Epilogue
Six Years Later
Frankie
I rub more sunscreen onto Bear’s nose, cheeks, and ears as he watches Wilder getting thrown through the air in the pool.
“Am I done?” he asks, his blue eyes on mine.
“Yep. Finish your icy pole, then you can get back in.” He lets out a sigh at my instruction, then sits on the sun lounger next to me. “Wild, come get some more sunscreen on!” I call out to our eldest son.
“I’m fine,” comes his reply.
“I’ll be the judge of that. Come get a top up, and you can have an icy pole.”
Sam lifts him out of the pool immediately.
“Daddy?”
“Yes, princess?” Sam and I respond in unison when Sofia calls our name.
“Do I need more sunscween?”
“I think you’re good for the minute,” Sam says before he swims towards her.
Her little face is barely visible beneath the hat and sunnies she’s wearing, along with her bathers and floaty jacket.
“But can I still have an icy pole?” she looks across to me and asks.
“You can have whatever your little heart desires,” I tell her as I hand Wilder his icy pole.
Our five-year-old doesn’t look at me with anywhere near the same level of adoration in his green eyes, so much like my own, as our FiFi does.
Three kids. Two dads. One mum. Two dogs. One horse. Three ponies.
One life.
We’ve never done DNA tests because we don’t care. Mila is Mum, and to keep it simple, Sam and I are both Dad, and everyone, including Sam and me, has the surname Grace.
It caused a few raised brows when the kids first started at kinder, but not as many as we expected.
Just over five years ago, when Mila first found out she was pregnant, we made the decision to sell the club and move up the coast. We found a beautiful property set on a macadamia farm in northern New South Wales. It houses eight bedrooms and is set on eight acres of land, with three extra bungalows positioned close to the main house. We can walk to the beach, and we’re just a fifteen-minute drive to Byron Bay.
Life here is a world away, a lot warmer, and a lot less judgmental than the suburbs of Melbourne.
We’ve explained to the kids in the most age-appropriate way possible that they’re lucky. They have two daddies who both love their mummy, they love all of them, and they love each other. No doubt, as they get older, we’ll have to have a more in-depth and detailed conversation with them, and no doubt, the way we choose to live might cause embarrassment for them amongst their friends. No matter what, though, our kids will always know that they’re loved and we’re doing our absolute utmost to give them the best childhood, as well as equipping them with the best tools emotionally to face whatever adulthood might bring their way.
Except FiFi, because our princess isn’t allowed to grow up. She’s to remain our blonde-haired, grey-eyed, almost three-year-old ruler of the house forever.
With Wilder, our eldest, being olive-skinned, green-eyed, and darked-haired, it made it easy to guess which one of us is biologically his dad. With Bear, our middle child, being tall, blond, and blue-eyed, he’s an absolute clone of Sam. But Princess Sofia is the image of her mum, without a hint of Sam or me in her DNA, making it anyone’s guess.
It makes no difference anyway. We each treat the boys like they’re our own, and FiFi like royalty—something that pisses her mother off on a daily basis.
“Where’s Mils?” Sam asks as he lifts Feef out of the pool.
“Not sure. What was mummy doing when you came out?” I ask my daughter as she climbs onto my lap.
“Omitting,” she replies around the raspberry icy pole I just handed her.
“What?”
“Vomiting,” Wilder explains. “She did it yesterday as well.”
My eyes meet Sam’s, who’s already lifting himself out of the water. He rises like a god from the pool, water running down his tall, toned body, dripping from his nose, jaw, and hair. He grabs a towel and starts drying himself, then catches me watching. He pauses, his eyes darting between the kids, and obviously decides little ears are too close to say anything inappropriate, even though we both know what he’s thinking about.
Last night.
Last night, when something happened that, in all our years together, never has.
Mila wasn’t feeling well yesterday, either, so she went to bed early. Once the kids were all settled, Sam and I had sat out here by the pool and had a few drinks. More than a few, actually, because we were celebrating the sale of a racehorse from our stable, the profits from which were greater than the national debt of some small nations. By the time we went to bed, I was still revved up on the adrenaline of the horse auction and was feeling horny. Sam obviously felt the same. Because Mila was both unwell and out cold on one side of the bed instead of the middle, between us, where she usually slept, I climbed in beside Sam. The instant I did, his hands and mouth were on me. We kissed, we stroked, I licked, I sucked, and finally, without Mila between us, for the first time ever, we fucked.
