Epilogue
“Argh!” Mila mutters just as the first chords of I’m Too Sexy blast through the speakers. “Do they really have to sing this every.single.year?”
I shrug, casually playing with the cherry in my drink, taking in the scene unfolding in front of me.
Then there’s a highly eclectic crowd – colorful outfits, scrunchies in their hair, superhero masks, and hair slicked with sweat – jumping around like this is the most fun moment of the entire party.
“Well, at least the kids like it. Definitely better than Baby Shark all day,” I say.
“I like Baby Shark,” Mila comments, licking only the blue side of her red-and-blue slushy. “I think it’s a classic.”
“Maybe they’re getting a little too old for Baby Shark.” My gaze drifts to my best friend’s seven-month-pregnant belly stretching her Calvin Klein dress and I complete, “Don’t worry, you still have plenty of Baby Shark time ahead.”
Mila licks the red side of her slushy.
“Tell me about it. But, really, this is the last one!”
“You said the same thing when you were pregnant with the twins,” I tease, pointing toward the two little blond boys, barefoot and shirtless, clinging to Robbie’s hips.
Conrad with a Spider-Man mask, Theo with a Hulk mask.
It’s their birthday. Six years old.
My God, how did time pass so fast?
How did we go from cheap beer and peanuts at a Harlem karaoke night to a kid’s birthday party in some ocean front house in the Hamptons?
How did I go from tight dresses and sneakers to tailored pants and silk shirts?
Well, at least the answer for that last question has just appeared right in front of me.
Because of course, he arrives just as fancy: gray blazer over a white shirt, sunglasses which he slowly removes, knowing exactly the effect that brief motion has on me. Jasper Hassmann, ten years later, still manages to make time stop.
Stylish as hell. His black hair and beard now streaked with the white strands that appeared over the years. Does it make him ugly? No, it only makes him even more handsome and elegant. So I needed to step up my style if I wanted to keep up with him.
And let’s say that, once the podcast started growing, I had a little extra money for shopping. And let’s also say I once got him into a football jersey for a Bengals game when we went to Cincinnati for Christmas, so over time, I guess we each learned a little from the other.
Jasper crosses the garden with a calm stride, the sea breeze tousling his hair so forcefully that he instinctively reaches out to hold Libby’s hand. Libby, nine years old, completely accidental, conceived in front of a fireplace on an exceptionally cold winter night.
How is he the father of my daughters?
Libby slaps his hand away, and Mila and I laugh together.
Nine years old, but she acts like she’s already fifty.
Jasper had to arrive later to the party because Libby had an oboe lesson in New York and wouldn’t miss it for anything. If you ask me, she’s even worse than he is. But I think he deserves every piece of her just the way she is.
I watch him reach the stage and almost get run over by Penelope, who jumps on him with such force that Jasper stumbles sideways before catching her in his arms. At least we know she’ll be good at sports!
Penelope, five years old, is the biggest Joe Burrow fan you’ll ever meet.
Jasper greets his friends, then the kids, one by one, making sure to give the twins extra attention today, before finally coming to me. Penny still in his arms, Libby at his side looking completely bored.
“Who would’ve thought family life would make you almost human, Jasper?” Mila asks him, before even saying hello.
Jasper glances at my friend with mild suspicion, seeing her chewing ice from slushy like a kid (Libby makes the same face), and simply says, “Good morning to you too, Camila.”
Only then he leans toward me, planting a quick kiss on the corner of my mouth, and smiles.
“Hi.”
Just like that. Hi. And I melt completely. How is this man mine?
“Hi!” I reply.
“You look amazing! If you were my type, I’d propose to you right now.”
Mila rolls her eyes. Libby follows. I just laugh, teasing him just the same.
“You’re already married, Jasper!”
“Yeah, but only because I let my little soldiers go out to play a little too early and had to deal with the consequences later,” Jasper grumbles.
And I could fire back with more teasing, but Penelope lends a hand and asks,
“Daddy, do you have little soldiers?”
Ha! Let him deal with that.
He sighs.
“Of course, sweetheart.”
“I want to play with the soldiers too, Daddy!”
“Alright, Penny, I…”
“You won’t want to play with Daddy’s soldiers, Penny,” I intervene. Or rather, sabotage. “Daddy keeps them in a very dark and scary place.”
“Dirty and smelly too,” Mila adds, trying not to laugh.
“What he means, Penny, is that he got Mom pregnant and had to marry her afterward,” Libby chips in. Libby, who seemed completely detached from the conversation while taking her Kindle out of her backpack.
We all stare at her, wide-eyed and jaws dropped.
Jasper knows his daughter well enough not to argue with her. God forbid he argues with her. Everything becomes a Homeric debate, and I usually end up retreating to the bedroom to watch TV until it’s over.
“Why are you still here?” he complains. “Haven’t you found a dark corner to read your depressing Baroque poems yet?”
“I finished that one!” Libby snaps back. “When was the last time you read a book?”
