Epilogue

June 1, 2016

East Hampton

“I cannot believe this is your wedding dress,” Juliana Del Vecchio clucked while fastening her cross necklace at Charlie’s nape, because it was bad luck to not have something borrowed. 

Smiling into the antique cheval mirror in her and Jon’s bedroom, Charlie smoothed the white shift dress stamped with blue poppies.  It was the same dress she’d worn to her first family cookout in the yard of this house, and now they were having a bigger family cookout – with a Justice of the Peace and wedding cake.   

It was also the same dress Jon had shoved out of the way to screw her against the guest house.  They were going to relive that moment sometime this summer.  At least that's what he promised this morning when spying the dress hanging in their closet.

There was no better choice of a wedding dress in her opinion, and besides… It covered old and blue in one fell swoop.

“This dress is perfect,” she asserted while inspecting the loosely twisted chignon that Anna crafted for her this morning.  The corkscrew curls framing her face were a little too structured to suit her and Charlie lightly fingered them to create a more carefree and windblown look.  “Be happy you got your June wedding.” 

The wedding date had been a heated source of debate in the early part of the year.  Charlie’s idea was to get married on August ninth, which was the anniversary of that infamous first cookout, but Jon squashed that idea right out of the gate. 

He would wait until warmer weather since her wish was to be married here on Lily Pond Lane, but Memorial Day was as far as he would go.  That is, until Juliana started talking about how nice it would be to have the wedding on her and Edward’s anniversary of June twelfth.

It was pressure from his future mother-in-law that had Jon and Charlie getting married on a Wednesday, two days after Memorial Day in the month of June.   

“I still wish you’d waited another couple of weeks,” Juliana sniffed, patting her own hair in the reflection next Charlie.  “And had a real wedding.”

How could she keep from laughing?  Her mother was so sincere that it was just… funny. 

“Ma.  I had a real wedding thirty years ago, and it turned into a pile of dog crap.  Jon and I don’t have to have a big fancy ceremony to make this official; we need a J.P.’s signature on a piece of paper.  Being barefoot in the yard and surrounded by family when we exchange rings is the icing on the wedding cake.  Okay?”

A wedding cake that she couldn’t wait for Jon to see.  The whimsical confection was her one indulgence for today and she’d been anticipating his reaction ever since placing the order.  When it was delivered to the house this morning, Charlie cried. 

Three tiers blanketed in smooth fondant icing, each stacked level had a different theme.  Designed to represent Main Beach here in the Hamptons, the round bottom tier sat in a bed of brown sugar “sand” which edged up the sides until turning into a wavy Atlantic Ocean.  The cake artist had sculpted a little dog that bore a striking resemblance to Nana, which “ran” around the edge.

The round middle section was banded at the bottom by a sugar replica of Charlie’s Love bracelet.  One side of it boasted an intricate, 3-D version of the New York skyline that included a representation of their brownstone duplex.  That layer's other side was a similarly intricate depiction of the house on the Navesink, and the two murals were “pinned” together with his guitar on one side, and a bouquet of paintbrushes on the other.

It was the uppermost tier that was her favorite, though.  This one wasn’t round like the other two because it was a six-inch cube designed to look just like the guest house out back, where she and Jon had first connected in such a visceral way.  Some artistic enhancements were added in the form of white lilacs, but the cedar shingle siding, windows and doors were perfect and left no doubt as to the source of the inspiration. 

Then, on the roof of the guest house…

Her eyes misted every time she thought about the sugar-sculpted figures of Tinkerbell and Tick Tock that sat atop it all. 

Tink wore a jaunty red beret tipped at an angle as she leaned in to kiss the croc on his snout, and he was quite smitten with the idea, as illustrated by heart-shaped pupils.  At their feet were two anchors, and the one that sat next to her little green fairy shoes read “Jon”, while the one leaned up against the hefty crocodile haunch said “Chiara”.

The final touch was a white banner that the two characters each held a corner of, displaying the black inscription.

Always smile at a crocodile!

