Epilogue
KELLER
“You’re back!” Octavia screams, bouncing to the driveway in her old, ratty unicorn T-shirt.
It’s still her favorite after ten years. She doesn’t care that it absolutely no longer fits.
"Vivi, go wear something that covers your navel,” I groan at the teen.
She sticks her tongue out at me. “You’re not my dad, Da!”
“I’m the guy who can convince your mom you’re mature enough for a car this year or not,” I remind her sneakily.
Claire bumps my shoulder more viciously than she should. “Leave her alone. You look great, Octavia. You’re at home and comfortable. Nothing wrong with that.”
I grin at her. I know she’s only siding with my niece because she’s annoyed with me.
“So, how did it go?” Octavia asks as we walk into my father’s house. “Do we have a picture this time?”
“Great. It went just great,” Claire replies, glaring at me.
I try not to look too smug. “Where are the kids?”
“Zoe’s napping, Eugenia is with Mom watching a show, and Auntie Hyacinth took Leon to buy his hockey gear. Come on, spill! Am I going to be auntie to another boy or a girl?”
I can’t help the grin taking over my entire face. “Both.”
“No!”
I nod. “Twins.”
“But—” Octavia turns to Claire. “You said it was the last one. That you only wanted four .”
“I don’t know which god, witch, or demon your uncle made a deal with,” Claire hisses, “but apparently, it’s five . I am never letting you touch me again,” she threatens, not for the first time in the last hour.
“Be serious. You literally cannot live a single day without?—”
“Lalalala,” Octavia sings. “Impressionable kid present! None of that.”
“Where?” I pretend to look around. “I only see a half-naked brat.”
That earns me a well-deserved kick in the shin.
Five kids next year. Some of our friends, like Lily and Cross, started having kids a year or two after us, but I don’t think anyone in town has five.
We bought a house at the bottom of the hill the year Claire graduated with her bachelor’s in art, but maybe it’s time to upgrade. Six bedrooms is starting to feel like a bit of a squeeze.
I work part-time at the Goltz clinic—less when we have a little one under a year old—and my investment portfolio is kept healthy enough to invest in a larger property. Maybe Charlotte can decorate this time. I like our current place, but it’s a bit impersonal. Claire’s friend left her corporate job last year to start up an interior decor firm. I hear she does good work.
“How did it go?” Arlo prompts, coming down from the upper floor.
“Talk to your son,” Claire snaps. “I can’t even have wine.”
“I had a case of alcohol-free Champagne imported, Claire. I hear it’s very good. One’s in the fridge already. Let me know how you like it?”
The man’s smarter than me. I whistle, impressed. “That’s good. Should have let me in on it. And we’re having twins. That’s why she’s pissed.”
“Twins.” He blinks. “Let me open actual Champagne.”
Hours later, buzzed, with our three monsters running around the house where I grew up, my niece attempting to herd them, my wife on my lap, I grin into her wild platinum curls.
Five is almost six. What’s one more?
The End