Chapter 58 #2
Caleb gets building blocks—the fancy architectural kind Blake picked out—and immediately starts constructing something elaborate on the floor.
June tears into her package, finds a dress for her rabbit, and makes the rabbit kiss everyone in the room to say thank you.
Iris ignores her board book entirely and plays with the wrapping paper for twenty minutes.
I should probably redirect her. Teach her about the actual gift. Be educational.
Instead I watch her shred paper with the focus of a tiny, adorable destructor, and I think: I made that. That small ridiculous person exists because I decided to stay.
My parents exchange small packages. Compass for him, silk scarf for her. Forty years of knowing exactly what the other person needs.
Reid gives Blake a new tool belt. Blake gives Reid a watch with something engraved on the back. I don't see what it says, but Reid goes very still when he reads it, then grabs the back of Blake's neck, pressing their foreheads together.
It's not traditionally intimate. But everyone in the room sees the intimacy anyway.
They give me a necklace. Three small stones—garnet, emerald, pearl. One for each kid.
"We'll add to it," Reid says. "As the family grows."
I don't trust my voice. Just nod and let Blake fasten it around my neck.
The old me used to buy travel-size everything. Shampoo, lotion, toothpaste. Full-size bottles felt like too much commitment—what if I needed to leave quickly?
Now I have a Costco membership. I buy toilet paper in bulk. I have a necklace that's designed to grow.
The old me would have hives.
Getting the kids to bed is a process.
Iris goes down first, passed out in Blake's arms before eight. June protests all the way to her room and is asleep within minutes. Caleb holds out until almost nine, then finally admits defeat.
"Will Santa know Grandma and Grandpa are in the little house?" he asks while I tuck him in.
"Santa knows everything."
"But how?"
"Magic."
He frowns. "That's not a real answer."
"It's the only one I've got. Go to sleep."
I kiss his forehead. He smells like sugar cookies and the evergreen soap Blake buys. Like Christmas.
"Night, Mama."
"Night, baby."
I close his door and lean against it for a second. Just breathing.
He called me Mama like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Like I'm a person who knows how to do this. Five years of being a Mom and I still sometimes feel like I'm improvising—like eventually someone's going to check my credentials and realize I have no idea what I'm doing.
But he's alive. He's happy. He said "indispensable" today, mostly correctly.
Maybe that's enough. Maybe that's the whole job.
My parents are getting ready to leave when I find them in the living room. My father's studying the photos on the mantel—kids at various ages, our commitment ceremony, a candid of the three of us from Reid's department picnic.
"Beautiful family," he says without turning around.
"I know."
"I wasn't sure at first. When you told us about..." He gestures vaguely at the photo. "This."
"I remember." Hard to forget that trip. The woman I am now never would have put us in that position. I would have broken the news to them on the phone, and kept talking, so by the time we visited, they'd have had time to wrap their heads around it.
"I was wrong." He turns to face me. "Never seen you this happy. This settled."
"Took me a while to figure out what I wanted."
"Took us a while to get out of your way." He pulls me into a hug. Same aftershave he's worn my whole life. "Proud of you, Lainey."
I hold on tight.
Proud of you. He was always proud of me growing up. Proud of my nursing degree and the work I did. Proud of my decisions.
Until Reid and Blake. It took a year, but I don't have any doubts that he's proud of me again. More than proud. He would go toe to toe with anyone who dared question my family.
My mother joins in, wrapping around both of us. "We'll see you in the morning. Early. The children will make sure."
"Six if we're lucky."
"I can't wait."
I watch from the window as they walk down the path to the cottage. Porch light on. Smoke from the chimney.
Home. They're finally home.
The house is quiet.
Reid's loading the last dishes into the dishwasher. Blake's in the living room unplugging the tree, checking that everything's ready for morning.
I stand in the doorway, watching them.
My partners. The fathers of my children. The two people who, for reasons I still don't fully understand, looked at my chaos and said "yes, we want the woman who used to keep her passport in her purse just in case."
Just in case of what? I never had a good answer. Just in case I needed to run. Just in case this wasn't real. Just in case I woke up one day and realized I'd made a terrible mistake.
My passport is in a filing cabinet now. I had to dig for it last year when we took the kids to Canada.
Reid catches me staring. "You okay?"
"Yeah. Better than okay."
Blake comes up behind me. Arms around my waist, chin hooked over my shoulder. "Kids down?"
"All three."
"Parents?"
"Cottage."
He exhales. I feel the tension drain out of him—eight months of tension, finally releasing.
"You did good," I tell him. "So good."
"We did good."
Reid dries his hands and comes to join us. Pressed against my front while Blake holds me from behind.
Sandwiched. Surrounded. Safe.
Sometimes I look at the three of us and think: where is the actual adult? There should be someone supervising this. Someone with a plan. Someone who knows what they're doing.
Then I remember we're the someones.
Terrifying. And also kind of amazing. Because it turns out, between the three of us, we can totally grown-up this. Our kids are darn lucky to have us.
"Bed?" Blake's voice is low against my ear.
"God yes," Reid says. "Been awake since six."
"Whose fault is that?" I ask.
"Yours. Both of yours."
We turn off the lights and head for the stairs. Blake's hand is on my lower back, guiding. Possessive in a way that still makes my pulse kick up after seven years.
We reach the hallway and Blake's grip tightens. Stops me.
Reid raises an eyebrow.
"She's mine first," Blake says. Low. Rough. "I've been waiting all day."
Reid's mouth curves. He leans against the wall, crosses his arms. "By all means."
Blake doesn't wait. He turns me toward the bathroom, walking me backward, hands already sliding under my shirt.
"Shower," he says. "Now."
I'm laughing as he kicks the door shut behind us.