Page 120 of The Lottery

That’s the only thought running through my mind as Astrid fusses with my dress, tugging and smoothing and tsking at the creamy white lace and satin, a gift from Lana whose wardrobe justifies the huge walk-in closet she had built in her new house. The closet the three of us now stand in as we get ready for my wedding.

It might seem old-fashioned. A remnant from another time, another planet. Another life. But it feels right. Celebrations, ceremonies and rights of passages have always been a core part of our history and it seems fitting to bring the best of our traditions to the new world.

Astrid, finally satisfied with her work, steps back and smiles. “You look like the most beautiful bride on Mars,” she says as she adjusts her own dress back into place, a silky midnight blue gown that falls to her feet in a small puddle and brings out her eyes.

I chuckle. “I’m the only bride on Mars, so far.”

Lana nods. “Yes, first to give birth. First to wed. It is a good sign for your life with Marek.” She turns me toward a full length mirror. “And look how gorgeous,” she says with a flourish of her hands.

I study myself. My hair is piled into loose braids twined with white ribbon. Lana had the dress tailored so that it hangs perfectly on a body still curvy from pregnancy. I turn from side to side and smile. “Thank you!”

“And on that note…” She picks up a tray of champagne glasses from the center island and hands us each one. “I’ve been saving this bottle for just this moment.” Lana’s seafoam green dress sways elegantly against her ankles as she moves. Her platinum blond hair has begun to grow out as raven black and is styled into a gorgeous two-toned French twist.

I smile at my two dearest friends and raise my glass. “To strangers who become friends who become sisters,” I say, feeling my eyes well with tears. “You two were there for me when I thought I’d lost Marek.” I suck in a breath at those still-sharp memories. “You were there for me when he came home and had a hard recovery ahead of him.” So many sleepless nights. Fevers. Pain. As his body and mind healed. As mine healed. They helped us through it all. “You were there for me during my pregnancy and birth of Tilly. You each became not just sisters to me but also aunts to her, loving her like she was family.”

“Because she is,” Lana says firmly.

Astrid nods. “Agreed. I’d take a bullet for that kid.”

I chuckle. “This is why I love you both. Ride or die.”

We clink our glasses together. “To strangers who become family,” Astrid says.

To strangers who become family.

* * *

MAREK

Tilly’s wails echo through our modest two-bedroom cottage. The child, despite being small of stature, finds a volume of sound from within that defies science. And she calls forth that volume every time she awakes from a nap.

Every. Time.

“Moya malysh, I can hear you and am coming.” The sound of my voice has the effect I hoped for. Her screams calm just long enough for me to enter her room, scoop her out of her bassinet and quickly change her cloth diaper.

Our home is a simple design, with two bedrooms, a washroom, and a large front room that includes the kitchen, dining area and living space. We were able to set up a rudimentary plumbing system, but rely on fire for heating and cooking.

We have a few woodworkers and furniture designers in our group who have been training those interested to make various simple pieces for their homes, and I took advantage to make our kitchen table and benches. It feels good to live in a place we built with our own hands, designed ourselves.

I cradle Tilly against my chest and kiss her forehead. She is a miracle in every way, and each time I hold her I feel the immeasurable joy of knowing I have the honor of raising this beautiful little person.

I rejoin Ivan and Robert in the front room, which is very simply furnished with a couch, two chairs, a coffee table, a dining room table with benches, and bookshelves.

They’re sitting on the couch together and their faces beam as one when they see the baby. “Ready to hang out with your uncles, little one?” asks Robert.

I chuckle and hand the babe over to Ivan, who coos at her and whispers sweet things in Russian.

They have kindly offered to keep Tilly for a night while we have our honeymoon. As much as I adore my daughter, I very much look forward to a night alone with my wife.

My wife.

Soon Azalea will be my wife.

And though it does not change much in our daily lives, the act of binding myself to her in front of our friends–our found family–lends weight to the truth of who we are. It is a celebration and honoring of our love for each other, of our commitment to our family, of our desire to spend our lives together.

While Ivan holds Tilly, I walk to the kitchen and pull out a bottle of vodka off the shelf.

Ivan grins when he sees it and Robert’s eyes widen. “Is that what I think it is?” he asks.

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