“When I didn’t have to spend my whole day running across New York City to take miss passenger princess to another extra lesson!
And then work double to pay for all of them!
When would I have time to read something?
” Libby rolls her eyes as Jasper recites, “Advanced math three times a week in Tribeca, oboe on Saturdays, piano on Tuesdays, ballet every Thursday…”
Libby crosses her arms, Kindle closed against her chest, chin raised with all the composure of someone who could easily be thirty-five with a degree in existential philosophy.
“It’s not my fault you’re trapped in a capitalist spiral of emotional self-justification just to sustain the illusion of having control over your life.”
Jasper blinks.
Then blinks again.
“I swear…” he says, already giving up before he starts. “How is this girl nine? Go jump on a trampoline, Libby! Go eat popcorn, sing at karaoke…” He points to the stage in the distance, music playing, parents shouting into microphones, kids spinning around, covered in glitter and cupcake frosting.
Looks like her personal hell.
Libby studies the scene for another moment before saying, “Very mature, of course!” She shoots a cold glare at her dad. “You insult my intelligence, Jasper.”
Then she turns her back on all of us, without a hint of guilt.
Mila licks her slushy.
I take a small sip of my drink.
“It’s Dad to you,” Jasper teases, but I know he enjoys it. It’s his greatest pride to have a smart, tough daughter just like him. She’ll break a lot of hearts. And every soul present in the courtroom. “Daddy, if you still want me to keep buying you books on my credit card…”
Penny, who has a tendency to catch only half the conversation – usually the part that interests her – doesn’t even wait for her sister to leave.
“I want to sing at karaoke, Daddy!”
“Do you really?”
“Mommy said you sing with her every year.”
Jasper glances at me from the side, pretending not to notice my victorious, teasing smile at hearing our daughter say that.
“Mommy really told you that?” Penny nods, shaking her head up and down, her black bangs bouncing. “And the song I sing with her isn’t Bleeding Love, is it?”
“Keeb bleebing, keeb-keeb bleebing wove,” she sings, off-key, mispronouncing the words, but with a charming smile full of joy. “That’s the one you sing with her, Daddy?”
“Yes, it is, Penny,” Jasper says, not even sounding annoyed. How could anyone say no to such a happy smile? Not even him.
“And you’ll sing with me, Daddy?”
“Yes, I will, baby!” he replies, eyes fixed on mine.
I don’t know if he wants to murder me or grab me and drag me away to somewhere far from witnesses.
“Yay!” Penny exclaims, clapping. Mila and I join her, clapping and shouting “Yay!” just like a five-year-old.
She gets so excited that Jasper has to put her down, and Penny immediately runs to the karaoke stage.
“I think the singing is about to start!” I say, unable to hide my smile. “Mila, we need popcorn.”
Jasper leans toward me, this time much more skillfully than before, one arm on either side of the chair, holding me right in the middle.
“Camila, take a walk. I have some absurdly indecent things to tell your friend and I don’t want to say them in front of a pregnant woman.”
Mila rolls her eyes but gets up anyway. Slowly, hand on her belly, heavy enough to lose her center of gravity, so she keeps wobbling side to side.
“That might really be better, ‘cause there’s actually a lot of absurdly indecent stuff I want to do, but my belly won’t let me,” she mutters. Then laughs to herself. “Although it was doing absurdly indecent stuff that the belly came around, so…”
Her voice fades as she walks away, while Jasper’s warm eyes burn into mine.
We have little time. Maybe a minute. Maybe less. A minute before the outside world comes back. But for now, it’s just the two of us.
His fingers brush against my skin, almost touching, barely.
“You think just because you’re a married woman, I’m not capable of making you wake up all sore and weak tomorrow?” I lick my lips, feeling in every nerve ending what he can do with just words. “I asked a question, Julie. Do you think I’m not?”
“I think maybe you’ll pull a muscle if you try too hard,” I tease.
He laughs, properly provoked, and leans even closer, his breath mixing with mine.
“I’ll pull something, alright!”
“A ligament?” I suggest.
In the distance, Penny can be heard yelling to Uncle Robbie the same chorus that Mila and I used to sing together two decades ago, followed by the chaos until he finds the right song.
Jasper sighs.
I count five seconds before Penny starts yelling for him.
“Let me go to my torture session,” he mumbles, just as we hear a loud “Daddy!” from the stage. Jasper grunts, shaking his head. “The things I do for you!”
“That’s what you get for promising me forever.”
“And I’d do it all again!” He plants a quick, sharp kiss on my lips. “But don’t worry, Julie Assman, you’ll pay me back later.”
The words come out as a husky whisper, making my skin tingle. He leans in for another kiss, but instead of doing it, he pulls back, continuing our game.
I take a deep breath, trying to contain my frustration, knowing he left me exactly where he wanted me. Nervous. Agitated. In love.
Determined to do something crazy.
And I can’t say for sure, but I’m almost certain it was that night that baby number three was made.
The End.