Tony was supposed to have gotten pictures of it from every angle this morning, and she hoped like hell he did.  It wasn’t only a work of art, but it was a work of heart that she’d want to look back on over and over again.

“Okay, okay!”  Juliana threw her hands in the air in a dramatic display of defeat that effectively drew Charlie from her reverie.  "Maybe you don't need the wedding I think you do.  What do I know?"

According to Charlie’s father, the wedding could be on New Year’s Day in Antarctica with a penguin presiding, and both of her parents would be there in parkas, smiling all the way.  They liked Jon and, more than that, they adored seeing their daughter happy. 

God knew there was no one happier than Charlie. 

Alright, so maybe happy wasn’t the most apt description.  That might imply that she went around with a constant smile and rainbows in her wake.  She was still an Italian woman with an attitude and the trials of everyday life, but that everyday life didn’t leave much room for complaint.  A good hashtag would be #blissfullycontent.

There was a light knock on the door and a voice on the other side beckoned, “Mom?”

“You can come in.”

The knob turned and Caleb’s head popped hesitantly around the corner, verifying that there was nothing to scar his eighteen-year-old psyche before crossing over the threshold.  In his hand was a manila envelope, but Charlie was too busy being a proud mama to be inquisitive about it just yet.   

Her sons continued to mature and were no longer cute boys but handsome men.  Sharing a house with Jon had provided Caleb with a live-in running buddy/coach/motivator, and he was taking full advantage of it to become leaner and more muscled than ever.  With his nineteenth birthday only a couple of months away, his face was maturing and becoming more angular, and the kid – young man – in the soft yellow shirt was a heartbreaker, if she did say so herself. 

His girlfriend, Becca, agreed.

“Jon asked me to bring this to you,” he advised, offering her the envelope that she now took time to see had “Counselor” written on the face in Jon’s heavy hand.

“What is it?”

“That’s what I wanna know,” Lilah popped off with a sniff as her blingy sandals glided into the room, trailed by Izzie.  “I asked him to let me bring it, but the stubborn cuss just smirked at me and said ‘in your dreams’.  He knows how nosy I am and torments me with it every chance he gets.”

Pushing the manila rectangle into Charlie’s hand, her son drawled, “Aaaand that’s my cue to leave.  I make it a policy to avoid getting between those two.   Meet you in the kitchen.”

Both he and Noah were escorting her down the “aisle” from the kitchen door to the far end of the pool, where a simple arch of white lilacs had been erected for the occasion. 

“Okay, baby.  I’ll be down in just a minute.”

“So open the damn thing already.”

Izzie didn’t even wait for Caleb to squeeze past her and get out the door before she was crossing impatient arms over the bodice of her dress.  She and Lilah had been spending more time together, and Charlie was convinced that the pair of them could rule the world.  Lilah had a natural charm that allowed her to work people, and with psychiatrist Izzie telling her which buttons to push, the two of them were a force to reckon with.

“Yeah, open it,” Juliana seconded with an “encouraging” jab to Charlie’s bicep.  “I wanna see what has to be delivered in the minutes before he marries my daughter.”

Good grief.  If they drew her mother into their circle of evil villainy, Charlie wanted off this ride.  Joining forces would enable those three to accomplish unspeakable things, so she just passed the envelope over.  “Then open it, Ma.  I already know what it is.”

Or at least she had a pretty good idea, based on their bedtime chat last night.

While she normally loved lying quietly tangled in the sheets with Jon, last night had been different.  He was quieter than usual and unreadable eyes studied Charlie intently while light fingertips stroked her cheek over and over.  It was bothersome enough that she finally broke down to ask what he was thinking.

"Wondering whether you're nervous about the wedding," was not what she expected to hear, because that hadn't been a conscious thought for her up until that point.

Charlie considered it carefully before telling him, no.  In that moment, she wasn't nervous at all.   

Psychological counseling was still a thing for her, and with the help of the therapist, she’d managed to put her psyche at peace over a lot of things – Joey’s death, Owen’s death, and Owen’s… abuse of her.

