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Christmas morning. The sun has yet to rise, and I’m already in the kitchen with Sir Ken, Perdita, and Stevezie, all of us conspiring to fill the Manse with the cinnamon and hot oil smells of my signature cornbread French toast before the rest of the crowd comes downstairs. Christmas in Connecticut is playing in the living room, the pine candle and the tree is aglow. While I man the pan, Stevezie handles the griddle and Ken and Perdita set the table and make coffee and tea. Soon enough, Dwellers start trickling in, and we gather around the table for our breakfast. When everyone is stuffed, and Stephen starts helping me with preparing the brunch cocktails, Denis, Ryan and Penélope arrive, to Perdita’s greatest joy. The girls rush upstairs together to do god knows what for a little while as we adults have a short cocktail hour around the dining table. It’s the first time the bunch of us have gathered all at once in a while—the inimitable Christmas muster of every dear-hearted member of our ever growing family—and things soon get very jolly indeed. But then the girls return, wasting no time dragging us all into the living room to open the presents. Miraculously, half of them are for Perdita; a result of my prudent husbands’ collective bet that I’d give birth in time for the holiday. Between them, they unwrap half a dozen sets of science kits and art supplies, puzzles and toy construction materials—just the kinds of things I loved getting when I was a kiddo. Imagining just how busy the two of them would be with all the projects before them makes my head swim. “But Pen,” I wonder aloud at one point, “Did you not get anything for your dads with your allowance?” She gives me a hard stare, then glances to either side at all her fathers’ still faces. “I saved something special for everyone…pour plus tard,” she says with a big, reassuring nod. She looks to her sister as well, and they both giggle. “Verás… you will see!” *********** Once the morning’s excitements have passed, Tilda and I head up to my master to get dressed while everyone else heads down to the beach to do final prep for the ceremony. Joliver attends to us, frequently responding to texts and inquiries from the crew on the beach while we sip our mimosas and do our hair and makeup. Jon, despite his insistence on simplicity, still left a garment box on my bed for me to discover. Touched, I open it to find an astonishingly bright golden orange strapless sundress of iridescent silk taffeta that shines like cirrus clouds over a summer sunset. Tilda’s eyes go wider than I’ve ever seen them. “Madam, either Jon has gone blind or he will when he lays eyes on this,” she says, admiring the shiny fabric. “It’ll stand out in any crowd.” I wink. “You would know, Miss Cannes festival fashion queen.” She smiles, winks right back. “I’m a sucker for boldness.” “That’s why I love you,” I say, sighing as I caress the folds of the skirt. “I know Denis at least will get a real kick out of this… it’s his favorite color.” Tilda tilts her head, then takes a quick sip from her champagne glass. “I think you’ll please a lot of eyes today.” Just then, Joliver comes in from the secret office door, having just gotten off the phone. “Alright, ladies, show’s on in an hour, so let’s get you dolled up and I’ll drive you down in the golf cart.” “Pfft, in the past, it was long gowns and escorts on horseback,” Tilda observes. “Jon really wasn't kidding about scaling back." I shake my head, smiling all the same. “I’ve had enough excitement in the last 24 hours, so his low-key style is fine with me.”
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Joliver swings by with the golf cart, which is at least decked out with tinsel garland and electric lights—festive enough for the occasion—and drives us down to the cabin, taking us to the front door in pure Floridian December style. Tilda, dressed in a rather toned-down (for her) dark burgundy pantsuit, leads me inside while Joliver drives off around the house to the beach. As soon as we enter, I see Jon standing in the living room, looking rather dapper in an all-white suit with a bright blue tie. Despite myself, I nearly avert my eyes out of a latent sense of “tradition,” but then I just walk right up to him, hands on my hips. “Jon, what the actual F—” “Hear me out, bubbe,” he says gently, blinking at my fantastic apparel. “Wow, somehow that’s even brighter than I anticipated.” I cross my arms over my chest and sigh. “What are you doing?” He lays his hands on my bare shoulders and smiles. “We’re doing things a little differently this year, at the request of Penélope.” “Oh, is this her surprise she mentioned?” “I’m just going to take my place now, then,” Tilda says with a smile at Jon. “Good luck.” As she heads