“When do you want to start the work?” Ed asks.
“I would first have to get drawings done, get some quotes for the work. I don’t think it’ll be before the winter.”
“Do you need it?” The question comes from Sarah who has been looking over her husband’s shoulder. “The extra bathroom, I mean? It seems like a lot of money you’ll have to fork out to end up with the exact same number of bedrooms.” She pulls the sketch toward her and points. “If you wanted to do something new with the master suite, all you have to do is move the wall of the walk-in closet farther into the room so it has an extra window. If you add a door straight out to the landing, it could be a home office, or at some point a perfect nursery.”
I feel Taz’s fingers dig into my shoulder, and I’m pretty shocked myself.
“And you’d still have an extra bedroom to fill,” Kathleen adds, grinning ear to ear.
“Sounds like common sense to me,” Andrew volunteers, as he cuts off another piece of cake, ignoring Meredith’s hissed, “Andrew!”
“Except, Sofie’s already been promised her own bathroom.” Taz’s soft reminder draws my attention to my daughter, who I hadn’t noticed coming in from outside.
It warms my heart when Sofie smiles at Taz brightly before sharing, “I’d rather have a baby sister than a bathroom.”
“Brother!” Spencer, who heard his sister, argues.
“Sister,” Sofie insists. “‘Cause I don’t wanna share a bathroom with two stinky brothers.”
Before the two continue their bickering, Sarah intervenes. “If Andrew doesn’t mind sharing; anyone else for another piece of cake?”
Taz and Kathleen dissolve in giggles as Meredith elbows her husband in the ribs, causing him to blurt out, “Ouch! What the hell’d’ya do that for?”
“So what do you think?”
It’s long after everyone’s left and both the kids and the dogs are asleep. Taz is tucked to my side on my kickass new couch and we’re watching the last hour of Live PD.
I immediately know what she’s referring to.
“I should ask you that question.”
“Mom’s suggestion makes sense.”
“It does,” I confirm.
“But even if it didn’t,” Taz continues, “the mere fact she suggested it, makes me think that’s exactly what we should do.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
I bend down and kiss her softly, grabbing a handful of her dreadlocks to hold her head in place when I pull back. I touch my forehead to hers.
“I don’t think of the years behind us as time wasted anymore, it only makes me appreciate what I’m building with you even more. I could not in my wildest dreams have imagined it could get this good. You make my life beautiful, Natasha.”
Epilogue
December
Rafe
“So…Mrs. Thomas.”
I grin as I drag my mouth down over the soft swell of her belly, her skin pebbling into goosebumps.
“Yes, Mr. Thomas,” she returns in a breathless voice, as I hook my fingers under the elastic of her pretty lace panties. Taz’s wedding gift to me, which I’m only now getting to unwrap.
She’s wearing my wedding gift in her dreadlocks, spread out over the pillow. Tiny, shimmering, colorful gemstones I had a jewelry designer in Springfield rush order from the Congo and set in small, platinum clips to fasten around the tight twists in her hair. Ten in total: one for every year I’ve loved her. I intend to add one for every year to follow.
She took my breath away; the hair charms matching the retro-style silk turquoise dress, with large dark pink tropical flowers and leaves she was wearing. When Sarah started crying as Taz came down the stairs this afternoon, looking absolutely stunning, I clued in to the significance of that dress. I’d seen glimpses of it over the years, packed away with Nicky’s wedding dress in our closet.
The beautiful way she managed to include her sister in our wedding is a testament to the person she is. Something I know her parents, Sarah in particular, has come to recognize these past months.
Taz still grieves the loss of her sister at times. We all do. But along with the grief, our love for Nicky has become something we all share. The kids talk about her freely, as do the rest of us, making her still very much a part of our lives, and as Taz made clear today, of our futures.
I think Nicky would be happy for us today.
I asked Taz to marry me a little over eight weeks ago, right after we christened our brand-new master suite. I’d had the simple diamond solitaire ring a lot longer, but out of respect to her, her parents, and her sister, wanted to wait a full six months after Nicky’s passing. The first night we spent in our new bedroom seemed like the appropriate time.
We both agreed we’d be happiest with a small ceremony, with only our family and good friends in attendance. The only exception had been Mrs. Myers, who Taz had taken under her wing; despite the less than friendly reception the woman had given my wife when she first returned to Eminence.
Taz truly has a heart without limitations. Occasionally I’ll catch her mumbling, “bonus kiss,” as she presses her lips to the old woman’s cheek, something she usually reserves for the kids, her parents, and for me.
She is teaching me to make every moment count, not to focus too much on a future so we don’t forget to appreciate what we have today, and my life is better for it.
“I like your gift for me,” I mumble, my lips pressing right above her neatly trimmed pubic hair.
“That was just the wrapping,” she says, emotion heavy in her voice. “But you’re getting warm.” I lift my eyes to find her looking down at me, her eyes filling with tears. “It’s still tiny, about the size of a raspberry.”
I push up and scramble to my knees, placing my hands on either side as I lean over her. “No way,” I manage, my voice cracking.
The smile she gives me is blinding. “Oh yeah. Eight weeks as of yesterday.”
My mind is trying to catch up. “What about the Depo injection?”
“That only lasts so long. I honestly didn’t think about it with everything we had going on. Are you upset?” A note of apprehension creeps in her voice.
“Are you nuts?” I crawl back down her body and cover her belly with kisses, mumbling, “Fuck me,” to myself.
She giggles through her tears.
“You did that already, thoroughly, about eight weeks ago.”
August
Taz
“Mama Taz? Can I put her to bed?”
Mom and Dad came over with dinner, something they’ve been doing quite a bit since the little one was born two months ago.
They’d both been here when I delivered our daughter in the master bedroom upstairs, in the care of a pair of wonderful midwives. That was my choice.
I’ve been able to see firsthand the difference between a clinical birth in a hospital, and the many natural births I attended in Africa. Although often living under less than optimal circumstances, one thing most of the mothers delivering at home had in common: being in control of their own delivery, and surrounded by supportive families, seemed to be an empowering experience.