant my “white butt” in one of the chairs. I spot Brock and Brian in the crowd, watching me get schooled and laughing their faces off. I furtively flip them the bird.

The Roti House has been transformed into a pink and blue puke fest, with a small group of all our close friends and family eagerly awaiting the reveal.

Thirteen months ago, after we became a legit exclusive couple, as much as Serena needed a baby, we decided not to rush it, to let it happen naturally. And in the meantime, we would enjoy all the sweet benefits of a childless relationship.

“Naturally” happened six months ago. We went to the Maldives for her birthday weekend and she got sick, puking nonstop. We thought she had food poisoning, so I took her to the doctor. She puked on me when we found out it wasn’t food poisoning after all.

Not one of her finest moments.

Three months later, we learned we would be having twins. Yep, we’re in for one helluva ride.

Neither she nor I are fans of this gender revealing thing, but Aunty Reba, after learning we were pregnant, insisted we let her host a gender reveal party for us. All Serena and I had to do was show up on time.

And we couldn’t even get that done.

I’m late because I had a class run over, then I had bad luck getting a cab to stop for me. But I’ve no idea why my fiancée is late. Last I heard from her was when I phoned her three hours ago to check up on her. She told me she was getting into the shower. We’d already decided the night before that we would be coming separately due to our schedules.

Flipping my satchel open, I get out my cell to call her. But just as I’m about to hit the numeral assigned to her on speed dial, she comes bursting through the door. “I’m here! I’m here!”

I can’t help the smile that pulls at my lips from seeing her. Her flirty red dress and heels she knows I’m against her wearing. Her blazing red hair pulled up in a sleek ponytail with bangs she got last week to hide a tiny, barely-visible-to-the-eye zit that popped up on her forehead.

That’s Serena Bentley right there.

My girl.

Fiancée.

Soon-to-be wife.

And that protruding six-month bump is the home of our babies.

My life.

Her green gaze darts around, searching, until they land on me.

She smiles.

I smile.

“You’re late!” Reba barks at her, and she winces. “And I can’t even be mad at you with that adorable bump. Get over there next to your man and let’s start this thing.”

My baby scurries over and I rise to help her settle in the chair next to me.

Sitting down again, I lean in close and whisper, “Not fair that you got off easy because you’ve got my babies growing inside you.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “You were late, too?”

“Yeah, class ran over. Left you a message,” I explain. “You?”

She’s suddenly sheepish. “I, uh, took a nap?”

I bite back a laugh. “Seriously?”

“I know, I know,” she whispers, shamefaced. “It was supposed to be a fifteen-minute power nap, but I forgot to set the timer and the next thing I know it’s two hours later.”

The laugh breaks free this time.

“Stop laughing,” she scolds, though her own lips are twitching.

‘“Babe?”

“Yes?” she answers, biting her lip.

I rest my hand on her stomach. “You’re gorgeous and I love you.”

 

 

Fifteen minutes of toasts and jokes later, Reba declares it’s time for the big moment. Serena and I are both clueless of the details or what the reveal method is, so we simply follow Reba’s instructions, making secret jokes along the way.

First, a tarp is rolled out.

Next, two easels are brought out and placed on the tarp. Both easels have bloated black balloons pinned to them.

“Ah,” Serena says, rubbing her belly. “I see where this is going.”

“Hmm,” I hum distractedly, mesmerized by the way she’s rubbing her belly, petting my babies.

Reba comes over and gives us each a red dart. “Up, up!” she says enthusiastically.

Once we’re both up, she points to the easels, then to the darts in our hands. “I think it’s obvious what you need to do, nah?”

“C’mon, Khol,” someone calls from the crowd, “show us who’s the better shot!”

I turn and look down at my fiancée. “They’re pitting us against each other.”

Shrugging, she turns to face me. “Well, bring it on. You know I never back down from a challenge.”

“And I love that about you, baby.” I lower my forehead to hers. “But I don’t wanna compete with you anymore. What I want is to be a team with you. Us against it all.” I raise a challenging eyebrow. “Think you got it in you to be a team player, princess?”

She grins, happiness shining in her eyes. “The best teammate you’ll ever have.”

Our lips meet to seal the promise.

Then, as one, we turn to face the easels.

Together we aim. Together we shoot. Together we score.

It’s no secret that I was hoping for girls, while Serena prayed daily for boys. So it’s both a shock and an ecstatic relief to all of us, when one balloon bleeds blue, and the other bleeds pink.

Fraternal twins.

While everyone else around us whoop and holler, I pick my woman up and whirl her around, overcome with joy like I’ve never known.

“Baby, baby, baby, baby…” I keep repeating, unable to formulate any other words.

“Perfect. Absolutely perfect,” she’s saying. “You, my life, our babies. I’m so happy. I’m so happy!”

When I finally put her down, she gazes up at me through eyes glistening with tears. “I’m so in love with you, Khol. Thank you for loving me as hard and as deep and as relentlessly as you do. Thank you for being patient with me on days when I’m unbearable. Thank you for never leaving me or believing my ‘I can do without you’ lies. Thank you, for being my very own Braden Carmichael.”

Cupping her face, I kiss her with everything in me, so deeply I almost forgot we’re not alone.

“I’m happy you’re happy, baby,” I whisper against her lips. “But fuck that Braden guy. The only name I want in your head is Kholton Sharpe. Yours forever. And I’m going to love you harder than any other man ever could. Now sit back, relax, and watch me.”

She’s giddy, damn near wiggling in my arms. “Tell me you love me, Kholton Sharpe.”

With a wicked smile, I whisper, “Later.”

Her lips part, her chest heaves, and her eyes heat until they’re melted emeralds. Because she knows exactly what that means.

 

 

The End