out the back door onto the deck, I notice all the window blinds are totally shut, so one cannot see the bower and chairs set up the night before. I suddenly feel my hands go clammy with nerves. “What is this?” Jon sucks in a huge breath, leans in to give me a quick kiss, breaking so many rules. “Madam, I know we don’t do Christmas presents, but I felt it my duty as second husband to use my power for good and swing for the rafters, all else be damned.” I stare at him, holding my breath. “You’re not pregnant now are you?” He snorts. “Pfft, please, I’m way past my birthing years, sweetheart, but I’m flattered you’d think so—” “Then what—” “Before we head out there,” he says, voice lowered, but no less authoritative, “I need you to know that… I initiated this, and all of us husbands agreed to it, not a single objection whatsoever. You, my dear, are the only one with veto power, as always. But we sincerely hope you will accept this gift with the same spirit in which it is being offered. It’s Christmas, after all, and we know how much you love our tradition, and while we’re not breaking with it, we’re just… eh, expanding it.” It suddenly hits me why Tilda left us, why she was apt to “take her place”—she’s only ever presided over new weddings, not Christmas ones. My heart begins to thump hard against my ribs, and I try to keep my breathing steady, and I find this panic comes not from nerves, but from a genuine state of surprise… and no small amount of overwhelm. “Bubbe,” Jon says, seeing my deer-in-the-headlights expression, “I promise… this was meant to be.” In a walking state of catatonia, I feel him lock his arm with mine and he leads me toward the door. As soon as it opens, the afternoon sunlight floods my senses, and I hear the rustle of the crowd standing to attention. My eldest daughter is at the base of the deck steps, dressed as orange as I am in a similar frock as mine, carrying a basket of golden silk petals. She grins wider than ever as Jon leads me closer. She takes my free hand and looks up at me with all the confidence of her being. “Feliz Navidad, Maman,” she whispers, kissing my hand before skipping down the aisle formed by the chairs in the sand, tossing the flowers high up in the air over her head as she goes. I find I can hardly look up high enough to see what’s at the end of the aisle, but when I do glance there, I only see Tilda, standing out amongst all the white and bright in her dark costume. All the usual Dwellers watch Jon take me down the aisle—all smiling, some even dabbing at their eyes—and I realize that only the music of the waves and the Gulf breeze accompanies us as we step right up under the white trellis laced with big silver and gold ribbons and white Christmas lights. All I really see in that moment is Jon, smiling puckishly as he faces me and holds my hands in his. “Today, we celebrate the unique union of our Madam with Jon, her second husband of the Manse,” Tilda begins, casting her crystal voice over the sounds of Nature and what I consider some seriously premature sniffling amongst the group. “As we all know, before the Manse was even a twinkle in her eye, Jon was already lodged in her heart, and most importantly, her shamelessly nerdy brain. It was a true marriage of minds, an exceptional partnership that existed outside the usual boundaries. But eventually, they managed to.. submit to human impulses… and just get hitched like normal people." Jon chuckles along with everyone else at that, and I blush at the memory of our strange insistence on Platonicism that did, in fact, eventually become physical, and our relationship became all the better for it. “So perhaps it is most fitting that Jon has insisted on taking responsibility for resolving a similar resistance effort in recent days,” she says, pausing until I turn from my husband to her, and wrinkle my brow. She smirks, holds her hands out in the direction of the group. I finally look out amongst them, at first spotting both my daughters flanking Sir Ken in the front row of the “bride side.” Then I see Stevezie, Stephen, Tommy Lee, Jeff, and Andy seated behind them. Joliver is on the aisle on the “groom’s side,” with all my boyfriends, old and new. Then I squint when I notice the unmistakable faces of Javier and Josh sitting in the back row on my side, both of them smiling so hard I think they’ll burst. My jaw drops, but then my gaze is drawn to the open door of the cabin. Denis and Ryan, hand in hand, step out onto the deck, both clad in blue seersucker suits and white linen shirts, roses the shade of persimmons pinned to their lapels. I blink slowly, almost unable to take it all in at once. The excitement makes me dizzy and Jon intuitively wraps his arm around my waist. He leans close, kisses my cheek, then whispers, “Marry them, Madam. Marry