Chapter Forty-Six
Noah
–six years later
I make it home just in time for Mother’s Day. I told Mom if I missed it because of a logistical fuckup, I’d never shoot the cheetahs again, and voilà! Magically I got a flight back home out of a shithole where I had to wait in position to kill some authoritarian thug who’d been wanting to blow up one of our embassies.
I slip silently inside the house. Bobbi’s probably still sleeping. Victor’s been invaluable, and he’s now the manager at Bobbi’s Sweet Things, giving my wife a more flexible schedule while she juggles four kids.
I grab a quick shower in the bathroom on the other side of the house so I don’t disturb her, then quietly round up our three oldest. The youngest is only eighteen months old, so she won’t be able to help.
“Okay, boys, we’re going to treat your mom to a fabulous Mother’s Day breakfast,” I say as we arrive in the giant kitchen.
“Oooh, can I toast the bagel?” says Aiden. He has his mother’s bright eyes and smile. Steve and Ryan—the oldest and second-youngest, respectively—have my eyes and jaw, but Bobbi’s mouth. It’s amazing how I can see her in them. And that makes me love them even more each day.
“Yeah.” I help Aiden cut the bagel, while Steve gets water for the coffee, and Ryan gets the cream cheese. I scoop out the premium beans, grind them and start the coffeemaker. No breakfast is complete without fresh java.
Se?or Mittens watches us, looking bored from his favorite spot right underneath the Marilyn Monroe picture. He’s gotten quite plump from all the cream and caviar and tuna and steak, although we’ve cut back on treats due to the vet’s concern that he might have a heart attack or develop gout. He resents his vet and probably wishes he would get gout, but the man is rail thin and fit from his daily runs.
The kitchen starts to smell like coffee and toasted carbs. I pull out a tray, and Ryan spreads cream cheese on the bagel before placing it on a plate. Aiden pours some fresh mixed berries into a small glass bowl. We assemble everything on a tray, and Steve picks it up since he’s the oldest and most likely to carry out the task without an incident. I carry our little princess Evelyn so she can join in the celebration, even though she’s busy sleeping at the moment.
By the time we reach the bedroom, Bobbi’s lazing around in bed. She knows the Mother’s Day breakfast comes at nine thirty every year. When Steve was too little I did it myself, and then after that I did it with our children to show her how much we all love her.
“Happy Mother’s Day!” the boys say in unison.
“Oh my goodness, is this for me?” Bobbi says from bed, with a huge smile. “Wow, thank you.” She kisses our boys.
Then it’s my turn to kiss her.
“You’re home,” she says. “Everything go well?”
“Of course.” I smile. “I missed you and our kids.”
“Did you get some good shots, Dad?” asks Steve.
“I got one very good shot. But let’s not talk about work right now.”
“No, let’s not,” Bobbi says. Her hair’s rumpled and she looks a little sleepy, but she couldn’t be more lovely. I swear she’s going to the most beautiful woman to me even when she’s a hundred years old.
And it’s all come together—surrounded by our precious children, with the scent of fresh coffee wafting and laughter ringing in the air. Our love, family and home have been manifested in exactly the way we envisioned.
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