Epilogue
Aspen
Christmas has always been magical. My parents made it that way, but now that our house is filled with the sound of little feet on the floor, even more so. I’m living a life I didn’t know was possible just a few short months ago. It’s heaven-sent, really.
Sure, my boobs have about had it with breastfeeding.
Jackson has teeth now, and he makes sure I know it.
My New Year's resolution is to get him off the boob. I’m going to miss those tender moments between us, when the whole world is sleeping and it’s just my body fueling his.
The sweet cuddles on the recliner in his nursery.
But I’m really looking forward to being myself again.
To not tracking ounces in and ounces out.
I wonder what I will do with all that free time.
“Go get her, buddy,” I hear from outside the door.
I woke up to an empty bed, which must mean my sweet baby daddy is taking the morning shift. It’s easier to do now that Jackson eats pretty much everything we do, and we have more than enough milk supply in the freezer.
The bedroom door creaks open and the room fills with the sound of his sweet giggles. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of it; I often wonder how I ever lived without the high of hearing my sons laugh.
“Mommomomoma,” comes out of his mouth and I sit up and stretch for half a second before leaning over and scooping him up. He is quickly learning how to talk with all the time he spends with me and his uncle Weston. Really, we’ll be lucky if he ever stops if he takes after the two of us.
“Here’s some coffee,” Rhetts says as he leans down and kisses my head.
“You should have woken me up; it’s his first Christmas,” I say before taking a sip of the coffee. Exactly the way I like.
“Baby, he barely knows who we are; he does not know what Christmas means yet. I promise you the sleep was worth it,” he says. It’s now that I notice his dark hair is shot out in all different directions. Either from sleep or pulling at it, I’m not sure.
Now that Jackson is mobile, it’s a bit harder keeping him out of everything. Rhett herding cattle the majority of his life now looks like a walk in the park compared to herding his child.
“You’re right. What time is it?” I ask as I pick my phone up, “Oh no, I need to get up. We have to be at my mom’s in an hour.
” It’s already seven. I haven’t slept this late, in well, about a year.
Realistically, a little before that because I had to pee every three minutes during that last month of pregnancy.
“Okay buddy, give mom a kiss. She needs to get ready, and the last thing we need is an overstimulated mom on Christmas.” He grabs Jackson from the bed and shoots me a wink.
“I’m a delight,” I say, but I know it's futile. I do get a tad bit, well, unhinged when I’m teetering on the scale of over-stimulation.
“You’re right. You are completely rational and reasonable when everything is going smoothly. So, I am going to grab our son and get him dressed.” I go to cut him off, but he raises his brow. “Yes, I will use the Christmas outfit, get dressed. I’ll see you in forty-five minutes.”
Forty-five minutes to get ready for the fashion show, aka Christmas in my parents’ living room, is not nearly enough.
But the thing with motherhood has taught me some tricks.
Like how to go from gremlin to gorgeous in twenty short minutes.
The key components are dry shampoo and sheer will to finish before a baby wakes up screaming.
I come out of the bathroom forty three minutes later, a new record. Feeling fresh and ready to celebrate my sweet boy.
Rhett looks up and grins. “Gorgeous as always. I’m going to shower and get ready; I’ll be out in fifteen and then we can head to your parents.”
“We’re going to be late,” I say while silently being jealous over the fact it only takes men fifteen minutes to look presentable. So rude.
“We’re first-time parents; I’m pretty sure your mom knows the drill. Not only that, baby, but you haven’t been on time since the day you were born. Us being fifteen minutes late will actually impress them.”
“Go get ready,” I shoo him, not wanting to admit that he is right.
Fifteen minutes later, he comes out looking, well, like a fucking dream, and suddenly I’m sad that we don’t have an extra five minutes.
That’s something we’ve gotten really good at, using seven little minutes to get down and dirty.
Rhett is efficient at everything and I’ve never been more grateful for that.
We load the baby and gifts into the truck and make it to the house at eight seventeen.
My mom stands at the front door waving, and I feel a rush of appreciation. I thought I understood her love before, but I get it so much more now. The depth of it knows no bounds, and I am so lucky to be hers. I hope to make my kids feel the same way.
I grab the baby while Rhett wrangles in the gifts as I pretend to ignore the silent curses every time one of them starts to slip. A giggle right now might just send him over the edge.
“How is my favorite boy?” my mom says as I make it through the front door.
“Hey! I thought I was your favorite,” Weston whines.
“Close second, honey, close second,” she retorts back as she unbuckles Jackson; he eagerly reaches up for her. I think my mom will be his favorite person the second my boobs become useless to him. Such is the life of a mother.
