The orcs gather round her and hug her close, and my heart fills with joy at the sight.
But still I hover in the doorway, clasping my present for Sally so tightly in front of me my knuckles hurt.
Someone comes up behind me and I turn to see Moe. “Where’s Otis?” Even they have a little frown. “The cake and candles are ready to be brought in, but I thought I’d wait for him.”
“I-I don’t know where he is.”
“We’ll give him a little longer to get here, then.” Moe says.
I nod, smile tremulously. Moe smiles back but they look worried themselves as they walk off.
I know I need to step forward and give Sally my gift, but fear is jabbing at my heart like a knife. What if something has happened to Otis? What if she has lost her son today?
What if I have lost my one true love, my only mate?
No, I won’t believe it.
I swallow back the lump in my throat and walk up to Sally. She looks around, but strangely, she doesn’t ask where Otis is. She opens the gift and her face relaxes into the sweetest smile as she thanks me.
“Where’s the photo, Sally?” I ask.
“Right here in my pocket.” She pats it. “We’ll put it in the frame when everyone arrives, shall we? And then we can all admire it, together as a family.” When she hugs me, I try so hard not burst into tears.
And then Moe is gesturing from the door. I guess it’s about the cake but they look very animated.
There’s a sudden commotion in the passageway, and I detect not one, but two deep male voices. As they get nearer, I can tell they are speaking in orcish.
Sally stands up, without assistance, her spine erect, her shoulders back, a look of joy and expectation on her face.
And then they burst through the doors.
Otis and…
I know just by looking at the older orc, exactly who he is.
It’s Bradley Cane.
OTIS
When my parents’ eyes meet across the room, magic happens.
It’s as though a spark passes between them, almost visible to the naked eye, tangible, lighting up the air with love.
All the monsters feel it. They brighten, their snouts twitching, tails swishing, wings flapping gently.
And then my father and mother walk toward each other, slowly, deliberately, their eyes never leaving each other’s faces until they are chest to chest.
We all hold our breath.
My mother, looking almost like a young orc again, her face raised to Dad’s, murmurs, “Mate o dia.”
Mate of mine.
“Mata o dio,” my father responds.
They embrace, and the room lets out a collective happy sigh.
Now my eyes lock with Clem’s. She’s standing, hanging back a little from my brothers and sister who are moving toward my parents.