them both. Don’t deny yourselves like we did all those years ago.” I look to him, tears forming, and the only response I have is to kiss him, hug him, weep into his shoulder. “I marry you, pupik,” I whisper. “I marry you again.” Jon chuckles, kisses my hair. “I marry you too, bubbe.” I can barely even swallow, even as I hear my lovers come closer, and everyone sits down again as soon as Denis and Ryan reach us under the bower. Jon caresses my back, offers me a handkerchief, and everyone graciously gives me a moment. When I lift my head again, wiping my eyes, I stare down at first, and only see Jon reaching for Denis’s and Ryan’s hands. Both are slightly shaking. He gives them to me and I hold them, absently rubbing the scar on Denis’s right hand with my thumb. “Remember, Madam,” Denis says quietly then, in his rich, soothing baritone, “How I got that scar during an audition when I was young?” I nod my head, blink at more tears, and finally look up at him. His smile is the platonic ideal of happiness. “It reminds me that I should never act… because, as you know, I am very bad at it, so… you understand how hard it was for me to act this week… to act like we didn’t have a surprise for you.” I bite my lip as he chuckles. Ryan pats Denis’s hand, gazes at him with a depth of love that could swallow us whole. “I gave him some pointers, and it seems we managed not to give away the game.” I take a shaky deep breath and reach up to cup Ryan’s cheek. I open my mouth, but then Penélope comes over, holding up a little black box toward her fathers. Inside are two simple gold bands. She grins at me as Denis and Ryan each take one out of the box. “I saved todo mi dinero for these,” she says in a secretive voice. I bend down, feeling too heavy anyway, and hug her tightly, kissing her cheeks twice over. Her hair smells as rosy as the day she was born. I hold her face close to mine and look into her big brown eyes. “You are… the sweetest little girl, mon lapin. I love you.” She wipes the tears from my cheeks with her tiny fingers before she kisses my lips. “I hope you like your present,” she says, pointing up at her dads. “J'ai choisi leurs vêtements!” “Oh, Pen, they look so handsome,” I say with half a chuckle, “I couldn’t have asked for better.” My daughter smiles and encourages me to stand back up, takes my hands and gives them back to Ryan and Denis before she steps away, re-joins her sister and Ken. I see the excitement in Penélope’s eyes and know that I cannot disappoint her, but at the same time, I feel I must get something off my chest. “Please… don’t think me ungrateful, everyone, but… I need a quick minute… alone… with my suitors.” Without hesitation, I lead Ryan and Denis straight back up the aisle, onto the deck, and back inside the cabin. I whirl around as soon as the door shuts and clasp my hands together before them, finally breathing as hard as I need to, now that I am within the safe haven of our love nest. I look to their semi-panicked faces and try to convey assurance to them with my tone. “I love you both… so very deeply, and I admit wholeheartedly that this is one of the most romantic things my Dwellers have ever done, I can’t possibly deny you now… but I must tell you this,” I say, my voice cracking a bit. They both step closer, each reaching one hand out to touch my arm, frowning with worry. I swallow hard. “I must tell you that… the real reason I kept finding reasons to avoid marrying you is that… I do not feel worthy of you. Either of you. You’re both so wonderful, so superlative, so kind and sweet and talented—” Denis shakes his head vehemently. “Madam, my love, please—” “Denis, you’re such an inspiration, and I want to do you proud someday, and Ryan, my heart, you’re too precious for this world, none of us deserves you—” “We don’t deserve you either!” Ryan interrupts, silencing us. He looks back and forth between me and Denis, nose flaring with a carefully controlled frustration. His stare is as hard as I’ve ever seen it. “Madam, Clicquot, sweetheart, this isn’t about deserving. Damnit, Hamlet said something about it, I know it from watching that whole movie with you last week! Didn’t he say like, if you treat people as they deserve, we’re all screwed?” I nod, timidly quoting, “Use every man after his desert and who shall ‘scape whipping?” Ryan nods, holds up his hand, chopping at the air with it. “There’s honor and merit in treating people better than they deserve, and I think that applies to ourselves too. You must treat yourself better, you deserve better than you think. You think so much of us. You give so much to us. All of us. You love so much. In here and out there.” Both Denis and I stare at him, slack-jawed. I feel a swell of pride that some Shakespeare sunk into him, and I’m struck by the very husband-like