Chapter 41
CHAPTER 41
S HANNON
“I’ve got to hand it to you, Troy. Tonight was the best date of my life.”
Troy lifts our joined hands to his lips and places a tender kiss on the top of mine.
“I’m only getting started. Prepared to be dazzled over the next sixty years.”
I chuckle. “Sixty years is a long time. I’m looking forward to us working together to try to top tonight. It’s a high bar to meet, though.” I lean my head against the headrest of the car and look over at his profile.
This has been the best date ever. In fact, it was probably one of the top five days of my life overall. Okay, top six if I count the births of the four kids plus our wedding day. I really shouldn’t put today above those days. But it’s a close contender.
Our life has become the total package. A love that’s been through the fire and came out refined. Four children who fill our lives with amusing mischief, joy, and laughter. An extended family who loves and supports us. Our house, though sometimes a little cramped for our family of six plus Scrappy, is still the perfect home for us.
I watch him as he drives to that home, one he hasn’t yet moved back into, though we have been doing some overnights. I’m ready for him to come home. I know he desperately wants to come home. He’s also fiercely protective of me and the kids, and he’s been persistent about ensuring it’s the right time. That I’m ready. That the kids are ready. They are. I’ve approached the topic one-on-one with each of them, gently of course, and they want their dad home.
Before I know it, the drive is over, and Troy opens my car door and walks me to the porch of the house. We get to the front steps and Troy prepares to unlock the house. I stop him.
“Wait.”
He turns and looks at me, an expectant expression on his face and his brow furrowed in confusion.
“I need your help with something before we go inside.” I reach down in my bag and pull out the wooden box he made and gave me when I took my CPA exams.
He tilts his head, and his eyes narrow. I’m assuming he’s even more confused as to why I’m handing it to him on our porch in blustery winter weather.
“I, uh, I can’t get this open, and I was hoping you would remember how to open it.”
“Sure, but let’s get you inside first. It’s cold out?—”
“No. I need you to do it out here... Please.”
“You’re shaking, babe...”
“I know. So please open it. Trust me. This needs to be done with just us.”
“Okay,” he says. He takes the box and it’s easy for him to complete the sequence of taps, twists, and turns until the lid releases. “Don’t feel bad. I did this like a million times while making it. Here you go.” He tries to hand me the box with the unlocked lid, but I don’t take it.
“Open it, like fully open it.”
Troy holds my gaze and then removes the lid. He stares into the box, saying nothing.
I sit on the porch bench, and he joins me, but he doesn’t take his eyes off the pieces of paper inside the box.
“Go ahead, read them. Out loud, if you wouldn’t mind... But it’s okay if you don’t want to.”
I sidle up close to him, for warmth but also because I want to be near him.
He unfolds the first piece of paper.
“Olivia. Reasons why I want you to come home now: Because every day is better when you’re around. You make us laugh and smile, and we miss you. Our family is complete when we’re all here, all the time. I love you, Dad. P.S. You’re also a better cook than Mom, but don’t tell her I said that.”
“It does not say that!” He holds it out for me to read, and I lean over and do just that. “That little sneak. I should have proofread theirs first,” I tease.
He unfolds another. This one has my handwriting. “Chase. Reasons why I want you to come home now. Then there’s a bunch of crayon scribbles.” We both chuckle, and then Troy’s face turns serious for a second. “What is this, Shan? What does it mean?”
I lean over and kiss him on the cheek. “Keep reading.” I rest my head on his shoulder and snuggle closer.
The next sheet of paper has a lot more words on it. “Chelsea. Reasons why I want you to come home now: Because I want you to sit in my reading nook and read with me more. I don’t want you to be at your house alone. You and Mommy make heart eyes, so I know you love each other. You don’t burn pancakes,”—he pauses and looks at me. I roll my eyes—“You’re the best dad in the world, and I love you even more than—” He stops, clearly overcome with emotion. He wipes at the side of his face with the back of his hand. “I love you even more than all my books. I want to wake you up instead of Owlie when I need water at night. You’re not grumpy. P.S. Plus, Scrappy misses your socks.” We both chuckle at the last part.
“More than all her books? That’s saying something. Two more,” I whisper. I rest my head on his shoulder.
He unfolds what I know will be Oliver’s since mine is at the bottom. “Oliver. Reasons why I want you to come home now: There are too many girls here. When you come home, there’ll be four men (counting Scrappy), and only three of them. I want to spend more time in our shop together. I love you, and I miss you. I don’t wake up at night when you’re here and so I’m less crabby in the mornings (I get that from Mom).”
“What the hell? These kids are getting nothing for Christmas.”
Troy smiles and looks back at the paper. “You’re... you’re my—” He clears his throat and tilts his head up, looking at the porch ceiling and taking a moment. Then, he prepares to continue reading. “You’re my best friend. Also, girls are gross, so I’ll probably never get married. But in case I do, then the girl will probably want to get kids like you and Mom did. So, I need you to teach me how to be a good dad like you are. Just in case.”
We take a minute, and he wipes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and then picks up the final piece of paper. Tears now stream down my face as well.
“Shannon. Reasons why I want you to come home now: I miss you more every day that we’re apart; I have since the first night you moved out. I love you with every fiber of my being. This isn’t a home without you here. We need you here. I never want to miss a moment of you playing with our kids, casually chatting with them over a breakfast you made, or holding one of them. When you’re not working, I want you lying next to me every night as we drift off to sleep. I want our nightly calls when you’re at the station. I want to meet you for drinks in our kitchen when we get a little time we didn’t anticipate. I’m my best self when you’re around. You, us, our family... that’s my dream. And if our dreams change over time, I want it to be because we dreamed them together. I want you to dream with me forever. Please come home. Come home and dream with me.”
Troy carefully folds each piece of paper and places them in the box, then secures the lid. He scoops me onto his lap and holds me close. We say nothing, clinging to each other.
“I’ve found the perfect use for the box. We’ll store our reasons for always fighting for us in there and when we need a reminder, we can read them again. We can add to them, too. So... what do you say? Will you come home?”
Troy pulls back and looks into my eyes. “I love you so damn much. I love those kids more than I can even express.” He cups the side of my face. “Yes, I want to come home.”
I lean in and kiss him, and our hot tears mix together as they run down our faces.
“You ready to go inside?”
“Yes. One second, though,” I say. I pull out my phone and shoot a simple text to Shyley, shielding my phone from him.
Me: Tell them he said yes!
When I look back at Troy, he’s looking at me like I’m losing my mind. Then, elated cheers and the honking sound of noisemakers—because, yes, my crazy sister brought noisemakers for the kids—can be heard coming from our house.
At first, Troy looks at his watch, noting it’s ten p.m., and shakes his head in confusion. “What the—” He stops himself as understanding spreads across his face. “You texted your sister and told them?”
I grin. “I did. Now let’s go celebrate with our kiddos.” I slide off his lap, and he stands. When we get to the door, I stop and look at him.
“Welcome home, Troy.”