Epilogue
XAVIER - EIGHT YEARS LATER
Instead of grabbing one juice pouch, I yanked the entire box out of the fridge and added it to the tray of snacks I’d put together before walking through the open sliding glass doors to the backyard.
There were six kids between our crew and West and Nico’s bunch, and I’d learned long ago that Hon bought this stuff in bulk for a reason.
“Who’s thirsty?” I called out.
“Me,” Hon said with a grin while the kids ignored me in favor of our neighbor’s puppy, who was barking through the fence. “The sight of you in those swim trunks is making me thirsty as fuck,” he added softly enough to go unnoticed by West, who was standing a few feet away on a work call.
“Freak!” Nico called with a laugh from where he was standing in the shade, rocking our youngest child in his arms. For some reason, the heavily pierced and tatted dude was also the best at getting stubborn babies to sleep.
“Dork,” Hon called back without turning to look at him.
I laughed. “He was correcting your bad language in front of the kids.”
“Don’t care,” Hon said, kissing me gently on the mouth.
I pulled my husband into my arms and kissed him back. “I love you,” I murmured against his lips.
“Daddy, stop!” our four-year-old, Jada, called. “That’s not nice.”
I gritted my teeth and glared at Hon. “This is your fault.”
He let out a snicker. “It’s just a phase.”
I called over to Jada. “Honey, your papa wants me to kiss him, I promise. He especially asked for kisses.”
“Did I, though?” Hon teased softly. I pinched his ass where no one could see it.
Jada walked over and put her chubby fists on her hips over the toy sword that hung from a ribbon belt at her waist over her denim overalls.
Her thick braids were long enough now to brush the tops of her dark brown shoulders in the summer sun.
“Sometimes boys kiss you when you don’t want them to, and you have to say no! ”
She shouted the last word loudly enough to get everyone’s attention, but as soon as her brother realized what she was doing, he rolled his eyes and told everyone to follow him back to the tree fort.
I squatted down and took her sticky hands in mine. “That’s exactly right, baby. But sometimes you might actually want them to kiss you, and then what should you do?”
She narrowed her eyes at me in a defiant-but-cautious expression that shot an arrow straight through my heart.
It was the same expression she’d had when Hon had first introduced us after a child welfare case in town had gone sideways.
She’d only been two years old and Ja’mari five.
We’d taken them in for a temporary emergency foster placement but had quickly realized how well we worked as a family.
Now, the two of them, along with another biological sister who’d come along unexpectedly last year, were ours forever.
As I told anyone who would listen, it was an unexpected dream come true.
Neither Hon nor I had felt like we were dad material.
Our jobs were demanding, and our commitment to each other took up all the rest of our time.
But now I couldn’t imagine what life would be like without our kids.
“Punch him,” she muttered.
Hon coughed loudly to cover up his laugh.
“No, baby,” I said patiently. “You should stop and think it through. Is he a nice person? Are you old enough to kiss someone outside of your family? Is it a good idea for you to kiss him right now? And the answer to those questions was yes, yes, yes with Papa.”
She side-eyed Hon as if determining whether he’d made the right call in allowing me such privileges. He held out his arms and let her fall into them, pressing kisses to her head over and over. “He’s my husband, Jadie-lady,” he singsonged. “I get to kiss him as much as I want to.”
“He’s gross,” she said, turning a scowl at me again. “He eats pickles!”
West, who was off his call, laughed and tugged lightly on one of her braids. “I like a woman with strong opinions,” he said. “Your dad brought out some raspberries, and I happen to know they’re your favorite. So I was thinking we might have a few before everyone else realizes they’re out here.”
As a pediatrician, West Wilde was expert level at distracting and redirecting kids. I mouthed a thank you as West pulled an excited Jada over to the table where the containers of fruit and other snacks were stacked.
Nico walked over and carefully deposited a zonked-out Joy into my arms. “Mission accomplished.”
I shot him a look that I hope promised riches beyond his wildest dreams. “You’re the love of my life,” I told him.
“Hey!” West called. “I heard that.”
Hon popped a cheese puff in his mouth and crunched down on it. “You can have him. He snores like a mofo.”