analysis he’s made. “That’s beautiful, Ry,” Denis says, nearly crying himself. “You hit it right on the nail, là,” he says, turning to me, taking my hand. “Isn’t he right, mon amoureuse? We have so much love to share, deserving or not.” I close my eyes, let out my breath in a moan of relief, and finally allow myself to step into their awaiting arms. After a minute, my heart is in my throat, and I cannot speak, but they read me just fine, just as husbands do. “You look so beautiful, by the way,” Denis says, breaking the silence. “This color on you is absolutely beautiful.” Ryan laughs. “Penny picked our outfits but Jon picked yours, Madam. Even Jon knew your favorite color, Denis, you make it so obvious.” Denis shrugs. “What can I say?” I sniffle and smile up at Denis. “It’s the exact opposite color of Canadian winters.” “But it’s the exact color of his soul,” Ryan adds. “So fuckin’ orange.” The laugh we share fills in the little cracks in my heart with gold, and I point at the door. “Well, shall we, then? I feel much better now.” “Let’s,” Ryan says. “I’m dying to just kiss you both.” When we step outside, a little applause rises up, gets louder as we make our way up the aisle again. When we reach Tilda and Jon, both presiding, Denis, Ryan, and I join hands in a little triangle and regard each other in turn, trying our best not to break. Tilda smiles, looks to each of us in turn, gets right down to it. “Ryan, do you?” Ryan nods, winks at both me and Denis. “I do.” “Denis, do you?” Denis’s eyes glimmer. “I do.” “Madam, do you?” I squeeze my lovers’ hands, take a deep breath before the dive. “I do.” Jon gives a little bow of his head, holds out both hands toward Denis and Ryan. “With the power vested in me by Madam, I declare you officially eighth and ninth husbands. Congratulations, my friends.” The Dwellers all applaud, a few whistles sprinkled in there now and then. Ryan smiles at Denis, tilts his head toward me. “Go on, number eight.” Denis grins, leans in to give me a solid, modestly hot kiss, then places his hand over my heart, whispers, “I am still your amoureux, my love. Comme toujours.” I kiss him back and smile. “Mon amoureux… et mon mari,” I say, then turn to Ryan, reaching up to touch his face. “Et tu es aussi… my ninth husband.” “And proud of it,” Ryan says before kissing me in his most polite manner. “I love you, Madam.” “I love you too, Ryan.” “And Denis, you too,” Ryan says, blinking at tears as he cups the back of Denis’ neck and kisses him a bit more forcefully. “Je t’aime my octopus.” “Je t’aime, Boulanger,” Denis says. He pulls Ryan close with one arm and tugs me over with the other, hugging us both tightly against him. “Mes chers partenaires. I don’t believe it…” he says, his voice hitching a little. “Désolé, I never knew… how much this means to me, right now, in the moment.” Ryan and I hold our husband tightly as he regains his composure. My own heart wrenches to see Denis in such a rare state of raw emotion, and I instantly wish I had married them sooner. But then we would not have had the chance to test our attachment, to vet this new trifold set of vows. Somehow it means all the more because we did not expect it.
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Since we have to wait until dark for the big movie premiere, we spend the remainder of the afternoon having our reception in and around the beach cabin, mostly hanging out on the big deck. The air is warm but not humid, with the occasional breeze preventing the bright sun from heating us too much. There’s a lot of nibbling and noshing and imbibing, along with the occasional dance-off. More than a few times, Penélope and Perdita pull me away from the center of the population and onto the little wooden dance floor set up on the sand. They had personally filled out my dance card, and gleefully spend half their time making sure I get floor time with each of my Dwellers. At one point, while Ryan and Denis are dancing sweetly in one corner to a slow, instrumental rendition of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas,” my girls tug me over to Tommy Lee. As I dance with my fifth husband, his warm, weighty grace manages to effortlessly soak up much of the usual anxieties and stresses I get from these big gatherings of ours. Near the end of the song, Tommy Lee lifts my chin to kiss me, smiles, then flicks his eyes up and behind me. “I think our girls have chosen your next partner, Queenie.” I smile and look over my shoulder to see Josh standing right behind me, Penélope and Perdita at his sides, holding each of his hands, grinning like crazy. In what I would call dark dress jeans, silver-tipped cowboy boots and a button-down shirt with a delicate red-and-white paisley print, he looks just as festive as suits him. “You two behave now,” Tommy