32. Jinx
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Jinx
One Year Later…
The sun is warm, the kind of mellow heat that settles into your bones without burning.
A soft breeze carries the scent of cut grass along with kettle corn from a vendor somewhere down the path. The park is filled with the sounds of shrieking laughter, the occasional clash of a toy against a slide, and a plastic sword clattering to the mulch as one of the triplets launches into full-scale pretend battle.
It’s chaos.
It’s always chaos, but I love it.
I sway gently on the bench, one baby in each arm. Lyra is nestled against my left shoulder, her little hand fisted in my shirt, and Orion is tucked under my right, out cold and drooling onto my sleeve.
They’re bigger now, nearly walking, and heavier than they have any right to be, but I don’t mind. My arms are strong. And so is my heart these days.
Also, my bladder. Because I’m pregnant again.
Yup.
The great cosmic joke continues. Three men. Now three kids. There’s poetry in there somewhere, I’m sure.
Bruno tried to find it the other night, something about balance and divine symmetry and a Slovak fertility spell gone wrong. I told him to shut up and bring me more pickles.
This pregnancy’s easier, though. Less puking. Less crying on the bathroom floor. More eating. So much more eating.
“Is this seat taken?”
I glance up to find Ally approaching, sunglasses perched in her wild curly hair, a juice box in each hand, and a knowing smirk tugging at her mouth. She drops onto the bench beside me with the elegance of someone who’s given up pretending to be graceful after having twins.
“Only if you’re not gonna judge me for being a human baby swing,” I murmur, rocking the twins a little more. Lyra lets out a sleepy grunt and shifts, her little curls damp against her forehead.
Ally grins. “Judging you? Please. I aspire to this level of multitasking. How’s life treating you, mama? You know, now that you’ve officially moved into the frat house from hell.”
I snort, but it’s affectionate. “Honestly? Not bad. Surprisingly low on testosterone-related disasters this month. I think Thomas is trying to turn over a new leaf.”
“Oh god, what did he do?”
“Bought a whiteboard,” I deadpan. “For ‘house logistics.’ Wrote ‘laundry equals love’ across the top in purple Sharpie. Then forgot to do his own laundry.”
Ally barks a laugh, leaning back with one leg crossed over the other. “Sounds about right. And how are you doing? Really?”
I pause, letting the question settle.
How am I doing?
I look out across the park. Kenzie’s triplets are attempting to build a fort out of fallen tree branches and threatening the twins with exile if they touch it.
Thomas is fake-dueling one of the boys with a foam sword while Rowan pretends to be an aloof knight who’s too cool for fairy tale politics.
Bruno is nearby, perched on the grass with a sketchpad and a baby bottle, switching between doodling and yelling at Thomas to stop “training children for anarchy.”
“I’m… good,” I say, voice quiet but certain. “Tired, hungry all the time, constantly peeing, but good.”
Ally smiles softly. “You look good. Happier.”
I glance down at the twins, both fast asleep now, and nod. “I didn’t think this would be my life, y’know? All this noise. All this… love. I thought I was the kind of person who’d always go it alone. Punk-rock therapist with no need for anything permanent.”
“And now?”
I grin. “Now I can’t even go to the bathroom without someone yelling, ‘Where’s Jinx?’ like I’m the damn glue holding the world together.”
Ally bumps her shoulder against mine. “You kinda are.”
I lean my head back, eyes closing for a moment, feeling the sunlight on my face, the babies in my arms, and the distant sound of Bruno yelling something about “historical accuracy in fairy warfare.”
This isn’t the life I planned.
It’s better.
Messier.
Louder.
More magical.
And yeah… this baby inside me? Surprise or not, it’s just one more reason to keep going.
One more piece of this weird, wonderful puzzle we’ve built together.
“I’m happy,” I say finally. “God help me, I really, truly am.”
Ally smiles wide, then steals one of the juice boxes and tosses the other to me. “Welcome to the club.”
“It’s so great,” I say, easing Lyra into the crook of my arm so I can sip from the juice box Ally tossed me. “We even got a puppy. Which, okay, I thought I was going to hate , but it turns out I’m not dead inside after all. I actually like the little maniac.”
Ally arches an eyebrow. “You? Liking something that poops in the house and chews on everything?”
“I was just as surprised as you are.” I grin. “But don’t worry, I balanced out the emotional growth and got another snake. Bruno called it my ‘consolation reptile.’”
Ally snorts and shakes her head, absolutely delighted. “Only you would celebrate personal development with a snake.”
“Hey, I contain multitudes,” I say, with faux elegance. “Besides, I deserved it. The boys have been fighting over the name of this new baby since I told them. Again.”
Ally groans sympathetically. “Do I even want to know the frontrunners?”
“No,but I’ll tell you anyway. Thomas wants something ‘whimsical and worldly,’ his exact words. Bruno is on a mission to name the baby after some obscure Slovak folk hero who, like, turned into a bird or something? And Rowan wants something simple like Sam or Lily, which honestly would be great if the other two weren’t turning it into another naming war.”
