Page 63 of Merlot Marriage

Mom:This is very unexpected, Ophelia. Are you sure that’s a good idea?

Trust Daisy to be the one who makes me feel the worst. I should have expected no less, but my mom’s message is less judgmental than I expected, and her follow-up message makes me feel even better about the whole thing.

Mom:Philip is really a lovely young man, though. Maybe more of a flibbertigibbet than I would have picked for you. But if you’re happy, then I’m happy for you, sweetie. Maybe we can have a small reception or something?

“We’re a pair of dummies, aren’t we?” Philip leans forward, resting his forehead against mine. “You’re not angry with me?”

I shake my head ever so slightly. “No, dummy, I forgave you the second you walked in the door with my favorite ice cream flavor. I’m just not looking forward to the deluge of questions we’re about to face.” Now I pull back, meeting his eyes once more. “You ready, Mr. Moore?”

He grins. “Technically, not Mr. Moore. But yeah. Let’s do it.”

Epilogue

Ophie’s eyes keep closingas we shuffle forward in line. My back aches from being squished in an airplane seat for hours and hours, but at least I managed to sleep for a good chunk of the flight from Los Angeles to Sydney. I suppose having the window seat and both of our winter coats for pillows helped. Unlike my wife, who apparently didn’t sleep longer than an hour at a time over the course of our fifteen-hour flight.

Now she’s nodding off every time we pause, only waking up to shuffle forward a few steps. “Liefling, we’re almost to the front.” I kiss the top of her head to wake her up. The smell of her shampoo is faint, and I can definitely smell the almost twenty-four hours of travel on her, but I don’t care. I’m sure I could use a shower just as badly.

And a nap.

I would kill to be horizontal right now. Instead, I hand our passports to the immigration control officer at SydneyInternational and answer her questions before steering us to baggage claim. Ophie is silent, her eyes drooping and shoulders slumping as we wait.

Last Christmas, our first married, we stayed in South Carolina, enjoying each other. Ophelia was working crazy hours as Zimmerman ramped up for the holidays, and I was still waiting to do my visa interview. Sutton’s friend Alfie hired me to help him with his headhunting business and offered to sponsor me for an H-1B visa. Besides, we didn’t want to leave our new addition to the family.

But this year, we left our greyhound rescue, Daphne, with a friend and finally managed to come see my family with my shiny new American green card in hand.

“Almost there, love.” I wrap an arm around her waist, letting her lean against me. Sweat pricks along my spine as summer sunshine pours in through the skylights above us.

“I want to be so mad at you for actually sleeping on the plane. But you looked so uncomfortable, I didn’t have the heart.” Ophie sighs as she snuggles into my side. “I didn’t think it was possible to sleep with your head at that angle. Are you sure your neck is okay?” She runs a hand up my spine, pressing between my shoulder blades, and I stifle an inappropriate groan at the pressure.

“I’ll be fine once I get a nap.” I mirror her, digging my thumb into the base of her spine, just above the waistband of her sweatpants. Before she can do more than flutter her eyes closed, her bright yellow suitcase comes down the conveyor, and I jump forward to snatch it up. I hand it off to her as my matching suitcase follows a few seconds later.

“Ready?” I grab the handle and march us off to the restrooms. “Are they in my case or yours?”

“Mine. Give me one second, and I’ll pull them out.” Ophie grins as we move out of the foot traffic. Kneeling down, sheunzips her suitcase, then pulls out a neon tie-dye T-shirt and hands it to me. Even if this weren’t going to be an epic prank, I’m eager to swap my East Coast winter gear for summer togs. She pulls out a matching cotton dress for herself before zipping it back up. “Meet you back here in five?”

I lean down to kiss her before she pulls back, making a face. “I’m going to brush my teeth. I can smell myself.” She laughs, then shoves me toward the men’s room.

Shirt changed, teeth brushed, and armpits refreshed, I wait for her in front of the women’s loo, spinning my suitcase on its wheels as I wait. An older couple shakes their head at me as they pass through to customs. I grin back, knowing they read my shirt.

So what if the joke is two years old? Pee-pee jokes are never not funny.

Ophie emerges from the bathroom, her dark hair freshly pulled back into a thick braid and looking much more awake than before. The cotton dress pulls across her chest, tempting me as always. The same bubble letters are splashed across the front, although hers spell out “Auntie Pee-Pee” instead of “Unca Pee-Pee” like mine.

She kneels down and shoves the clothing in her hand into the suitcase. “Let me just change my shoes quickly.” She swaps her trainers and socks for a pair of sandals. I don’t dare after my feet have been trapped inside my own trainers for so long.

“Ready?” I hold out my hand, and Ophie takes it.

“I cannot believe I let you talk me into this.” She shakes her head at me. “Let the record show just how much I love you.”

I pull her against my chest, resting my chin on top of her head as her arms wrap behind my back. “Talk you into this? I believe the whole thing was your idea, Mrs. van der Merwe.” Ophie grunts and buries her face deeper into my chest. “And let therecord show just how much it means to me that you’re willing to be in on the joke.”

In the two years we’ve been officially married, Ophie has not only tolerated my jokes, but she’s started suggesting her own, much to my delight. I’ll never admit it out loud, but sometimes her suggestions are funnier than mine.

Auntie Pee-Pee.

My nephews are gonna love it, and Jono is going to hate it, which is perfect.

“Let’s go, Mr. Moore. Before I fall asleep on my feet.” She tugs me toward customs and through the “nothing to declare” line.

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