Lee says with a wink as he hands me off to his friend. Josh gives a quick nod, mimes a tip of his hat, then reaches for my hand. “Madam.” The girls giggle as they both escort Tommy Lee back to the deck. A slightly more lively recording of “Winter Wonderland” starts up and Josh gamely takes the lead, one hand on my waist as he awkwardly shuffles about a bit. I finally snort and blush at his attempt at rudimentary dancing. “I warned your girls about my two left feet, but they insisted,” he says with a laugh. “Oh it’s fine, you’re fine,” I say, shaking my head as I pat his chest encouragingly. “It’s just an excuse to get acquainted.” Josh nods and grins, then glances around, nods nervously over at Denis and Ryan before winking at me. “I’ve been duly warned, you know.” “Who told you what?” I say, chuckling. “Tommy Lee said you might lead me into temptation.” “Oh?” “I apologise for not being able to partake of your cocktail prowess, Madam.” I nod respectfully. “Sober is as sober does. I applaud your honesty and dedication.” “Also, he reminded me that you’re not in the market for a boyfriend at the moment, but even if you were, I’d be far too scared of your husbands anyway. They are my friends after all.” “Josh Brolin,” I say emphatically, leaning closer with a cheeky smile, “properly stayed and humbled.” He shrugs. “I have survival instincts.” I laugh. “I see. Well, we ought to have a non-potent potable together sometime. And get better introduced… after the holidays.” His chuckle has a timbre not unlike Tommy’s, and I chide myself for having such a predictable type. “I’d like that very much, Madam.” A few minutes later, Penélope and Perdita lead another newbie to take over for Josh. “Encantado de conocerla, Madam,” Javier says with a big bow at his hips. He looks up again with a wide grin and takes my hand. “Let us show this gringo how to dance,” he says as he playfully shoves Josh aside. He kisses both my cheeks, his healthy, pleasantly musky beard softly tickling my skin, then takes me by the waist, holding me close as another slow, romantic song begins. We sway gently for a moment, then Javier chuckles softly. “You have all my respect, Madam, for keeping control of so many people in your family here,” he says, eyes wide with wonder. “How such a tiny woman has so much power… it intrigues me very much.” I look up at him, smiling flirtatiously on instinct. “Well, I’m sure you will soon learn why from all my husbands and boyfriends eventually.” “Will I not learn from you?” Javier asks with a wink. I giggle and reach up to touch his healthy salt-and-peppery beard. “Oh you’ll learn plenty from me… and my daughters. Sometimes I think I had them just so I could have help running this place.” Javier laughs. “Is it true your Penélope is named after my wife?” “Yes, of course,” I say. “Denis named her because he knows how much I respect your Penélope.” “Que dulce,” he says, patting my shoulder. “Perhaps you will meet her one day, no?” I blush so hard I think my face will burn up. “Perhaps.” Just then, Denis comes over and taps on Javier’s shoulder. “May I have a turn, my friend?” “Por supuesto, por supuesto,” Javier says and quickly steps aside, handing me off to my new husband. “And congratulations, Denis, to you and Ryan, on your new marriage. You three are so beautiful together.” Denis holds his hand to his heart, grinning. “Thank you, sir, I am so glad you could be here with us for this special day.” “It was all my pleasure, but now, don’t let me keep you. I will go emmm… find something to drink with Josh and Tommy Lee, I think.” With that, Javier trots off, finds his friends and heads to the bar. Denis smiles as he watches him go, but as soon as he focuses on me, his lovely cheeks grow even more pinchably round. “He’s such a great guy. I am glad you finally got to meet him and Josh.” I reach up with both hands and cup his cheeks, pull him down a bit so I can kiss him firmly. Then I stare into his eyes a moment, watching his smile grow even bigger somehow. “I cannot believe we’re married,” I whisper, shaking my head as I feel my heart stretch and wrap around itself. I few tears well up and Denis dutifully kisses the corner of my eye, then whispers in my ear. “Nothing has to change, if you don’t want, chérie.” I shake my head again, wipe at my cheeks. “No, it’s OK if there’s some change… I already feel something is a little different, but in a good way.” “Hmmm,” he hums, nodding, catching my gaze again. “Oui, Je me sens… Je me sens possessif… a kind of posession…non non that sounds bad—” “No no, you’re right. Quelque chose comme ça… I feel it too.” He lets out a held breath. “Mais c’est… aussi protecteur, tu sais?” “Mmmm, ouais, ouais, d’accord. Maintenent, you, me, Ryan, and Penélope… we belong to each other even more.” With a renewed