And to my great delight, Jones and Marc’s mom seemed enchanted with each other. An idea of more for them stirred the closer and closer they got to each other as they talked. Maybe it was their hearing. But maybe, maybe it was more.
This was my family. However unconventional and reformed.
And this was my home.
Jones let out a rare laugh, the wind ruffling his layers of white-gray hair. We owed so much to him, to the once mis-labeled curmudgeon called Old Man Jones. Though he’d lost his own boys young, he’d invested in Marc. Though he’d lost his wife, he’d invested in us, and in my own father, repairing a heart long-damaged and torn. He showed up every time we needed him, even when we didn’t know we needed him. He’d offered us his home, his heart, all with very few words but very clear actions.
I took Marc’s hand and ushered the kids over, whispered something in their ear. They smiled wide as I held up my finger and gave them a wink.
“What’s going on?” Marc whispered.
I squeezed his hand, letting him know it was okay.
Alex and Finn headed toward Jones as instructed and tugged at his arm. “Grandpa Jones, can you come back over tomorrow to help us with something?” Finn’s sweet voice made everyone calm, ears stirred.
Jones brow twitched as he pointed toward my dad. “Grandpa Joe is over there, bud.”
Alex giggled. “Not Joe. Jones.” She took his hand. “Is that okay?”
His eyes misted, but he grumbled and cleared his throat, collecting himself before he answered. “I would be honored to be your other grandpa.” He crouched down to their level. “There could be no two better grandkids in the world.” And he hugged them.
“Three,” I said with fervor. “Three grandkids.”
The light of realization that passed through each face was brilliant, unforgettable.
“What?” Marc laughed, hand on my belly.
“Surprise.” I nodded, laughing too, then looked to Jones, a truth hitting me of just how much I’d grown to depend on him. It’s why I’d felt the need to tell him, title him.
Of the few men in my life, he was the one that was there.
Everyday.
Always.
I blinked back my watery eyes and finished my thought, giving Jones a smile. “That’s why we’re going to need your help tomorrow. The crib is coming and Marc’s a little out of practice.”
All voices exploded in excitement, hugs and embraces ensued. Despite my happy heart, my fingertips flinched, cold, and I laced them in Marc’s.
We needed to change things up. And soon.
Two years, tops. Living here. His life of travel.
That was it. And then we moved on. Together.
I placed our hands back on my belly.
Because I wanted him to be the one home with me.
Everyday.
Always.
I stared at his profile, the tired lines of his eyes turned happy at the news. He had to feel the same way. Right?
The doorbell rang and Alex went running for it.
“The crib here already?” my dad sang out, his eyes dancing in delight. I doubted he’d ever dreamed a night like this was possible. I know I never had.
A family, his family, happy, together.
We followed like a crew of lemmings through the cavernous living room and to the entry.
Alex stood staring at the door, her blonde hair brushed across one shoulder. A boy stood at the threshold, plate of cookies in hand.
He blinked twice as I approached. “My mom. She, uh, sent the cookies. Said to say hi.” His eyes, brown, set beneath a tuft of brown curls, never left Alex’s face. And suddenly I was swept back to the first time I met Marc. It was like finding a part of myself I’d been looking for, not that I knew it at the time. But in that moment, everything in the world felt possible, felt right.
My heart skipped. Maybe they were having that moment now too.
Maybe.
Or maybe he was just a kid reluctant to give up his cookies.
I laughed and grabbed Marc’s hand as Alex reached for the plate.
“Thank you,” she said, taking a bite.
“Introduce yourself,” I whispered to her.
“I’m Alex.” A few crumbs flew out of her mouth, and she wiped them off with the back of her hand. I shook my head. Just like her father. “Mom, these are apple butter. Like you make.”
“Good, huh?” The boy grinned. “I’m Camden.”
“Hi.” She smiled back.
Finn came running up and grabbed a cookie, nearly tackled Alex in the process.
“See you later,” she called, running to pounce on her brother.
“Thank you for coming by, Camden.” Marc offered a handshake, eyeing the poor boy.
“Make sure to tell your mother thank you for the cookies,” I added. “Come by any time.”
“Sure.” His eyes followed to where Alex had disappeared from view before he shuffled away, heading across the street.
I wrapped my arms around Marc’s waist, pulling him close as we watched.
His head rested against mine. “Oh, boy.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
He dropped his mouth to my ear. “As long as he waits til she’s a high school senior, I can deal.”
I laughed. “We’ll see.”
“Maybe after high school.” He reached for the handle to shut the door. “Yeah. Definitely after.”
Another laugh escaped. “Let’s not worry about it for now.” I took his face, planted a gentle kiss on his nose. “We’ve got enough on our hands.”
He grinned. “We do. We so do.”
Chapter 11
Two Years Later
Sasha toodled out in his diaper, big drooly grin on his face. “Ooooh. Petty, Momma.”
I scooped him up, tucking his little bare legs into my jacket. This kid never seemed to want to wear pants. “Yes, baby. It’s pretty, huh?”
Marc hopped out of the brand-new car, not just any car, but probably one that cost more than our first house, his smile brighter than the sun glimmering off the paint. Dark green paint. Christmas color paint. His favorite color paint. “Whatta ya think?”
“Please tell me you’re joking.”
He pounded on the hood. “This baby’s no joke.”
I rolled my eyes but gave him a smile. He was wearing his up-to-something face.
Alex and Finn came barreling out the front door, launching themselves into the backseat.
“Cool!”
“Awesome, Dad!”
“Let’s go for a drive.” Marc swung open the passenger door. “We’ve got a tree to pick out.” He grabbed my waist, eyes twinkling. “It’s not Christmas unless Mommy’s fighting with the needles.”
He’d remembered. Our first night in the house, on the floor by the fireplace in our room, where we’d celebrated the news of my pregnancy in each other’s arms, promised to make the most of our years in such a special kind of life. Big family dinners. Maybe a garden. And two Christmas trees. Always.
One real.
One fake.
The best of both worlds.
Every time in life I forgot, got too busy, he always remembered. For me. For us.
The kids giggled, and I jiggled Sasha, his little chuckle followed. “Aren’t you forgetting something? Marc Jr. here needs a certain contraption.”