Yes, she could even admit that she’d been abused, much to the surprise of her entire family.  To her own surprise, too, but it was supposedly a vital step in the healing process.

There were still random days that she slipped down the rabbit hole and fell into her old mindset of guilt and defensive fear.  Those incidents were beyond her control and happened without warning, so there was no guarantee she’d wake up perfectly serene on the morning of their wedding.

She reminded Jon of that and he nodded before quietly revealing that there was a second, intact copy of the divorce papers he had drawn up before Christmas.  He was holding onto them in case she ever needed the reassurance they were intended to provide.

She managed not to cry all over him at the thoughtfulness, but just barely.

The man Charlie had once accused of avoiding emotion no longer existed, having vanished right around the night of their engagement.  Ever since then, they shared their days over an evening glass of wine and he did so without filter.  Cussing a promoter, wondering if he was doing the right thing by his band members, asking her if she was okay and being truly interested in what was going on in her world were all commonplace on their couch.

He’d gone from being her fiercest opponent, to an illicit lover, boyfriend, fiancé and now… best friend. 

With last night’s conversation still so fresh in her mind, Charlie would be shocked if the second set of divorce papers wasn't inside the envelope whose clasp Juliana was now unfastening.  Jon wanted to keep her from slipping down the rabbit hole today.

 “Divorce papers?”  Juliana didn’t find his gesture as thoughtful as Charlie did and was shaking the document with outrage.  “Why is he giving you divorce papers on your wedding day?  What kind of man does that?”

“The kind who knows the woman he’s marrying.”

Meeting Izzie’s smile with one of her own, Charlie nodded in agreement with her friend’s assessment.  “He’s reminding me that this is always my choice, Ma.”

“Oh.”  Both the papers and the envelope dropped to Juliana’s side along with her non-flailing arms.  “Then I guess that’s okay.”

“I’d say it’s more than okay,” Lilah countered, stooping to pick up the folded sheet of paper than had fallen from the envelope.  “I’d say it’s sweet as a honeybee's butt.  Honest to goodness, Charlie I’m here to tell ya that he loved Dorothea, but I never saw this selfless side of him before.  It’s fascinatin’ the way he's wrapped around your little finger.”

He was anything but wrapped, but Charlie wasn’t in the mood to debate the fact. 

Yes, he shared himself with her, but there would never come a day when he neutered himself to the point of letting her run the show.  They still went at it like prizefighters when there was a difference of opinion, with each determined to make his or her stance known.  That’s just how they were built.  She and Jon needed to get it all out in the open by voicing their opinions loud and clear, because when they did…  That’s when the compromise began. 

It worked for them.

“What’s that?”  She inquired curiously at the thin sheet of paper that Lilah was reading and grinning over like a fool. 

“Somethin’ that’s way sweeter than those stinkin’ divorce papers.”

Holding out a hand to accept what was obviously a note from Jon, it took Charlie only seconds to skim the contents.  She took far longer to revel in it and the bloom of warmth that followed.

Counselor,

Here’s your insurance policy.  I figure you should be the one to hold onto it, but do it with the knowledge that your signature on the dotted line will break my fucking heart.  No pressure.

♥J  

It took three times through before she was able to tear her eyes away from the familiar script and pass it into Izzie’s impatient hand.

“Do not lose that.  Put it in the top drawer of the dresser when you’re done.  Ma, give me the divorce papers.”  Finding that Lilah was still grinning at her, Charlie scowled and demanded, “What are you doing still standing there?  Go get your daughter and meet me in the kitchen. Oh, and make sure Tony has taken eight thousand pictures of that cake.  Ma, go find Daddy and tell everybody to get seated.  Izzie, there’s a basket on the back of the toilet in the guest bathroom.  Get it for me.  Let’s get this show on the road.”

