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‘Roulaismy bride,’ Galen said. ‘The celebrant is here, and when you’re ready we would like you to see us marry.’
‘Galen!’ She was tearful. ‘Married?’
‘Yes.’ He nodded. ‘I am in love, Yaya, and it would seem she loves me.’
‘Good, good...’
‘And,’ he told her, ‘no one else knows this yet, but we’re having a baby.’
‘Before marriage?’
‘We’re sorting that out right now. We’re having a little girl.’
Sometimes it was better to lie, because it was actually a little too early to be sure.
‘We’re going to call her Constantina.’ Roula told her what Galen could not, for today there was no need for pretence. ‘After Galen’s mother—and it’s your middle name too.’
‘Yes...’
‘Yes,’ Galen said, and then in front of these two women he cried. ‘I remember everything you ever told me about her. I love because of you. The bestyaya, the best parent—you are everything I want to be for my child. You loved little robot me.’
‘Horrible boys,’ she said, just as she had then. ‘Clever you are.’
‘I have been blessed to have you.’
It was the shortest, the sweetest wedding, in a room full of Anapliró memories and love, toasted in Anapliró water with a very light sponge cake and just a little smear of fig jam.
‘Constantina...’ Yaya beamed.
‘Yes!’ Roula smiled.
‘Honeymoon?’
‘We’re saving it for Christmas,’ Galen told her. ‘We’re going home to have the baby.’
‘Home?’
‘Our Anapliró home.’
It would not be dissolving into the sea.