Ally cackles. “At least it’s on brand.”
“I swear,” I sigh dramatically, “the next pet we get is going to be named ‘Compromise’ just to make a point.”
We’re still laughing when Kenzie appears, holding one of her triplets against her hip. Her face is red and tear-streaked, a fresh scrape on their knee and the beginnings of a world-ending tantrum building behind watery eyes.
Kenzie looks frazzled but determined, like a general in a glitter-covered war. “Minor emergency,” she says. “Battle wound. Demands snacks, kisses, and possibly a song.”
“Standard park triage.” Ally nods seriously.
But before anyone can move, Braden materializes out of nowhere, all calm energy and soft hands. He gently takes her from Kenzie, making soothing noises and pulling a wipe from his pocket like some kind of dad ninja.
She quiets almost immediately, clinging to him and sniffling while he inspects the scrape like it’s a national crisis.
I watch the scene unfold with a warmth blooming in my chest, soft and deep and heavy with gratitude. There’s so much love here. In this park. In this weird little family we’ve built from scratch.
Ally leans over, nudging me with her shoulder again. “We’re doing pretty okay, huh?”
I smile, looking at her, then back to Braden and Kenzie and the swirling storm of kids just beyond us. Then I look down at the babies in my arms, and the gentle swell of the one growing inside me.
“Yeah,” I say. “We really are.”
The sound of shouting draws my gaze, and I glance past the playground toward the wide patch of grass where the guys are attempting to play a very questionable game of football.
“Attempting” being the operative word.
Rowan’s trying to explain the rules, again, with the fervor of a man who still believes he can teach a group of chaos goblins how to follow instructions.
Thomas is half listening, spinning the ball on one finger like he’s showing off for an invisible crowd, and Bruno? Bruno’s already given up and is aggressively arguing that they should switch to something “with clearer historical context, like rugby.”
Kenzie, Ally, and I watch them from the bench, all of us slightly feral in our own mom ways, juice-stained, snack-laden, and barefoot because why fight it?
“Is Rowan actually trying to coach right now?” Kenzie asks, brow lifted, one twin on her hip and the other using her arm as a jungle gym.
Ally sips from her stolen juice box, eyes sparkling. “He’s such a dad, it hurts.”
“Honestly, who would have thought it? Rowan… a dad,” I mutter around my straw, “but I think he’s fully embraced his fate.”
The ball goes flying, wide left and nowhere near the intended target. It bounces off a tree and into a bush.
Rowan groans. Thomas dives after it with all the grace of a drunk golden retriever. Bruno just flops down on the grass like he’s emotionally finished.
We all burst out laughing.
Loud, unfiltered, joy-drenched laughter. The kind that comes from deep in the belly and leaves your cheeks aching.
It’s a mess out there. No one’s winning. The ball is probably deflated. Thomas is yelling “Touchdown!” at completely inappropriate times, and Bruno’s now lying flat on his back in protest, using his sketchpad as a sunshade.
But it’s our mess.
It’s loud and uncoordinated and filled with too much emotion and not enough logic, and it’s the most beautiful damn thing I’ve ever seen.
Because underneath all the noise, under the spilled juice and scraped knees and naming debates and laundry-related whiteboard battles, there’s so much love.
We built this life. Brick by brick. Heart by stubborn heart.
And sure, sometimes it looks like foam sword fights and bad football games and arguments over baby names. But it also looks like three men giving everything they’ve got to a life none of us ever expected, and kids who know they’re safe, and me, here, in the middle of it all, rocking two babies while another kicks gently inside me, a slow reminder that even more magic is on the way.
“Hey!” Thomas calls from the field, hands cupped around his mouth. “Do we get juice boxes too, or is that just a mom perk?”
“Only if you catch the ball next time!” I yell back.
He flips me off with all the affection in the world, and I grin so wide it almost hurts.
Ally stands, stretching, and offers her hand to me. “Come on, Mama Snake. Let’s go show them how it’s done.”
I glance down at Lyra and Orion, still sleeping, still warm and safe in my arms.
I look at the men sprawled across the grass, already arguing about teams again.
And I think… yeah. Okay. Why not?
I hand the babies off to Kenzie, push to my feet, and join the chaos with a full heart and zero athletic ability.
“Go easy on me,” I warn as I jog—okay, waddle—into the field. “I’m currently building a human and I haven’t run since… ever.”
Rowan immediately looks concerned. “You sure about this?”
“I am absolutely not,” I say, already winded. “But I’m here, and I brought sarcasm, so let’s do this.”
Thomas hands me the football like it’s a sacred relic. “You’re on my team. Obviously. Pregnant people are good luck.”
Bruno, lying flat on the grass with his sketchpad still over his face, mutters, “That’s not how luck works.”
“Shhh, you’re on defense,” Thomas calls. “Now hush and look intimidating.”