😊 😊 😊 😊 😊

Jon pushed the untucked blue hem of his shirt out of the way, shoving both hands in cargo shorts pockets as he smiled and half-listened to Tony and Dom’s conversation about food prep.  Tony’s shirt was white and Dom’s was light orange, but they were both the mandatory button-downs decreed as the men’s uniform of the day.  The two of them were overseeing the reception/barbecue after the ceremony, and Dom was detailing the creation of his secret shrimp marinade as they stood in the shade at the edge of the yard.

Personally, Jon couldn’t care less.  He was more interested in peering past the lilac arch toward the kitchen door.  There was no reason to believe the counselor was going to leave him standing at the altar, but he needed to see her face.  To know that there wasn’t fear and uncertainty hovering behind her eyes. 

Because if there was…

Well, there wasn’t a fucking thing left for him to do about it. 

There was nothing of material consequence left for him to offer.  The Tribeca apartment was gone, the new brownstone was now a completed part of their Brooklyn home, and she owned half of this house along with a boat that she knew nothing about yet. 

There wasn’t even anything left to give of himself, except for a promise of tomorrow.  He’d forked over his fucking soul – twice – with those damn divorce papers, and carved her a personal entrance into the fortress that kept him separated from the rest of the world.

No longer could she accuse him of avoiding an emotional or any other kind of conversation.  He held nothing back and had placed her in the center of his very exclusive circle, which was a group of individuals that got the “privilege” of seeing him at his best, worst and everything in between.

The way he saw it, once a woman held your head while you puked your way through the flu and still managed to look at you with love in her eyes...  She deserved no less than everything, and he’d done his damnedest to give it.

With the other shit, it should be enough.  Logically he knew it was enough, but it didn’t stop him from standing here and watching the goddamn door like Nana waiting for them to come home from a party. 

“Hey.  Stop fantasizing about the honeymoon and answer the question.”

He was mildly surprised to see that Luke had joined them sometime during the ridiculous tour of Insecurity Land.   Having chosen pale green as his shirt color, the counselor’s brother stared expectantly, waiting for his answer while Jon had no idea what the question was.

“Sorry.  What?”

The other two men didn’t even try and hide their laughter.  Because his brother was an asshole, Tony tossed in a shit-eating grin to go with his mocking, “He asked what you decided to do with the old lady’s money.”

“Yeah.  Charlie told me a couple weeks ago that you two were still trying to come up with a plan for it.  Having any luck?”

“Not yet,” he told them with a shake of his head.  “But we’re working on it.”

The money wasn’t exactly a source of contention between them, but they hadn’t found the right way to fulfill their friend’s wishes yet.  Melding his heart and her soul – or vice versa – into a legacy for Chiara wasn’t easy.

The very first idea was a coffee shop much like Dorothea’s Soul Kitchen in that it was donation only.  The premise was that “Coffee with a Friend” would provide coffee and pastries under the red beret logo that Chiara designed, but she ended up dismissing the plan as being “not enough”.

Working with Luke in the restoration process of both brownstones, along with her affinity for preserving architecture led to a brief discussion of restoring impoverished neighborhoods to their former structural glory.  A very brief discussion, because the counselor said it was more her than Jon.  She wanted their endeavor to equally reflect them both, and not even the argument that he’d been building houses for years would sway her.

As of yesterday, their most viable option was funding after school programs in some of the less privileged areas of New York.  They were both passionate about the arts, which led to a natural progression of wanting to share that passion and ensuring that it thrived in the generations to come.  Adding acting, music and art lessons to existing programs would be easy to do, but the counselor wasn’t sure it was much of a legacy or what Millie had in mind. 

They would come up with something sooner or later, but for now the money sat untouched in a separate joint account.   

“Everybody take a seat.  It’s time!” 

Thank God.

Juliana shooed her sons toward the half-dozen round tables that were dressed for a barbecue with blue and white checked cloths.  There was no typical audience seating at this wedding, with bride’s family one side of the aisle and the groom’s on the other.  The bride and groom both shared the opinion that there was no “his” family and “hers”.   This family was “theirs”, and everyone was used to that by now.

