Page 52 of The Sun and the Moon

Cadence

That anyone ever thought this wasn’t a wedding just shows how self-involved we all truly are.

We arrive at the winery on the final shuttle, almost late and with absolutely zero regrets about it.

They’re handing out flutes of sparkling wine as an aperitif.

A sign shows us the way down the main path that heads into the vineyard and up the hill to where the gazebo sits sturdy.

Almost everyone seems to have gotten the invitations.

Turned up in the nicest thing they brought to wear.

The only person noticeably absent is Hawthorne.

Lola is standing at the gazebo stairs, holding Chicken, her bright copper hair swept up in a bun.

She’s got on a dark brown jumpsuit, glittery jewelry, and a pair of espadrilles. I give Sydney’s hand a squeeze.

“I need to go talk to Lola,” I say. “You texting your dad?”

“Nah, I think he should be kept in suspense until the last possible moment,” she says with a wicked grin. I smack a kiss to her cheek, glancing down the length of her body. She’s wearing a light blue tuxedo dress and white knee-high boots. Her hair is bombshell.

I turn to jelly every time I look at her.

“Be right back.” I walk through the crowd, my eyes catching on Kit and Julia standing in a cluster on the other side of the trail leading up to the gazebo. Julia’s eagle eye scans the setting, and I wonder what her rates are for wedding planning.

The thought catches me off guard. I don’t immediately push it away.

Lola waves Chicken’s paw at me when she sees me approaching. There’s a distance in her expression, though, like she’s not really here at all. Checked out, God forbid , about the absence of her toxic pacifist boyfriend.

“Does this make you honorary ring bearer?” I say, trying to break the funk.

“I wasn’t sure you were gonna come,” she says, cutting her eyes over to Sydney. “Either of you.” She looks back to me.

“I wasn’t, either,” I reply. “It’s been a roller coaster.”

“You know, don’t you?” she says. Her voice is tempered, measured, like she’s trying to hold in the bigger, more explosive feelings. I won’t play games with her. She definitely deserves better than that.

“Moira’s selling Kismet,” I say. Her features crumple like a piece of paper in a fist. “It’s shitty she didn’t tell you.”

“No, no—well, yeah, it is—but that’s not why I’m upset.

” She waves me off with one hand, disturbing Chicken’s comfortable position.

He makes a little peep to indicate his disapproval.

“I don’t want to go yet, but I’m about to turn twenty-seven, and I’ve never been on my own.

Not from significant others, not from Kismet. ” She pauses, and I fill in the rest.

“Not from Moira.”

She sucks in a sharp breath. “I don’t know if I can do it.”

I tuck my arm around her shoulder, tugging her close.

“No one ever feels ready,” I say. “Even when they are.”

Music begins to play. I let go of Lola, but I hope it’s not really letting go. I want her in my life somehow, even if it’s just random texts, FaceTimes at two a.m. I hope she wants that, too.

I have just made my way back to Sydney when I see Moira, dressed in head-to-toe midnight blue, and Rick beside her, wearing a matching bow tie, as they walk out into the pink glow of the sunset. They don’t know we’re here, not yet.

“How long until they see us?” she asks, leaning into me as I dip in to kiss her cheek. I can’t believe I get to just do that with her. Hopefully forever and ever.

Always.

“Less than sixty seconds,” I reply as a swell of music begins to play.

I recognize the melody immediately as the classic Etta James song “At Last.” It seems fitting for them, two people who have had to wait until later in their lives to find each other.

As they start to descend the stairs toward the gazebo, I curl my pinky around Sydney’s, and she tightens hers into a promise.

Together we slip between guests who line the walkway until we’re right at the edge where they can see us.

My eyes meet my mom’s. The green in hers matches the green in mine.

We are more the same than different, more like mother and daughter than not.

She blinks, and I watch as a tear courses down her cheek.

Forgiveness is not mundane magic.

It’s not a small thing to change, no matter how old or young you may be.

It’s alchemical—it’s altering to love someone; it gives them so much power over you. I always wanted power over myself, and I thought the only way to have that was to not let her, not let anyone, really love me. I thought that was what it meant to be untamable.

To be a Connelly woman.

But letting someone love you, that’s the real uncharted adventure.

Love is the wildest creature of all.

“Our parents are getting married,” I whisper, pressing my lips to Sydney’s ear.

“Our kids will think we’re so weird.” She leans into my touch.

To me, that’s perfect. I was always the weird girl climbing high up in the trees, and she was the bird in the sky.

The Sun and the Moon. The shadow and the light.

We no longer exist without each other.