smile, Denis holds me close, holds his hands on my hips as I interlock my fingers behind his neck for another kiss. He licks his lips, glances over where Ryan is laughing with Javier and Josh and Tommy Lee. He chuckles. “What a strange group we have.” My heart sings to see everyone having a lovely time. I close my eyes against the new tears. “I never should have held you two off for so long—” “Shhhh, non non, Madam, ma femme,” Denis says, hugging me close, rubbing my back. He rests his cheek on the top of my head. “Everything comes in time, là. We were together this whole time. I would not have changed that.” And with that precious new endearment, I hug him tighter, melting ever more. A minute later, I feel two more arms come from behind and wrap around me, and I savour the hum in Ryan’s chest against my back. “You two are so cute,” Ryan says. “And you’re both mine now.” “Absolument,” Denis says. “Ton mari et ta femme.” “Hmmm, my boys,” I say, taking one of Ryan’s hands and holding it to my heart. “My very good boys.”
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Just before the darkness falls, Penélope, Ken, and Andy start setting up and testing the projector, and that’s just when Stevezie spots two very special guests as they arrive. “Mamba, look,” he whispers to me as he points across the beach where two well-dressed figures are walking toward us in the sand. One is in a fine red carpet half-kilt, half-suit getup and the other is wearing a satiny black halter top jumpsuit. Their big smiles are visible from a hundred yards away. I gasp. “Ohmygod, they came!” I say, squeeing with all my heart before I slip off my shoes and run barefoot out to greet them. “Madam!” Matthew says, arms outstretched just before I bypass him and head straight for his date for the evening. “Mistress!” I say as we hug and spin and jump around, giggling like schoolgirls. “I’m so thrilled you’re here!” “Of course we’re here!” my old friend says. “We wouldn’t miss Penélope’s premiere! Especially since this handsome boy is in it.” She grabs Matthew’s hand and kisses his cheek. “Are we in time?” “Yes, they’re just about to start,” I say, leading them toward the party. “What’d we miss?” Matthew asks. “Oh, I got re-married to Jon, and then I double married Denis and Ryan,” I say with feigned nonchalance. Mistress gasps, grins and laughs, gives me a hug. “Oh, congratulations! We all knew it was just a matter of time before they wore you down. They deserve to be husbands after all. They’re such good boys.” I blush and nod. “They really are. Come say hi! Oh and Javier and Josh are here too.” “Are they fighting over you already?” Matthew says with a wink. I playfully slap his arm. “They damn well better not. I’m busy enough as it is. I’ve decided they’re here more in a brotherly role.” “Makes sense,” Mistress says. Stevezie waves us over, all grins and open arms. “Mistress Ginger Snap! It’s been a minute!” Mistress giggles and gives him a big hug. “Oh Steve, I’ve missed you too. Garebear sends his love.” “Where is he anyway?” “Oh, he said he’s too old for these huge parties,” Mistress says with a slight roll of her eyes. “He’s just being shy is all. But he’ll come visit for tea sometime.” “I’m looking forward to it,” Stevezie says, waves us toward Ryan and Denis. “Come meet the latest acquisitions while I get you two some champagne.” “Oh my god, this must be the legendary Mistress,” Ryan says as soon as he spots the newcomers. “May I?” he asks, his smile as warm as a summer day as he holds out his arms toward her. She blushes and nods. “Awe, you are a big skinny sweetheart, aren’t you?” she says as they share a big hug. “You look fabulous,” Ryan says, shaking his head. “It’s not fair that only Gary and Matthew get to share you.” “Well, not everyone has the stamina of Madam!” my friend replies with a laugh, then notices Denis patiently standing behind Ryan, beaming with his gnome-like cheeks all aglow. She tilts her head, holds out her arms. “Denis.” Denis steps forward, gives a little bow of his head. “C'est un plaisir de vous rencontrer, Mistress,” he says, kissing both her cheeks. “Thank you for being here. I hope to see you more in the future. You are an even more beautiful sight than your Matthew here.” “He is not wrong,” Matthew says, making us all laugh. Just then, Penélope rushes up to Denis’s side and tugs at his sleeve. “Papa, le film est prêt! Please tell everyone to come sit down.” “Good evening, director, dear,” Matthew says, reaching out to kiss my daughter’s hand. “I can’t wait to see the final cut!” Penélope giggles, then notices his date. “Are you… are you Mistress?” “Yes, that’s me. It’s so nice to finally meet you.” Penélope takes a deep breath, reaches for both her father’s hands as she stares up at my friend. “Matthew is my Prince in the