We were silent the whole time, and when we were done and both cleaned up, I expected him to slide Mila to the middle, putting her back between us, but he didn’t. We climbed back into bed, and although not a word was said, when I spooned Mila, Sam spooned me, and I woke this morning with his hard dick pressed against my arse.
Unfortunately, Feef’s little faced appeared between us, declaring, “I’m hungry.”
I swear this kid eats more than the boys combined. We test her on the regular for worms. She’s always clear, but just like her mum, she’s also always hungry.
Sam got up and took her to the kitchen. Mila barely stirred, so I left her to sleep in and got up with Sam to sort our ravenous tribe out.
We haven’t had a chance to talk since, and knowing Sam, we won’t. But I know—we both know—that lately, there’s been a shift. I don’t know what’s caused it, but Sam finally seems to have decided he wants more from me—more than what we have with Mila, something that’s just ours, and I’m here for it.
And sitting here with our kids, watching the man I love walk into the dream home we’ve created for our family to go check on the woman we worship, I’ve never been happier and more content in my life.
Sam
I walk to the ensuite of our bedroom to find Mila draped over the toilet, her head resting on her arm.
“Babe?” I call out.
She raises her free arm and gives me a peace sign. Why? I’ve no fucking idea.
“You doing okay?” I grabbed a water on my way through, so I unscrew the lid and squat down next to her. “What’s going on?” I ask, already having half an idea.
I hand her the water, then, lifting up her hair, I place the bottle I grabbed for myself on the back of her neck.
“I haven’t felt right since I ate those skewers yesterday lunchtime,” she says before sipping from the bottle. Her face is pale except for the dark circles under eyes.
“You sure it’s the chicken and not…?”
“I’m not pregnant. I knew you’d think that. I’m surprised?—”
“Yeah, he’s not the only one.” Frankie interrupts whatever Mila was about to say as he walks in carrying FiFi on his hip. “Back pocket,” he says as he turns his arse to me. “I picked it up from the supermarket when I went to the bakers this morning.”
I pull the white paper bag from his back pocket and look inside to see the pregnancy test box. I look from Mila to Frankie, who shrugs.
“Have you not noticed the size of her boobs? The only time they’re that big is…”
“Mummy’s got big boobies. I want big boobies,” FiFi says as she attempts to wriggle out of Frankie’s arms.
“No, you don’t,” I tell my daughter.
“Not happening. Not ever, princess.”
She pouts and wriggles harder.
“Finish that bottle, then do this.” I pull the test from the bag and place it down next to Mila.
“What’s them ones, Mummu? I is hungry. Down, Daddy, down,” FiFi demands, no doubt thinking there’s something edible in the box.
Mila holds out her hand, and I pull her up from the floor. She puts the lid down on the toilet and sits on it. Frankie hands Feef over to her, and she wraps her in her arms.
“It’s okay, Mumma. Drink your water. It’ll make you belly better.”
“Thank you, baby girl. I will.”
“You drink you water, I eat you lollies.”
“There are no lollies in there, bub. Just something to help us find out what’s wrong with Mumma’s belly,” I tell her.
“Where are the boys?” Mila asks.
“Playroom, watching a show,” Frankie tells her.
Her eyes slice between the three of us. “Are you gonna be pi—peed off with me if I’m pregnant?” she asks.
“Of course not.” I lean in to kiss her, but she puts up her hand to stop me.
“Vomit breath, remember?”
“I was going to kiss the top of your head, not lick your tonsils.”
She screws up her nose in disgust.
“Why would we be mad?” Frankie asks as he leans against the sink with his arms folded across his chest, legs crossed at the ankles. “Worried, yeah. Fucking terrified, but not mad.”
FiFi cups Mila’s ear and whispers loudly, “Daddy said a sweary word. Can I make him pay?”
“Go for it,” Mils whispers loudly back before sliding Feef to the floor. She runs on her chubby legs to Frankie and holds out her palm.
“You say fucking, you have to pay…”
“FiFi!” Mila.
“Feefs!” Me.
“Princess, we don’t repeat that word,” Frankie tells her.
“You say it.”
“I did, and I’m naughty, and now I’m going to give you some money to put in the sweary word jar.”