West and Nico’s younger daughter, Reenie, stopped from where she was careening toward the juice pouches. “I know that word. Uncle Otto told me all about mofo.”
Nico clapped a hand over her mouth gently and wrapped his arm around her, fake-whispering in her ear, “Uncle Otto needs a time-out because that is a bad word,” before kissing her messy hair and letting her go.
She giggled and said she was going to tell Uncle Otto he needed a time-out the next time she saw him.
As she ran off, Nico walked over to West and wrapped his arms around West’s neck, the dark ink on his skin standing out against West’s unmarked skin.
“Your brothers are going to be the death of me,” he murmured before leaning in to kiss his husband.
The two of them were enjoying a sweet moment until Jada noticed.
“Ahh!” she yelped. “Uncle Nico, no! You’re not old enough!”
Nico collapsed against West’s chest, laughing and turning his head to grin at our sassy daughter.
“Sweetheart, I promise I am.” West’s fingers tangled in Nico’s hair as he pulled Nico’s head back to kiss him again.
“I love you,” he growled. “And I will fight that mini consent officer for the right to kiss you.”
After heading over to address our daughter and give a stern but gentle warning against telling adults what to do, Hon returned to me, running the back of his finger along Joy’s plump cheek. Her lips did that little sleepy sucking thing that made both of us melt.
“Come on,” he whispered. “Let’s take her up to her crib.”
We moved into the house together, passing mismatched picture frames filled with family memories.
A pair of dirty pajamas stuck out from under a chair, toys lay scattered underfoot by the stairs, and there was still a deep gouge in the drywall from the day Hon had thrown open the front door too hard and whooped to let us know the adoption was final.
My heart filled with the ups and downs of the past eight years. The six years we’d enjoyed on our own, complete with fancy sun vacations and long, lingering dinners over a nice bottle or three of wine. And then the previous two, which had been a roller coaster like we’d never imagined.
“Oh my god,” Hon said with a laugh as he trailed me up the stairs.
“I forgot to tell you that the patient who sued the hospital when we met—remember him?—apparently, he is trying it again. I got a call from an attorney in Louisiana who told me a doozy of a story and then revealed that they’d found two other attempts by the same patient. ”
“Jesus,” I said. “Guy’s looking for a payday. Or he needs mental health support he’s not getting.”
I moved into the nursery and leaned over the crib, silently saying a little transfer prayer I’d made up several months ago after a particularly grueling car trip with the kids.
I am calm. The baby is calm. The crib is soft. My back is strong. Gravity is gentle. The universe wants this transfer to succeed.
Hon’s warm hand settled on my back as I laid Joy down and pressed a firm hand on her chest.
I am calm. The baby is calm. The crib is soft. My back is strong. Gravity is gentle. The universe wants this transfer to succeed.
“Dear god, I love you so much it hurts,” he said with familiar amusement in his voice.
I carefully picked up my hand, millimeter by millimeter, before backing away from the crib.
Hon and I moved like special ops soldiers trained to know that a single false move could result in sudden death.
When we were finally safely in the hallway with only one pathetic whimper from our sweet terror, we both exhaled and leaned over to put our hands on our knees.
“We should celebrate with a quickie,” Hon whispered.
I looked at him like he was crazy, but then I caught sight of those ruddy cheeks, which revealed my beautiful husband was having some racy thoughts.
“Honovi Rhodes-Baptiste,” I said. “Are you propositioning me?”
He crooked his finger at me. “C’mon. It’ll be brief, I promise.”
“Brief? Mmm, who said I wanted anything with you to be brief?”
He grabbed the bottom hem of my T-shirt and started pulling me toward our bedroom. The flirty grin I loved so much quirked his lip up, and his warm eyes sparkled with promise.
“Did I say brief? I meant briefs. I’m wearing new undies.”
We moved into the bedroom and closed the door, knowing Nico and West would have our backs with the other kids since we’d done it many times for them before.
When Hon began pulling off his clothes, sure enough, there was a new pair of briefs under his shorts I’d never seen before.
On the front, in bulging cotton, stretched out from his desire for me, were the words Hung Jury.
I groaned at the pun.
Only a few minutes later, I was groaning for a very, very different reason.
And our time upstairs was definitely not brief.