Chapter 1
YEARS LATER
(after BFFHoneymoon Extended Epilogue)
Kimberly
“Kim, this is a bad idea. A very bad idea,” my husband, Morgan, says around a mouthful of toothpaste, his toothbrush dangling frozen between his cheek and bottom teeth.
He’s standing in the doorway between our bedroom and bathroom in maroon cotton pajama pants that have seen better days, but despite having enough money to buy his own clothing factory, he refuses to let me throw them away, claiming ‘they’re broken in perfectly’.
I studiously ignore his sexy half-nakedness in favor of continuing to rub lotion into my hands.
I’m not going to be swayed on this, no matter what.
“I have thought of every possible solution. You have too. This is not only the best way, it’s truly the only way we can be sure to get everyone together.
Besides, turnabout is fair play, wouldn’t you agree? ”
I arch a playful brow, appealing to his sense of righteousness. My husband is many things, but a big believer in fair play is definitely one of the parts of him that’s sexy, comforting, and infuriating at the same time.
Our family, the one we created from the ground up with love and support, but also, with hard conversations and through difficult times, is drifting apart.
It’s a phase, I know that. Morgan knows that.
We want our children to create their own pockets of home, with their chosen partners, their children, their lives.
They need freedom and independence to do so.
But we also want those original threads of connection to stay densely woven together, and that requires time and attention. Family isn’t just a label to be slapped on biology. It’s a relationship that must be cared for, fed and watered like a garden. And our garden is withering.
Ross and Kaede have been growing One Life Gyms into a household name, building locations faster than they dreamed possible.
Violet’s interior design work has gone through a cycle of growth, but now, she’s found a specialized niche in hospitality that keeps her busy but focused.
Their children, my beloved grandchildren, are older, with the go-go-go pace that only teenagers can keep up with – sports, extracurriculars, friends, and a digital world in their hands that I’m only slightly attuned to.
Courtney is living the non-stop day-to-day life of a CEO, carrying a weighty responsibility Morgan is all too familiar with.
Abi has her hands full with her flower shop and her daughter, Maisie, and Lorenzo has his hands full with both his daughter and his wife, not to mention his restaurant which recently received a Michelin star.
Their lives are gloriously full and their schedules spectacularly packed, and I miss them all. So much.
Morgan pauses his toothbrush and shakes his head in disappointment. With me? With the current state of affairs? Both?
But he no longer argues. Instead, he disappears into the bathroom, spits into the sink, and a moment later, reappears with a teasing smirk.
He’s taken position, one shoulder leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his bare chest, his eyes dancing from my face, to my shoulders, to my breasts, and lower.
He knows exactly what’s hiding beneath the Egyptian cotton duvet folded neatly in my lap.
“How completely are we going to have to sell this?”
I know what he’s asking. Are we going to have to pretend to argue, shouting insults at one another in a way we never have before? Will we need to sleep in separate rooms, avoiding the casual touches and affectionate nicknames that have been hallmarks of our decades-long marriage?
“Full send,” I answer firmly, then add a little more teasingly, “publicly.”
“Publicly,” he echoes. “And privately?”
“Privately,” I drawl out meaningfully. I barely have a chance to throw back the blanket in invitation before he lunges at me, bouncing on the bed’s mattress and sending me into the air.
I’m still laughing when his lips cover mine and his arms wrap around me.
His retirement from Andrews Consolidated hasn’t been all we imagined it’d be.
It’s been better. We’ve found new ways to fulfill ourselves individually – me, with my continued charity work, and him, with a pickleball league, of all things - and as a couple, creating new routines to take advantage of increased time together.
But our children don’t know any of that.
“Are you certain you’re okay with this?” I ask Karl, the house manager who has been with us for decades, overseeing everything so well that I don’t even know what all he does on a daily bass. I just know this household couldn’t function without him.
“I miss them too, you know?” he says slowly.
His voice is scratchier than it once was.
He’s older than Morgan and I, and to be honest, he doesn’t work so much as oversee his assistants these days.
And that’s how it should be. Karl has earned his retirement as much as we have, and it gives me great pleasure to ensure his later years are as comfortable as they can be, the same way he did for us for so long.
He's one of the many reasons I’m willing to take things so far. We all need this, Karl included.
I pat my old friends’ hand supportively. “Thank you.”
“I’ll call Abi first thing after lunch.” His vow is my dismissal, and knowing I’ve interfered enough with his daily watching of The Price Is Right, I take my leave.
The Plan has begun.