Maverick and Ava’s daughter, Gracie, runs over to us. She is entirely her own person. She has Ava’s kind heart but every single bit of her dad’s wit and sass. I love watching life humble him; as a little sister, it’s nice. Payback for all the time they were assholes to me.
“Can Jackson pway?” she asks, still struggling with L sounds.
Jackson wiggles out of my mom’s arms. He isn’t the best play buddy since he is smaller and younger, but I imagine as the years pass those two will be inseparable.
“Grathe,” he says, not quite nailing the C sound quite yet. It’s one of the only things he can say right now confidently, so I let him have it.
The waddle off together to the play bin my mother has so graciously supplied.
“Glad you could make it,” Willow jokes as she waddles herself. It took her and West a while to get pregnant, but with the help of modern medicine, they will have not one, but two sweet babies some time in February.
Our family has grown so rapidly over the last couple of years that I can’t help but smile as I look around.
Soon, we will have to have a kids table, and maybe a second after that if any of us decide to have more.
And as I look at Rhett, I know I want at least one more.
He was meant to be a dad, and now that he can have that without reservations, I want him to have it.
At least two more times. Plus, he’s such a fucking dilf.
Watching him be the best dad ever is like an aphrodisiac or something.
It’s a miracle I’m not already pregnant, actually.
“Okay. Let’s eat and then we can do the fun part,” Mav says. Still a child at heart.
I get it though; the giddy feeling I have at watching Jackson open his Christmas presents for the first time is unbearable. He doesn’t even get the concept yet, while Grace probably is getting a little more inclined to new toys.
We gather around the table the same way we have done a million times, but it feels more special this time.
Everyone has their dream; Weston is finally getting his babies; Rhett is healthy and will stay that way for a long time; Mav has settled every demon from his past. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so much at ease as he is with Grace and Ava.
As for me? I have Rhett and Jackson, and I think that’s all I really need to be happy.
My eyes drift to my parents; my dad leans over and kisses my mom on the cheek. When his face shows at the table, I see tears in his eyes. Not of sadness but of deep joy. They have truly won the race. Four kids, two not even of their own blood but theirs all the same, happy as can be.
As soon as we wrap up breakfast, the kids are borderline ready for a nap, and so am I. No one can induce a food coma better than my mother, a gift God has truly blessed her with.
“Alright, let's do the kids first and then us adults?” Ava suggests.
“Great idea, they will be able to preoccupy themselves,” Weston says.
“You’re not just a pretty face, are you?” She jokes and he mocks offense; I, however, am about to pee from laughing so hard. Watching your best friend humble your brother on a daily basis is truly a gift.
My dad hands out one present to each kid and they start opening. We help Jackson and Grace; well, she tears into that thing like no one's business. She lets out a screech of happiness at her doll and new doll house.
Jackson sees his new dinosaur and starts clapping. He is all boy; dirt and dinosaurs bring him such levels of joy, it is astounding.
‘Hold on, buddy, let me get it out of the packaging,” Rhett says. He pulls out the toy and hands it to him.
They each have three more, which elicits the same reaction.
Rhett grabs my hand and squeezes. When I meet his gaze, I find his eyes are filled with tears, too. “I think he might just be the best gift you’ve ever given me,” he whispers, just loud enough for me to hear.
I lean into him, feeling his warmth encompass me. “Ditto.”
The kids run off with their new toys, giggles bounce off the walls, and I don’t think there is a single face in this house without a smile.
The boys tear into gifts just like the kids before them did, and it’s easy to see sometimes the kid in us never dies. Or maybe, the kids have just brought it back out in us, the endless joy.
“I think it’s a good thing we saved the best one for last,” Rhett says from behind me. I tear my gaze from Mav and Weston showing off their new man toys to find Rhett on his knee in front of me.
The whole room stills as my ears start to ring, my entire body buzzing.
“The last year and a half with you has been life-changing; you’ve already made and kept promises that marriage vows cover, so I think it’s my turn to make it official and to keep my promises.
The promise to guard your heart so fiercely nothing can get through, to make you laugh at least once a day, and to fill your life with as much love and joy as you have mine.
There is no one on this earth I’d rather love for eternity than you, Aspen.
Will you do me the honor of marrying me?
” he asks, a single tear slipping from his face.
I don’t even eye the ring as I slip from the chair to throw my arms around him, bringing him as close to me as our bodies will allow.
Pulling back, I say, “Yes, a million times yes!”
He slides on a ring far nicer than anything I've ever owned, a gorgeous radiant-cut with a band of baguettes and marquis diamonds.
“Holy shit,” I say.
The whole room bursts into laughter, hoots, and hollers. He wraps me in his arms, and I know that I am home. That he is my home. He always has been.