movie. I hope you like it.” “I’m sure I will, sweetie. Where shall we sit?” “I think the stars are all in the front row,” Ryan says, pointing over at the chairs in the sand. “Everyone else sits wherever we like.” As soon as Denis and Ryan round everybody up and we take our seats, the producer/cinematographer himself steps in front of the screen and bows. “Bienvenue, welcome, everybody to this evening’s highly anticipated screening of The Little Mermaid,” Denis announces as he stands before the big white sheet hanging between the palm trees on the beach. He bows and claps, then directs our attention to the screen. “This was, by far, the fastest shoot I’ve ever been involved in, and with more talent than even I could be prepared to handle, which is why, of course, someone far more bold and visionary than myself had to steer the ship: the one, the only Penélope.” Everyone applauds as Penélope stands up from her seat beside me and takes one little bow, then waves at the little crowd. There are quite a few whistles and cheers from the back, which consists of my boyfriends and newbies. I wonder for a moment how many are gunning for a starring role in my daughter’s next project. “Après la film,” Denis continues, “please remain seated because Andy will have an exclusive interview with the director herself, and then take questions if we have time. Maintenant, enjoy the show!” Penélope waves her father over to sit between her and Ryan. She takes his hand and smiles up at him, then takes my hand and grins at me, whispering, “I hope you like it, Maman… and also I hope this convinces you to give me a bigger budget next time.” I hold back a laugh and give her a single nod, a stern smile. “Director’s cut wasn’t enough for you, huh?” We both giggle, then get shushed by Denis as the film begins to roll, and the next half hour proves more epic and polished than I ever expected from a first-time filmmaker. She is, of course, her many fathers’ daughter after all. Halfway through, I sneak a few glances behind me, see the sparkle of tears in everyone’s eyes, half from the surprising amount of genuine comedy, half from heartbreak. Denis and Ryan especially, seem closest to choking up, which makes me choked up, and I have to dab at my eyes with my hankie several times before the end. But of course, this adaptation being far closer to the original Hans Christian Andersen tale, has a more darkly beautiful finish. After failing to capture the heart of the Prince, and facing imminent death of a broken heart and losing out on the chance for a permanent soul, the Mermaid receives a magic dagger from the Sea Witch with which to kill the Prince, and doing so will then turn her back into a mermaid and escape death. The Mermaid, despondent, decides to throw the dagger away and jumps into the sea, sacrificing herself so as not to kill her love. But then she unexpectedly transforms into an ethereal spirit, a daughter of the air, and is ultimately rewarded for her selflessness with long life and a soul in the end. The final frames show Penélope languidly floating on her back in the pool, then being lifted up into the air, the sun behind her a corona around her smiling face as water drips off her hair and everything fades to white. Soon enough, I give up trying not to cry, because we all are, and Penélope is the only one grinning amongst the lot of us. She leans close to me, kisses my wet cheek and says, “I knew you’d like the end.” I turn to her and she’s smiling mischievously, fully aware of her storytelling powers. It’s almost scary. I blink at her in awe, then hug her tightly against my chest, staring past her at Denis and Ryan, who are catatonic with pride. “Pen,” I manage to say despite sniffling, “That was wonderful. Absolutely wonderful. It’s the best Christmas present ever, lapin.” It takes all my willpower to let her go so that her fathers and all the rest of the Manse Dwellers can have a chance to hug and congratulate her for the next few minutes. Perdita immediately finds me and crawls into my lap, and I’m surprised to feel tears drip onto my shoulder as she squeezes me. “Mama, everybody is crying,” she mumbles. “It was a really lovely movie, why is everyone sad?” A single chuckle escapes me, pulls me out of my film-induced melancholy. “Oh, sweetheart, when a movie is really really good, people cry. Not because we are sad, but because we all loved it very much.” She pulls away, rubs at her eyes, frowns at me. “Really?” I stroke her hair, glance over at Ken beside me, who is smiling through his tears. “Yes, my dear, don’t worry, we will all stop crying soon, you’ll see.” Ken leans in and kisses Perdita’s forehead, then kisses my cheek, gives me a wink. “We’re all a bunch of cinephile softies, aren’t we?” “I wouldn’t have any of you here if you weren’t.”