Feels Like Today Nix
It’s easy to forget about the pile of laundry in the small basket beside him on the floor. He’d gotten distracted from his laundry task by the early September sunshine and the irresistible pull of the window seat in the nursery.
Moments like these have become rare, and maybe that makes them all the sweeter.
New parenthood is a beautiful kind of upheaval—a storm of sleepless nights, baby stuff scattered everywhere, and love so big it didn’t seem like it could fit inside a person.
But here, in this quiet, with sunlight painting the walls and a soft breeze keeping him company, Nix can find a bit of peace.
When Nix was younger, long before he’d met Jamie, he used to try to picture his future.
Would he find a partner like his mom and dad had?
Someone who’d love you when you sang off-key or left the toilet seat up for the millionth time?
Someone who’d kiss you in the middle of cooking dinner or rub your feet after a long day?
He didn’t know what love was supposed to look like if it didn’t look like that.
Later, he’d figured out he wasn’t like most of the other boys.
When his friends had crushes on girls from volleyball or flipped skirts on the playground, Nix wasn’t interested—not in them, not in their games.
He laughed along anyway, not because he got it, but because it was easier than saying, I don’t feel the same.
Sometimes, when he had let himself think about it, he wondered if love like his parents’ was even possible for him.
But finding Jamie had changed everything.
Jamie had made sure Nix could see a future for them—clear and bright, like sunlight on a Florida beach in summer.
He’d loved all those little things Nix had dreamed about and added so much more besides.
He’d even talked about the “someday” stuff: two dogs, a big house on the beach, and at least two kids.
A Happily Ever After, forever and ever.
Nix never could have imagined that happily ever after would include seven mates, a dog, two cats (and counting), an extended family who always had his back, and, as promised, those two perfect children (and counting).
And yet, here he is. Standing on the other side of some of the craziest months of his life, on the cusp of their first anniversary as one big, chaotic, beautiful pack.
Nix grabs the notebook he’d stored earlier in the top drawer of the change table.
It’s nondescript, like most things from the convenience store—unassuming, but perfect for what he needed.
A place to write down all the little things about the girls.
Silly moments, milestones, and dates he thought he’d never forget but inevitably would, as the days turned into months and the months into years.
Time moved at the speed of light, sucking up all those small details in its wake, lost to the ether.
Nix couldn’t let that happen. He’d learned that every minute of this life was worth remembering.
He’d treated himself to a pack of gel pens from the craft store, too.
He’d been there with Luca when the clerk spotted them and gave him a knowing smile.
Without hesitation, she offered to find Nix the very best gel pens the store had to offer.
When he’d thanked her, she’d responded with a dramatic, “Oh noooooo, thank youuuuu.”
Whatever that meant.
Luca had seemed cagey afterward, avoiding Nix’s curious looks, but the moment passed quickly. Promises of ice cream and Mari screaming blue murder in her stroller had a way of stealing the spotlight.
He takes his stationery over to the window seat in the nursery, settling where he can watch Jamie and Rowan in the backyard.
They’re playing a very slow game of hide-and-seek, the girls strapped to their chests in baby carriers.
At nine weeks old today, it’s not exactly a milestone, but Nix has decided it’s as good a time as any to jot down a few of the moments he doesn’t want to forget.
Choosing a silver pen, Nix writes Mari’s name at the top of the page and adds a tiny gray mouse with a swirly tail. It’s not as neat as what Grayson or even Luca could draw, but it’s just for him anyway. The girls won’t care. Beneath her name, he writes: Mari loves Elvis Presley.
It’s true. Something about The King rocks her tiny little world.
Switching to gold, he writes Rosie’s name next, embellishing it with a shimmery butterfly. Underneath, he adds: Rosie farts like a trucker. Also true. Smells like one, too. And she smiles the whole time, every time.
Nix chuckles, remembering. It’s probably not something he’ll share with her future partners, but still. It had made Finn laugh so hard this morning, he’d farted, too (Also smells like a trucker).
He jots down more little details, like how Mari is a night owl and how Rosie always holds his thumb while she sleeps.
He writes about Rosie’s smiley belly button and Mari’s frowny one.
Rowan says it’s because Jamie and Gideon were the ones to cut Mari’s umbilical cord, and it must’ve absorbed Gideon’s grumpy cat vibes.