“All your dollars,” she demands.
“Fuuuuu…. Far out, kid. You sound like your mother.” Frankie saves himself as he hands her a fifty.
“I’m no like mummy. I don’t have boobies yet.”
“How ‘bout you go put that in the sweary jar?” I suggest.
She looks between us as she chews on her bottom lip. “Are you mad with mummu?” she asks with a frown.
“No, bubbu, never,” I tell her, hating that we’ve worried her with our grown-up talk.
“Why would we be mad with mummu? We love mummu,” Frankie declares.
“Coz she pegnant.”
“No, no! I’m not. My bad belly just made me say a silly thing. No one’s mad,” Mils says, forcing a smile. “Go put the money in the jar.”
Feefs continues to look between us. “What’s pegnant? I want one. Can I eat it?”
“Fuck me,” Frankie sighs, already pulling more money from his wallet.
“No, never. Not happening,” I tell FiFi.
“Go put the money in the jar, then go watch a show with the boys,” Mila orders.
Once happily loaded up with a hundred dollars, our youngest skips off to put her money in the already full sweary jar.
We all stare at each other.
During her pregnancy with Sofia, Mils suffered with Hyperemesis Gravidarum—severe morning sickness—and ended up in the hospital. Then early last year, we lost a baby in the second trimester. Both were awful, devastating, and traumatising. And at one stage, I thought we might never get our beautiful girl back, she was so depressed. When she started to brighten a little bit, the three of us had a conversation and decided maybe it was for the best if there were no more babies. Frankie and I both offered to get the snip. Mila asked us to wait and not rush into anything as she’s always wanted four kids. The plan was, she’d go back on the pill. It never happened, and we’ve all known this would one day be the outcome.
The whole experience brought the three of us, but especially Frankie and me, closer together than ever. I definitely felt a shift in our relationship. Last night was evidence of that and was a way for me to let him know how much I love and appreciate him and what we have.
I move to the sink and stand next to him as Mila unwraps the box, lifts the lid of the toilet, and sits back down to pee.
Ten minutes later, we’re all staring at the word ‘PREGNANT’ on the stick.
“Girl,” Frankie predicts
“Girl,” I agree. Mils was never sick with the boys, only with Sofia and Birdie, the baby girl we lost last year.
“Girl,” Mils says with a smile as we all move in for a kiss.
Seven months later,Frankie Ella Grace comes into the world loud, angry, and with dark brows frowning over her piercing green eyes, and a mop of dark hair on her head.
The only thing that has stopped the kid screaming since her birth three months ago is loud music and being held by me.
Once again, Mils was incredibly sick throughout her pregnancy, but this time we managed to avoid a hospital stay. Still, Frankie and I made the decision to both have a vasectomy six months ago, so she will be our last.
Our family is complete. Our life, although not conventional, is pretty much perfect. Our love for each other and our kids, boundless. They will never experience the poverty, fear, and loneliness of their mum’s childhood, but we’ve made them aware that not everyone is fortunate to live the way we do, and we give generously of our time, and financially support many local charities.
We involve the kids when we can, even if it’s something as simple as donating one of their favourite toys to Santa at Christmas time, to give to a child who might otherwise end up with nothing.
Hopefully, all of this means we’re raising good kids, who one day, will become great adults.
Mila
My eyes move to each person sitting around our table. As usual, everyone is with us for Christmas. As usual, it’s been hectic. As usual, I’ve loved every minute.
Sofia turned three a couple of weeks ago, and this has been the first year she’s been fully invested in Santa’s arrival. It’s been great being able to bribe her with threats of only getting coal in her stocking if she didn’t behave.
Only ever being the baby, she was a little green eyed when Frankie arrived. Big feelings meant changes to her behaviour. She didn’t want to sleep in her own bed at night, and she’d been spiteful towards her brothers, and even the baby on occasion. She’d even asked if we could send Frankie back because she was noisy, but after a couple of months, she settled down, and we got our Feefs back.
Today had been a big day for her, and my eyes land on Frankie’s, who is holding her sleeping form in his lap. He smiles, and I smile back.
“Love you,” he mouths.
“Love you, too,” I mouth back.
“Is anyone hungry?” Maryam, Frankie’s mum, asks.
“Mum, seriously? Just sit down. You’ve not stopped all day,” Frankie tells her.
