Epilogue Two
Thea
“ H igher, higher, stop!” Emma, our ten-year-old daughter, says to Jasper, who is holding the bow high on the Valentine’s Day tree.
He attaches it to the branch where she told him and steps back to admire it. “Perfect idea,” he praises her, and she beams. They’re two peas in the same pod, both of them artists who sketch everything around them.
Henry, our nine-year old, looks up from his fantasy story. He’s our bookworm who’s always learning. “Dad, if I promise only to fight for the good of the kingdom, then could I have a sword?”
“Still no, buddy,” Jasper answers and gestures him over to the tree. “Are you going to help with this?”
“What if bad guys invade one day, and I’m the only one left that knows how to wield a sword?” He set his book down and grabs a decoration to add to the tree. Over the years, our collection of ornaments, ribbons, and décor for the tree has grown considerably. Now, Valentine’s Day is almost as important as Christmas for my kids. They get another round of gifts, courtesy of Jasper who spoils his entire brood.
We’re decorating a different tree today. The one Jasper and I originally used grew too large for us to bring inside. The final time he planted it, we carved our initials into the trunk. It’s our special tree now. Sometimes, we take a walk through the forest and have a picnic underneath the branches, just the two of us.
“You don’t have to worry about a kingdom invasion,” I answer Henry, used to his hypothetical situations. He’s always reading then acting out what he’s reading. I’m really glad he’s out of his evil villain phase. “Your dad and I will always be here to protect you.”
“Me! I want a sword if Henry has one, me too!” Edward, our seven-year-old, agrees. He’s the one I have to watch around Jasper. I swear, this little boy could talk his father into anything. He has a way of presenting an idea and making it seem like something you came up with yourself.
My young son opens his mouth to argue with me, and I point to the ribbon. “Hand me that one. We’re going to make a big bow for the tree this year, OK?”
I glance behind the couch to find that Sally, our five-year-old, and Arthur, our three-year-old, are still happily coloring together. Our oldest three are always coming up with new ideas and adventures. But our two youngest prefer to happily watch their shenanigans from a distance. At least, for now. I’m sure that will change soon.
A small snuffling sound catches my attention from the baby monitor. Jasper and I exchange a look as I tell him, “I got her.”
I head down the hallway, passing the other rooms. We have so many additions built onto the cabin. Jasper keeps saying he’s going to add more bedrooms, and I know exactly what that means. He wants more babies. We both do.
Even with six, it still feels like there’s more love in our hearts to give. I’ve been thinking that maybe when our kids are grown, we’ll take a page from Emma May’s book and foster older kids and teenagers, the ones that most people don’t want to take on.
Addy, our ten-month-old, is already standing in her crib by the time I get to the nursery. Her expression lights up when she sees me, and she launches into a string of baby babble that almost sounds like a real conversation.
I make noises of agreement, playing along with her. I pick her up and make sure she has her favorite green blanket before I carry her into the living room to join the rest of the family.
The kids and Jasper have finished decorating the tree, and I grab my phone. Henry groans, “Not again, Mom.”
“Make your Ma happy and smile real big for her,” Jasper ruffles Henry’s hair and takes the marker from Arthur before he can use it to draw on the walls. Edward holds up two empty tubes of wrapping paper that I’m pretty sure he’s about to use to start dueling.
“Like this?” Sally grins, showing off her missing front teeth. She knocked them out last week in the forest when she was roughhousing with her siblings. Fortunately, her adult teeth are expected to come in fine.
“That’s exactly right,” I tell her, relieved one of the kids is at least trying to listen. I’m juggling the tripod, my phone, and little Addy.
Jasper moves across the room to take Addy from me and free up my hands. Since the kids aren’t looking, I use the opportunity to brush up against his big, strong body. His gaze goes molten, and I know he’s thinking about the same thing I am.
He hasn’t been inside of me in almost two weeks. The kids have spent the last ten days sick, passing a horrible stomach bug between them, so we’ve barely had a chance to breathe.
They’re all better now, and we’re finally starting to get back into our normal routines. Well, as normal as his birthday can be. It’s another reason I’ve been teasing him all day.
“We could send them to bed,” Jasper growls in my ear, his breath hot against my skin. My nipples pebble against my dress as I recognize that low, throaty sound he makes when he wants to get me naked. “Then we’ll have a party of our own.”
“Behave,” I hiss at him because I like his idea a lot. He loves his little brood, but we’re both desperate to be alone. Bedtime in a few hours feels like it’s centuries away. I need my big man pumping into me and claiming me in that primal way he does.
Emma calls for her dad’s attention and his moment of distraction gives me a chance to set up the tripod and timer.
“Come on, after this we get cake and gifts for dad’s birthday,” I remind the kids, not above bribing them so I can get that perfect family photo. Every year we try. Most often, what we get are blurry little smudges as the kids tear through the cabin like the little tornadoes they are.
After three tries, I finally manage a single photo that isn’t blurry. Most of the kids are no longer looking at the camera. Sally is acting out a scene with her doll. Arthur is trying to eat the marker that Jasper put down while Henry and Edward are dueling with their paper tubes.
Emma is making a silly face at Addy who is crying because she dropped her blanket. In the middle of the chaos, Jasper is smiling at me and the look on his face says it all. We’re living right in the middle of a miracle.