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HAPPILY EVER AFTER
Lucas
After Natalie and my family made amends, it was as if everything had fallen into place. We married not long after, in an intimate ceremony at the lake house. It felt right, doing it there. After all, it was where she’d spent her life, and where our lives had again converged. It was our home—and yet, when I was with Natalie and Sophie, anywhere would do. The concept of finding a home in people, and not places, was one I hadn’t fully understood until the day of our wedding. There we were, with both our families present—as well as Johann, who was best man, and Tala, who was maid of honor—in what I could only express as a spotless moment, one I knew would only improve with years of looking back. As Sophie walked the aisle, carrying our rings, I felt overcome by a pride I had never before experienced. I was a Mendosa, sure, and had salvaged my father’s company from ruin. And yet, looking at Natalie and Sophie, both so perfect and content, I felt as though I were living out my biggest accomplishment.
Within months, we had another child on the way. We planned to name her Skye, after Natalie’s grandmother, and she would be born within weeks of Sophie’s seventh birthday—which Sophie had been relieved to hear, as she couldn’t be made to share her birthday with another, sisters or not.
“Are you excited to meet your little sister?” Natalie once asked her.
“Yes,” she’d replied.
“Why?”
This stumped Sophie, but after she thought about it for a moment, she responded, “Because she’ll be family. And family sticks together.”
I’d been present when Sophie gave that response, and it had struck me as profound beyond her years. Yes, it was true, family was expected to stick together. But after so many trials and tribulations—me with Natalie’s family, Natalie with mine—it had been easy to lose sight of this. In the end, we’d all come together, and had our “happily ever after.” And, if nothing else, Sophie’s wisdom suggested to me that things would remain that way.
It was about halfway into Natalie’s pregnancy with Skye that we got the call—Johann’s client, the one who’d bought so many of Natalie’s paintings, was interested in sponsoring a new art museum in our town, one which exclusively featured her art. Something in the portraits, they said, possessed a rawness and intimacy that no New York gallery could properly communicate, no matter how prestigious. And so, the client would fully fund the creation of this museum, but only on the condition that Natalie herself would manage it. When she heard the news, Natalie was beside herself, and the next morning she had me call Johann to confirm that she accepted these terms. Within the month, the building was secured—ironically, only a few blocks from the gallery she’d worked at, years ago, before realizing the pay wouldn’t support her and Sophie. Architects were enlisted, plans were made, and within a matter of months, the official opening day was upon us.
We hadn’t advertised it, but word got around quickly in our town. And so, it shouldn’t have come as any surprise when, at our ribbon-cutting ceremony, it seemed as if the entire town had shown up: neighbors, friends, ex-coworkers, friends of ex-coworkers. What seemed like hundreds of people crowded the main street, throngs of apologetic locals eager to support the woman they’d judged so harshly and unfairly. For once, we were the talk of the town, and the people had only good things to say.
“Attention, all,” called the mayor, once the clock officially struck 2 p.m. “We’ve all gathered here today to support one of our own, a lifetime resident, in the opening of her first gallery. Please, a round of applause.” The audience erupted in rapturous applause, cheering and whistling and waving their arms as though they were welcoming a celebrity. Then, once the crowd died down some, the mayor continued. “Without further ado, I present to you Mrs. Natalie Mendosa!” He moved aside as the crowd again erupted in cheer. Natalie confidently assumed the spotlight.
“Thank you, everyone,” she said, her eyes flitting briefly toward me and Sophie. “I know many of you personally, and those of you I don’t…well, I’m sure you’ve heard a thing or two about me.” She paused, allowing awkward laughter from the onlookers. “I just wanted to say how much this means to me.” She took a breath, steadying herself. “They say life imitates art. But what I’ve learned over the years is that art also imitates life. We take all the things we can’t handle, and somehow we find a way to make them beautiful. For me, art is a way of coping with life’s many misfortunes. I’m glad I could turn that all into something worth sharing. Thanks, everybody.” And with that, she took the scissors from the mayor and decisively cut the ribbon, sending the audience into a passionate frenzy.
She unlocked the doors to the gallery, then stepped aside, returning to Sophie and me.
“You did great,” I whispered in her ear, kissing her on the cheek and wrapping my arms around her from behind. I felt her nestle into me, taking one of my hands in hers and holding it over her heart. With her other hand, she gently grabbed Sophie’s hand, and silently, the three of us watched as the people began gracefully pouring in.
The gallery was modest, three rooms in total, each with a different theme. The entrance, featuring her most recent work, was predominantly naturalistic settings, all lakes and trees and smiling children. The second room, just beyond a set of oak French doors, featured a series of vignettes, depicting her experience with motherhood—pastel drawings of Sophie, lavish paintings of toys scattered across her bedroom, crude sketches of the park across the street, where nondescript children could be seen teetering on the swing set. And the third room, my favorite, featured portraits, most of which she’d painted well before she and I had reconnected. I hadn’t noticed it when she first showed them to me, but I saw clearly now that many of them were of me. They were imprecise, as if forged from far-off memory, or a half-forgotten dream, and yet, I could see them as nothing other than perfect.
There, at the opening, as I looked at one of them—which portrayed a younger me, with generously muscular proportions, looking vaguely into the distance—I noticed something for the first time. In the reflection of one of the eyes, she had drawn a face. After I squinted, I could make out the contours of her face. She had painted herself into a portrait of me. I looked down at the placard, placed neatly beneath it:When He Sees Me.I hadn’t known the name of the piece, and something in this discovery overwhelmed me, to the point where I had to step out to catch some air.
“Daddy!” came a little voice, and as I turned around I saw Sophie running toward me, her arms spread wide.
I smiled down at her. “My little princess!” Suddenly revived, I swooped her in my arms. I swung her around in a circle as she giggled uncontrollably.
“Lucas!” came another voice, an older and more familiar one, and as I turned around to face my mother, accompanied by Isabella, I heard Sophie coo in excitement.
“Grandma!” she said.
“Hello, sweetheart,” she said, kissing Sophie on the forehead. Then she pulled me into a hug, Sophie sandwiched snugly between us, and whispered in my ear, “You’re just like your father, you know. He’d be so proud to see you now.”
I hugged her tighter. “I love you,Mamá. Thank you.”
She cast me a comforting look, in the way only mothers can, before setting her hand on my shoulder and looking beyond my shoulder, into the gallery. “Where’s Natalie? I want to congratulate her.”
“She should be in the main area—” I strained to see her, then pointed decisively to a corner of the room. “Right there, talking to the mayor.”
My mother patted me on the shoulder. “Be right back.” Then, taking Sophie in her arms and holding her lovingly, said, “Let’s go say hello to your mommy!”
The two of them disappeared into the crowd, and then it was only me and Isabella.
“Natalie told me you’re expecting the new baby soon,” she said. Then, in a playful tone, added, “Too bad you didn’t choose to name her after me.”
I smiled. “Isabella is her middle name.”
She grinned in a way I hadn’t seen her do since we were kids, and she grabbed me in a heartfelt embrace. “I love you,” she said, “and I’m so happy for you. For both of you.”