Besides that, the counselor said, it was a waste of energy to set it up for a five-minute ceremony.  Her reasoning was that they’d spend most of the afternoon and evening eating and socializing, so everyone could just sit at the tables and sip wine during the brief exchange of vows.   

Still staring attentively at the back door while taking his place with the Justice of the Peace and Tony in front of the lilac arch, Jon easily caught sight of the masculine hand that protruded and waved.  One of the boys was signaling that the bridal party was ready, and Jesse launched the counselor’s custom “Wedding March” over the portable sound system. 

Even toned-down from the version that would appear on the album, the song was completely inappropriate for a traditional wedding.  Theirs was not a traditional wedding, however, and this was perfect for him and his bride.  The beat was still driving and optimism reigned as Jon’s recorded voice requested, “Marry me to the blue sky”.

The first person to come through the door was M.J. with a little basket, and she was conscientiously following Izzie’s whispered instructions by dropping just a few… something at a time as she walked toward her daddy and Jon.  He didn’t remember Chiara saying that they’d have a flower girl, but whatever.  As long as the counselor planned to follow behind, he didn’t give a shit if there were flame-eating knife jugglers rocking out to his newest track. 

Izzie stepped fully out of the house next, her short pink dress adhering to the women’s uniform of the day, which was “something summery and comfortable”.  The bouquet in her hand was a professionally designed arrangement of white lilacs from the local florist, and it was nice.  Still, Jon preferred the one the counselor would be carrying, since she hand-picked the flowers from out front just this morning.

He was into sentimental shit like that, which was why he loved that she wanted to get married in their yard.  It was simple and the venue actually meant something to them, whereas a rented facility would just be a big, impersonal room.

She’d done good.  Again.

As the verse shifted to the chorus with a defiant, “I ain’t living with the ghost”, his bride stepped through the back door and onto the patio.  With one son on each arm, her smile was radiant as she took the first barefoot step onto the grass, and Jon released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. 

“I can’t believe you thought she wasn’t coming,” Tony mumbled out the side of his mouth as M.J. wrapped an arm around his thigh and swung the now-empty basket. 

“I didn’t think that.”  The denial was likewise mumbled out the side of his mouth as he vaguely registered the blue and white flowers that littered the counselor’s path.  “I’m just ready to get this done.”

“Mhm.  Whatever.” 

It wasn’t worth his time to glare at Tony.  Chiara was getting closer now, and her pink toenails caught his eye to make him realize…  Those weren’t flowers that M.J. had been spreading.  It was paper confetti.

Weird.

Arriving at the archway, Noah passed his mother’s right hand into Jon’s before dusting a kiss over her cheek.  He followed with a pat on the back for Jon as Caleb bussed the other side of the counselor's face.  Jon's hand was then clasped in a warm shake before both of his "bonus sons" took seats at the nearest table. 

Chiara twisted on the grass so the ends of their bare toes almost touched, and tipped her face up to reveal chocolate pools filled with nothing but love and contentment.  She wasn’t scared.  She didn’t have reservations.

She was going to allow the narrow platinum band to be slipped on her finger and willingly accept his last name as her own.

Jon was left feeling as light as the early summer breeze that danced in her hair, but saying it aloud would mean admitting his fear. No way was that happening here in front of their five brothers.

Later.  Maybe during the two weeks they’d spend cruising the East Coast in their new boat.  He’d tell her, she’d laugh while calling him a dumbass, and all would be right with the world.

For now, though, he chose to murmur something far more mundane.  “Confetti?”

“Mhm.”

“Where’d you get confetti?”

“Divorce papers.”  The curt response was followed by a dangerous arching of her brow.  “You give me one more set of those, it’s not your heart that’ll get broken.”

Lilah was right, Jon thought as he laughed into the heavens that were smiling down upon them.  She was so fucking right that this woman was the rest of his life. 

~# The End #~

As always, thank you all for joining me on another adventure.  Some days, these stories are the only things that get me through and it's my pleasure to share them with those who can find a bit of enjoyment within their "pages".  Until next time, I wish you all peace, love and Jovi!  <3 blush