Hers.
EPILOGUE
ONE YEAR LATER
Sadie
“Daaaaaa, da,” Rhiannon babbles in my arms, reaching for Leo as he walks towards us. I roll my eyes affectionately. ‘Dada’ was her first word, and she is most definitely a daddy’s girl. I’m so glad she inherited his eyes.
“Heyyyyyy, flower,” he says to her, swinging her up out of my arms and sitting next to me on Lucinda and Angus’s bench. “How’s my girl?”
“Da, da, da, da,” she replies, enjoying the noise she makes.
“I couldn’t agree more,” he says to her, like they’re having a conversation. Their bond is truly one of my favourite things about my life. Seeing each of their faces light up when they see one another is almost enough to make me want to fill our house with as many children as I can pop out to see it happen even more.
Almost.
“And how’s myothergirl,” he asks me, kissing me on the lips thoroughly and enthusiastically like he hasn’t seen me in days rather than just an hour.
“Great.” I rummage in my backpack for the photos I picked up after work while Leo was at the new premises across town. “Take a look at these,” I say, getting them out and showing them to them both one by one.
“Gark,” Rhiannon says, pointing to one of her sitting at her high chair, eating toast soldiers dipped in egg while looking at Gary perched on one of the seats at the kitchen table. “Paaaaaaaaat.”
“That’s right, sweetheart,” I coo at her. I love and adore when she tries to talk. I love watching her start to make sense of the world around her. I love making her laugh by blowing raspberries on her tummy. I love her teeny tiny dark ponytail on top of her head, and the way she smells like newness and sunshine.
I loveher.
And loving her makes me love Leo all the more. It’s a side benefit I wasn’t expecting, and that I really, truly appreciate. The wallpaper on my smartphone is my favourite picture of the two of them: Rhiannon is fast asleep on Leo’s chest just after a two a.m feeding, and he’s drifted off as well, his hand on her back, keeping her safe. I can’t look at the photo without gazing for long moments, and feeling love for them both fill me from my head to my toes. I also have a copy of this photo in my wallet and tacked up in my studio.
“I want that one on the wall,” Leo agrees. “And that one…yep, and that one, too…” He sighs. “Fuck - I mean, fudge it, all of them.” Rhiannon is starting to parrot back approximations of what we say, and while we know it’s only a matter of time before she takes up swearing, and we think actual words aren’t as harmful as the intentbehindtheir use, and we’re by no means hypocrites, we’re trying to put off the inevitable as long as possible.
“Thought as much.” I put them back in the photo holder and place them in my bag. “How was it?”
“The rewiring’ll be all done by the end of the week.” On top of the community centre Leo bought months ago, which is proving very popular and always has some meeting or class or another held there, we’ve recently taken on a commercial space closer to the art college in the centre of town. The plan is to take on some newly qualified tattooists, maybe even an apprentice or two, and for Leo and I to supervise them twice a week. To begin with, they will shadow us and watch us work, and eventually, they’ll take on their own appointments. If they want to stay on board with us, we will give them a contract and get them working in another parlour, which we’re still looking for. We just want to give the up-and-comers a chance, and to teach them good habits at the start of their career. I think that’s a great use of our time and knowledge.
The original Wishbone Tattoos parlour is going to stay as it is, though. Just me, Leo (with Rhiannon held snugly against his chest in the Baby Bjorn - we don’t have a childminder or a nanny, we all just take care of her ourselves), Eli, Emily, and Dean. It would be too much like inviting a stranger into our home if we got new staff working there now.
Since we both went back to work, I’ve got more clients and more appointments than Leo. Although he still has his regulars and does one or two tattoos every day, he’s taken a step back to be able to get our new project off the ground. We still have a little while before all our accreditations and teaching licences are ready, and the building still needs a bit of TLC, but we’re almost there.
And we’re naming it Rhi-Mar-Ca-Ble Tattoos, after Rhiannon Marla Catherine.
“The gang have said they’re up for the painting party, if we can do it at the end of the month,” Leo tells me.
“That’s a relief.” It means the redecorating will get done much quicker, which is another thing ticked off the list.
“They on their way?” He frowns and checks his watch. It’s become something of a tradition; Saturdays after work we all head down to this bench, and then we all go for a lovely walk and have a meal together. Sometimes one of us hosts and cooks, and sometimes, like tonight, we book a table somewhere. Although we’re as close as we always were, working together every day and still meeting up for games night twice a month, we’ve all got other things going on. Eli and Em are almost done with remodelling their new home close to the seafront on one of the side streets, and it’s looking incredible. They’ve knocked through a wall or two to create bigger rooms, and their back garden is almost family barbecue ready. And Liaden’s podcast about all the quirks and intricacies of various languages is really taking off, along with taking over from her old arsehead colleague as Assistant Dean of her school, while Dean is getting more involved with volunteering at a dog shelter in the next town in his spare time. And as for me and the Mister, Rhiannon and the new project keeps our hands full, so these weekly meals are our way of making damn sure we don’t lose track of each other.
Rhiannon points eagerly just over Dean’s shoulder. “Eeeeeee!” It’s her way of saying Eli, and sure enough, he’s heading towards us, hand in hand with Emily, and Liaden and Dean are a couple of paces behind them.
“Hey, flowergirl,” he rumbles, still so very Cajun even after all these years living in England. Rhiannon gained the nickname when Dean and Liaden stated that they’d set a date for their wedding when she was old enough to walk down the aisle as their flower girl. She reaches up for her Uncle Eli, and he’s only too happy to pick her up for a cuddle, especially since his hair is tied up high enough to avoid Rhiannon’s new habit of grabbing and yanking it. He and Emily may be childfree, but that doesn’tstop them being fantastic with her, and they couldn’t dote on her more. She rests her little head on his shoulder, and I check my watch. She had a nap in my studio around mid-afternoon, so I think we should be OK for the walk and the meal before she zonks out. She’s just happy and comfortable.
“Bonjour, ma petite,” Liaden says to her, reaching to take her for her own Rhiannon cuddle. “Comment ca va?” She’s determined to raise our baby bilingual, and she’s tries out various languages and watched for her reactions to see if any of them grab her attention. This week, she’s trying French.
“Va va,” Rhiannon agrees.
Liaden smiles broadly. “Without the tiniest scrap of hyperbole, she is the most magnificently adorable kid in the world.” She kisses my daughter’s face. “Yes you are, you aresoadorable,” she coos, because that’s just what my daughter makes people do.
Hi, Rhiannon,Dean signs to her,did you have a nice walk with Mummy?Leo and I are definitely planning on raising her to know ASL, and she gives it a good go, wiggling her fingers and slapping them together in a nonsense imitation of what her uncle does. We all melt every time, especially Dean.