She sits down in the chair next to me, rolling her eyes at Frankie as she does. Like she had with all of my pregnancies, Maryam came to stay while I was pregnant with little Frankie. She was a fantastic help with the kids, and despite having Jolly, our cleaning lady, and her team come in twice a week, Maryam was usually vacuuming, dusting, wiping down, doing laundry, folding laundry, and putting laundry away, all in between cooking our meals.
We’d hit it off from our very first meeting, and much like her son, I quickly grew to love her. I couldn’t imagine not having her in my life now.
During our first meeting, Maryam told me how she tried her best to help my mum, but when Scott Walsh realised it was her who had taken Mum to the hospital, he threatened Frankie in the same way he’d threatened the lives of my siblings and me.
Despite a physical fight breaking out between Tommy—Frankie’s dad—and Scott, when Maryam told him what had happened, Tommy refused to let Maryam make a statement to the police, and this caused a massive rift between her and her husband, which remained until he died of a heart attack.
Thankfully, Frankie didn’t know this part of his parents’ story, and I had sworn to Maryam I’d never tell him.
“I’m getting another beer. Anyone else want one?” Kristoff, Sam’s dad, asks.
“I’ll have one,” Marcie calls from the pool, where she’s playing with our boys, along with her and Ella’s three kids.
Unable to decide which one of them was going to carry a baby, they both used the same sperm donor and had their embryos implanted on the same day. Ella ended up pregnant with twin girls, Marcie a boy. The non-triplet triplets were now four years old, with Atlas being born a day before his sisters, Pearl and Flora.
With their three and our four, Christmas morning had been chaos, but with the help of all the adults, it had also been perfect.
“I’m going to make a cup of tea. Would anyone like one of those?” Nora, my ex-mother-in-law, asks.
As a five-year sober recovering alcoholic, the kettle is always on when Nora’s around, which, when my dad was here, wasn’t a bad thing, because these days, tea is also his only vice.
The pair of them had gone into a treatment facility together, and my dad was now a foreman working in the warehouse for the haulage side of Walsh Holdings.
Logan had been killed in the helicopter crash six years ago. All of his interests in the family business, as per the instructions of his will, had gone to Scott. Unfortunately, Scott, the only survivor, had been left a quadriplegic and was totally paralysed from the neck down. He now needs help breathing and is unable to talk. Scott’s will had given both medical and financial power of attorney to Logan, but in the event of Logan dying before Scott, it went to Ella. So, Ella and Marcie, with the help of a now sober Mickey and Nora, are running Walsh Holdings.
Fortunately for Scott, his brain wasn’t impacted in the accident, and Ella and Marcie, along with Nora, Mickey, and their three kids—whose sperm donor father had first nations heritage—very kindly keep up with Scott’s family tradition of everyone eating together. And every night, they sit around the table with Scott to tell him all about what has gone on with the business that day or week.
The money they’ve earned.
The money they’ve spent.
The charities they’ve donated to.
The programs they’ve put in place to offer workplace training to young indigenous kids, and the support they offer them if they want to further their education.
The fact that twenty-five percent of the business is now owned by Zach, and twenty-five percent by me.
As much as I’d love to be a fly on the wall to witness the look on Scott Walsh’s face when he is given all the news about the generous philanthropic gestures by his company, there is absolutely no way I am ever setting foot back in that house. And with us having the space to accommodate everyone here, I’ve never had to.
As I look around the table now, I see Sam with Frankie sleeping in her favourite spot against her dad’s bare chest. I see his mum Monica sitting beside him, with my dad on the other side while the three of them talk quietly. I see Frankie with FiFi in his arms, Maryam beside me, Kris getting beers, Nora making tea, and Ella and Marcie in the pool with Wilder, Bear, Atlas, Pearl, and Flora, and I can’t help but smile at what an eclectic, unconventional group we make.
Maryam, Kris, and Monica have been reasonably accepting of my relationship with Frankie and Sam. My dad and Nora took a little longer to warm to the idea, but now it’s never even mentioned.
So, here we are, all of us together, all of us with a story to tell, and all of us enjoying a day filled with love, laughter, and most importantly of all, a day spent together.
When two bright blue Superb Fairy Wrens land in the garden, I know that my mum and Birdie are with us, too, and my heart is full.
THE END