Epilogue
Heavenleigh
Miranda Wilson hated me.
No one was surprised.
But the thing that pissed Miranda off the most was that no one cared that she hated me.
It was an almost euphoric feeling, seeing the way my mother-in-law so openly detested me.
It was like watching a villain in a comically bad movie.
She hemmed and hawed, trying to pull attention to herself, and not a single soul pandered to it.
A server carrying a tray of stuffed mushrooms paused beside her, and she instantly dismissed them with a wave of her hand.
Only for the young girl to sidestep Miranda and offer the tray to the person she actually intended to, my sister.
Arella’s huge diamond ring nearly blinded Miranda when it hit the light just right.
“Oh, yummy. Thank you. Jordan, have one.” She lifted one of the mushrooms to her husband’s mouth.
“Delicious,” he agreed. Miranda shifted beside him, capturing his attention for the first time. “Apologies, Mrs.… Sorry, who are you again?”
“Miranda,” she introduced herself. Jordan frowned. “Miranda Wilson. I’m Jacob’s mother. We met at their wedding. And again the following Christmas. And then last night at the dinner Lana and Drake held for us.”
Jordan stared at her like he was trying to place her, despite the reminder.
Braxton, Jordan, and Jake had grown close over the last two years.
My brother-in-law knew exactly who Miranda was, and he also knew how to rage-bait her, something he was accomplishing with minimum effort.
He got a twisted kind of amusement out of toying with her.
Not nearly as much as all my sisters got when Jude and Marsha were invited to anything, which had only happened a few times over the years.
It was more for Marsha’s safety. My sisters didn’t hold back when that lunatic was present.
“You look like a Martha to me. I have a great-aunt on my mother’s father’s side named Martha. It suits you.”
That was disrespectful to Martha. I adored that woman. She made the best banana bread I’d ever eaten.
Hearing Miranda’s offended scoff, I hid my laughter by bouncing my nephew in my arms, making silly faces at him as he reached up to touch my face. Beside me, Yara watched her son with glittering eyes. “I can’t believe this is our life now. It’s so damned perfect.”
I shifted Freddy in my arms so I could hug my best friend. “If you cry, I’ll cry, and then my husband will get all grumpy. He’s always so tense at these things.”
Huffing out an emotional laugh, Yara hugged me harder. “I’m trying my best. It’s difficult when I’m so freaking happy.”
“Girls, try this puff-pastry thingy,” Mom commanded, shoving an entire tray between us and dissolving the emotionally charged moment. “Oh hello, cutie. Come to G-Mom.”
I gave up my nephew without a fight, knowing it was useless to even try. Freddy gave a happy cry when he realized it was my mom, his favorite honorary grandparent. Really, his only active grandmother. Mom and Daddy showered Yara’s son with the same attention they gave to my sisters’ children.
Not long after Yara and Warren got married, they moved to LA. Yara struggled with sobriety at first, but then my dad stepped in as her sponsor. Six months later, she found out she was pregnant with Freddy.
Stuffing one of the puff pastries into Yara’s mouth, I took another for myself, not caring that I looked like a chipmunk. “Mm, mm-hm. So yummy.”
“Eat up. I have all your favorites floating around here.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I told her before stuffing my face with another puff.
Her hand went straight to my ever-expanding belly. “You good?”
I covered her hand, pressing it into the little foot that was kicking away. “I’m good.”
She assessed me for another moment before deciding I was telling the truth. Kissing my cheek, she disappeared into the crowd with Freddy giggling in her arms.
“Is this a gender reveal or a black-tie event?” I heard someone comment behind us. “Why is that woman dressed for the red carpet? Did no one tell her it was a casual gathering?”
Miranda heard that and huffed, her long gown swishing as she turned away, offended by the verbalized observation.
Yara snickered just loud enough to reach her mother’s ears.
Miranda turned her head to glare at us as she walked away.
I gave her a finger wave. It wasn’t like she would go far, just enough to make it look like she’d stormed off, so she could watch how people reacted.
Spoiler—it was never how she wanted them to.
“Your parents host the best parties,” Yara said fondly as she glanced around while chewing another pastry.
“Warren took at least a hundred selfies with Freddy earlier in front of the ‘Newest Member of the Band’ backdrop. It’s an adorable photo booth idea.
I saw my dad with Zander Brockman half an hour ago.
My dad, Heav. With Zander Fucking Brockman. ”
Laughing at how preposterous that thought alone would have been before Jake and I got married, I took in the pink and blue guitar balloons floating around.
Thatcher Wilson taking pictures with a rock star sounded like a punch line.
It wasn’t, though. My father-in-law was kind of cool.
He wasn’t nearly as uptight as his wife.
Across the lawn, the kids were at the paint station.
There appeared to be more blue handprints than pink.
Almost everyone thought I was having a boy.
Only my dad knew the gender, though, something Jake and I had entrusted to him.
He took the job seriously, not telling a soul.
Not even my mom, who was still a little salty over it.
An arm snaked around my waist from behind. With a happy sigh, I stepped back against my husband. My back was starting to ache from all the standing, and my feet were almost as swollen as the balloons around us. I was having a good time, but I wanted a nap in a big way.
Preferably cuddled up to my husband.
“I just got the nod from Drake. The gender reveal is about to commence.”
The excitement I’d felt all day bubbled up, and I searched for my dad in the crowd of family and friends.
On the makeshift stage that had been set up in my parents’ backyard, he stepped forward, his guitar already in hand.
Off to the side, Uncle Shane gave him a thumbs-up, and Daddy shifted in front of the microphone.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we’re gathered here today to reveal if there will be another angel sent to us from heaven…or a demon crawling out of hell.”
“Demon!” Uncle Jesse yelled.
“Demon,” my cousin Mason seconded.
“Angel!” Bliss shouted.
“Can it just be a boy or a girl?” one of my nieces called out. “I want it to be a girl, G-Pop.”
“Patience, little angel,” he soothed. “Are you ready?”
I shifted closer. “Yes.”
He put his hand to his ear. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you.”
“Yes!” everyone around us cried as loud as humanly possible.
Everyone except Miranda, who was pouting by the paint station.
I wasn’t surprised when one of the kids put both their hands on her leg, leaving behind a perfect pink right handprint and a smeared blue left handprint.
Bliss gave Violet’s son a fist bump as he ran off, cackling like the little maniac that he was.
Onstage, my dad was about to strum the guitar, which in theory would trigger the lights to flash either blue or pink. I grabbed Jake’s hand, my excitement growing with each suspenseful passing moment.
“I love you, bunny,” Jake whispered.
Turning my head, I met his kiss right as Daddy hit the first chord.