Epilogue

Josiah Marquez



I was standing in a beautiful gallery. Júlia, who had just turned five two days ago, was running among the people in her twirly black dress, proudly showing off the bronze medal she had won in a swimming competition. Anyone who gave her even the slightest glance would see that medal. She often caught the attention of Bill and Harry, her doting uncles, who were whispering something in the far corner of the room.
Júlia was a delightful, friendly, and showy child. Her arms were covered in bubblegum tattoos, and her light brown, curly hair, like her mother’s, floated around her chubby shoulders.
The gallery was spacious with white, high walls lined with dozens of frames containing my drawings, displayed for my exhibition. I had rented the gallery for this event, showcasing my artwork. It was close to Ravina, now that we had moved the studio to the asphalt.
The drawings were small fragments of our life: Ana and Júlia's dimples here, the curve of my mother’s hair there, tattoo machines over there, the beautiful curve of my wife's belly, and many other things captured in pencil strokes. I resumed drawing after our wedding because my wife returned to her Literature studies, and I decided to dive back into the hobby I loved.
A beautiful woman was standing in front of one of the drawings. The illustration depicted a goddess with curly hair and a flower crown, holding a lantern that illuminated a dark cloud.
I approached her from behind, that queen in a long, pleated dress in burnt rose tones. “Pleated” was the type of fabric she had taught me about that morning. As I stood behind her, my hands resting on the curve of her perfect belly, Ana smiled.
“Are you excited for the launch of your new book tomorrow?” I whispered in her ear, kissing the exposed skin of her right shoulder, now adorned with a delicate rose tattoo.
“More excited to finally know the sex of these babies inside me,” she confessed, turning to face me and displaying her four-month pregnant belly, which held twins.
We were almost in shock when we discovered there were two, as it was a surprise. But I wanted even more little things, and having two at once left me thrilled despite the initial shock.
“It’s time!” my mother called from a distance, walking toward one of the paintings on the opposite side from us, covered by a black cloth.
She was arm in arm with Henrique, now her husband. The tall man with dark hair and kind features waved at me, and I forced myself to wave back. I felt a slight jealousy towards my mother but liked seeing her happy.
I remembered the depression she fell into when she learned about my brother, how she tried to kneel to ask for my forgiveness for doubting my words, but I held her tightly in my arms, making her understand that I loved her. I whispered in her ear that it was the past, that what mattered was how we would rebuild our relationship. So I stayed present in the life of that elegant queen who made the best cake in the world every day since then, and I never saw her cry like that day again. Thankfully, Ana couldn’t read minds or she’d be upset to know my mother’s cake was better, even though all of my wife’s food was like ambrosia from the gods.
I walked with her to the object revealing the sex of our children.
“I! I’ll reveal it, right, Grandma?” Júlia shouted, running to the front of Marta.
“Yes, dear. That’s what we agreed on.”
When my mother lifted Júlia into her lap and my daughter pulled the dark cloth from the front of the painting, my whole body went cold, and my heart gave a little jolt with Ana’s excited jumps. Her breasts bounced with her joy, waking up my mischievous side, but I focused on the moment.
Boys.
That’s what was written in blue on the square armored frame.
Ana turned to me, smiling with those perfect dimples. My wife reached for my hands, and I intertwined them with hers in front of our bodies.
“So? Are you going to tell me the names now?” she asked, anxious, since I had chosen them.
I looked at Ana with affection, pausing to build suspense. She widened her eyes, filled with anticipation as she released one hand to caress her belly.
“Bernardo and Benício,” I mustered the strength and said the names aloud, seeing the emotion sweep over her beautiful and flushed face.
Ana threw herself onto my neck, crying, with the tip of her belly slightly separating our bodies.
“Ber and Ben... How perfect, my love.”
“Yes... These will be our boys’ names.”

The end.