Rowan, ever the voice of reason, attempts to explain the play again, with vague hand gestures that somehow involve a lot of pointing at the sun and muttering about “zone coverage.”
I nod like I understand. I absolutely do not.
We line up.
Someone yells, “Hike!”
And then everything goes sideways.
I try to run. I really do. I take two enthusiastic steps forward—well, waddles—and my feet sink into the grass, my center of gravity shifts.
Before I can shout “Abort mission!”, I trip over absolutely nothing and go down like a majestic, slow-motion oak.
“Jinx!” three voices scream in unison.
Thomas dives dramatically toward me like we’re reenacting a war movie. Rowan appears out of nowhere to catch my elbow. Bruno just throws his sketchpad aside and yells something in Slovak that I’m pretty sure translates to “What did I say?”
“I’m okay!” I wheeze, lying on my back, arms spread wide like I’m making a grass angel. “I’m fine. That was… planned. Tactical collapse.”
Thomas hovers over me, concerned and clearly trying not to laugh. “You sure you’re alright? Because that was some Olympic-level flailing.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m good,” I groan, letting Rowan help me to my feet. “Apparently, I am not built for sports. Or gravity. Or dignity.”
Bruno brushes imaginary dust from my back with the exaggerated care of someone who has absolutely no faith in my self-preservation instincts. “You’re banned from physical exertion forever. I mean it. Sit. Hydrate. Think about snakes.”
“I always think about snakes,” I mutter as they walk me back to the bench like I’ve just finished a triathlon instead of eating dirt five seconds into a fake football game.
Kenzie and Ally are already laughing so hard they’re wheezing. I collapse back into my seat, grab my juice box, and raise it like a toast.
“To motherhood,” I say. “A noble journey filled with joy, sacrifice, and deeply humiliating park injuries.”
Ally clinks her juice box against mine. “Cheers, Mama Snake. You gave it your all.”
“Next time,” I promise solemnly, “I’m bringing a Nerf gun.”
Kenzie brushes a curl out of her eyes as she hands me back my babies. “So… how are your parents taking everything these days?”
I shrug, rocking gently on my heels. “They’re adjusting. Still have moments where Mom looks like she’s trying not to ask how this all works, but she’s stopped bringing pamphlets.” I sigh happily. “But my brother has been the best. The most supportive, ride or die uncle I could’ve asked for. A blessing, honestly. Doesn’t matter who the dad is or how weird it looks from the outside. He’s just… here. Every time.”
Ally follows my gaze and smiles, warm and wide. “Yeah, he’s a good one.”
“We’re lucky.”
We all are.
The three of us move in without saying anything, just one of those wordless group hugs that moms do, arms half-full of kids, still holding juice boxes, legs tangled in someone’s sticky limbs. It’s clumsy, messy, beautiful.
We hold onto each other for a second longer than necessary, but no one pulls away. We just exist like that, three women who’ve weathered storms and births and breakdowns, wrapped around each other like a safety net.
It’s not perfect.
The kids are still yelling. Someone is definitely crying in the background, probably not one of ours, which somehow makes it worse. A bubble wand explodes nearby with a loud pop and a squeal of betrayal.
Thomas is now wearing the football like a hat, and Bruno is explaining the history of Slovak siege weaponry to an audience of zero.
Rowan is attempting, valiantly, to herd all the small ones into a line for snacks, which is going about as well as you’d expect.
But this? This moment?
Perfect.
I shift the babies in my arms, watching Orion yawn like a tiny lion cub and Lyra stretch, one foot poking out from under the soft blanket. A small kick rolls through my belly, gentle but insistent, like this new little person already wants in on the chaos.
I smile down at them, at all of them, and then up at the sky, blue, cloud-speckled, endless.
“I don’t know how we got here,” I murmur, mostly to myself. “But I’m so damn glad we did.”
Kenzie pats my hand. “Same. Even if I have glitter in places glitter should never be.”
Ally groans in solidarity. “You mean your soul? Because I found glitter in my coffee filter this morning.”
We all laugh again, that easy kind of laugh that only happens when you feel safe. When you know, deep down, you’re surrounded by people who see all of you, the mess, the madness, the magic, and love you anyway.
Across the field, Rowan manages to wrangle a few kids into a snack circle. Thomas is dramatically pretending to faint from hunger. Bruno is now attempting to build a miniature trebuchet from sticks and juice box straws.
And I am here, tired, sticky, milk-stained, mildly concussed from my fall, but overflowing with something fierce and whole and blindingly bright.
Joy.
Love.
Home.
And yeah, maybe I didn’t plan any of this. Maybe life took my roadmap, crumpled it into a tiny paper airplane, and launched it into a vat of glitter and chaos.
But I wouldn’t trade a second of it.
Not for calm.
Not for quiet.
Not for the neat, color-coded life I thought I’d have.
Because this is mine.
And it’s just getting started.
I take another sip of my juice box, smile at the chaos, and whisper to the baby in my belly, “Welcome to the madness, little one. You’re gonna love it here.”