But Rowan never says he could’ve done better. He wouldn’t. And Jamie still tears up when he talks about it, the honor of that moment as vivid now as it was then.
The list of things grows longer and longer, and Nix can’t get over how many memories make him smile—or bring that familiar burn to his eyes.
There’s a screech outside, followed by Jamie’s laugh, and Nix glances out to see Mari in his hands as he blows gently on her belly.
It’s not quite a laugh yet, but it won’t be long now.
His eyes drift to Rowan, who’s crouched nearby, Rosie’s tiny hand in his as he helps her touch the soft petals of the last of summer’s final blooms.
In the background, the faint sounds of a commotion drift up from downstairs.
Leo’s high-pitched squeals almost rival Mari’s, and then it quiets—until Tsuki starts barking, and Leo squeals again.
It’s followed by Luca’s cackling laughter and the slam of the front door.
The chaos sends Doodle and Domino bolting into the nursery, their paws skidding on the floor before they leap onto the window seat beside Nix.
“Best to stay clear, eh?” Nix whispers, smoothing his hand down Doodle’s back and letting Domino curl up in the cradle of his crossed legs. “I’m writing something for the girls. You should help.”
His request is met with feline disdain and the requisite paw licking before both cats close their eyes in the sun.
“I’ve got lots of things I want to tell them. Things I want them to know. Do you think I should write them a letter?” He knows it’s exactly what he wants to do when he says the words.
Domino cracks an eye, and Nix takes it for tacit approval of his genius idea.
“Okay, but where do I start?” Nix mutters, pulling out a purple pen. Wasn’t purple the color of inspiration? It should be.
“Start what, baby-papa?” Luca whispers as he slips into the room, moving with exaggerated stealth.
Classic Luca-avoiding-angry-Gideon behavior.
“I’m writing a letter to the girls,” Nix says, twirling the pen in his fingers as if it might magically summon the right words.
Luca flops onto the edge of the window seat, flipping through the pages of Nix’s notebook.
He grins at the sketches scattered across the margins: Tsuki and Rowan-wolf poised on the diving board (didn’t happen, but Nix really wishes it had), and stick-figure Gideon perched on the counter, broom in hand, while stick-figure Jamie chases a spider across the floor with a jar (that did happen, and it was every bit as hilarious as his rudimentary drawing suggests).
“This is awesome! But you said a letter?” Luca runs a finger over the row of gel pens, a small, secret smile tugging at his lips.
“Yeah. Where do I start?” Nix asks again, the weight of the moment pressing softly against his chest.
“With love, silly. Everything begins with love.” Luca holds out his hand for the pen. “Can I?”
Nix feels that familiar prickle behind his eyes as he hands them over.
Luca flips to a blank page, the purple pen poised. “Our little stars, you are so loved. You are safe,” he writes, his flowy script framed by two eighth notes on either side.
He doesn’t stop there. Reaching for a turquoise pen, Luca focuses completely, ready to add more to the letter. “See? Just like that. If you add–”
“Luca Wilde!” Gideon shouts, and his heavy steps sound on the stairs and down the hall.
Eyes wide, Luca actually climbs to his feet on the window seat, his hand darting to push the window open wider as if he’d rather fling himself out the window than face whatever had Gideon stomping down the hall.
“Baby, you can’t go out that way! What did you do?” Nix hisses, wide-eyed.
Luca doesn’t answer. Instead, he jumps from the window seat with all the grace of a panicked squirrel and flings himself into the girls’ crib. He grabs the stack of blankets from the changing table and pulls them over himself in a heap.
Only his face is hidden.
“Eek! The monster!” he whispers dramatically from under the mound of blankets.
Nix giggles. “I just folded those.”
Gideon appears at the door, brows drawn down, but a small smirk tilting his lips. He rests one bare arm on the door jam. Sexy fucker. “Hello, sweet Kitten. Have you seen my wayward Luca?”
Nix has and still can see his mate, as his bare butt is visible from every point in the room. Maybe from other rooms, even.
“Uh…if I say no, will I also be in trouble?” Nix asks casually, doodling a swirling vortex on the corner of the “letter.” It matches the swirling heat low in his belly.
Gideon raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms. “Well, since Rowan and Grayson are on call tonight, I’ll let you decide how to answer that.”