Highly unlikely, but a man can hope.
As I watch the late-night news unfold, I can’t help but reminisce. It’s only in hindsight that I realize how lost I’d been, dedicating my life to such a malignant cause. When I was a young man, I was desperate for the feeling of belonging. Now I realize just how misguided I’d been. I look back at who I was; that man is a stranger to me. How could I ever put the Family beforefamily?
“Sweetheart?”
Arin rounds the corner, yawning wide as she pulls on one of my sweaters for warmth. It’s way too big for her, cutting off at just above her knees. She circles the front of the couch and takes a seat beside me, squinting against the bright light of the television.
“Did the sound wake you?” I ask.
“No. Bed got cold. What are you doing up?”
“Couldn’t sleep.” I tilt my chin at the screen. “Crazy, huh?”
“Yeah,” she mumbles, leaning over to rest her cheek on my shoulder.
“Sometimes I wonder…”
“What?”
“Sometimes I wonder what would have happened to me. If I’d stayed.”
Arin places her hand on my knee and squeezes. “Probably dead for real or rotting behind bars. You would have missed out onthis.” She gestures vaguely at the home we’ve made for ourselves.
I kiss the top of her hair, breathing in the scent of her vanilla shampoo. “Thank God I didn’t.”
“What’s done is done,” my wife assures me. “You made some bad choices, yes. But you made good ones, too. In the end, that’s all that matters.”
I wrap an arm over her shoulder and bring her in close, thinking about all the close calls we’ve had. Needless to say, I’m in a strange headspace tonight. I’m one of the lucky ones, blessed with a beautiful wife, darling children, and a third one on the way.
“Come to bed, sweetheart,” she whispers, rubbing her belly. She’s two months along. We haven’t told anyone yet, but it’s only a matter of time.
“Alright, dolcezza. I’m coming.”
We return to our bedroom together, hand in hand, our bodies curling up together beneath the sheets. The whole house is quiet, the air still and warm. When the edge of a nightmare tries to take over my dreams, the light scent of Arin’s vanilla shampoo and the feel of her silky skin is all I need to push those thoughts away. I sleep peacefully at my wife’s side, grateful for the life she’s given me.
Epilogue II
Arin
I’ve long since done away with making prom dresses, but this is a unique exemption.
Felicia stands on the raised platform in front of my tri-fold mirror, deep ruby red satin draped over her body. It’s every ounce elegant as it is sexy with its corseted bodice and high slit on the left leg.
Dominic—ever a protective father—was concerned it was a little too suggestive, at which point I showed him the most risqué dresses I’ve ever made to prove him otherwise. He shut up promptly after he saw the barely there, see through dress I made entirely of Swarovski crystals that did very little to cover the nipple area. Felicia’s dress makes her look like a nun in comparison.
“Eighteen,” I muse aloud. “Time really does fly.”
My daughter laughs softly. “That’s, like, the fourth time you’ve said that today, Mom.”
“But it’s true! It feels like yesterday you were throwing tantrums when I refused to give you a pudding cup.”
“To be fair, pudding cups are delicious.”
I stand, smoothing the skirt of her dress. Even without the platform, Felicia towers over me by a good couple of inches. I’m still taller than Tomasso and little Bella, but I have a sneaking suspicion that my children are all going to inherit their father’s height. Give it another few years and I’ll likely be the smallest one of them all.
Felicia fiddles with one of her curls, chewing on the inside of her cheek as she studies her reflection with less enthusiasm than expected.
“What’s wrong, sweetie?” I ask her.