After adding her little blue man to her car, she sets her piece down and leaps to her feet. “Speaking of getting married…” She focuses her beady blue eyes on Wyatt. “When are you gonna marry my momma?” Her hands move to rest on her hips. “It’s time to shit or get off the pot, dude.”
Choking—I am literally choking on my own saliva.
Wyatt’s lips curve into an amused smile. “Funny you should mention that, Prissy.”
I shoot my precious daughter a look. “I don’t think it’s very funny at all.” Pretty sure I just died, actually.
When he disappears from the room, I grab my daughter by the arm and pull her next to me. “What the heck do you think you’re—”
“It’s okay,” Wyatt says, waltzing back in with something hidden behind his back. “I’ve been waiting for the right moment…”
He pushes the table over to kneel in front of me and everything goes blurry. Everything but him. On one knee. Looking up at me with a little velvet box in his left hand. The finger of his right preparing to flip the top open. “Whitney,” he says, clearing his throat. “You’ve given me a family. A daughter,” he turns, smiling at our little girl, who I might still want to throttle right now. “A baby.” His eyes glisten. “A partner in everything but name.”
The tears brimming in my eyes spill over, scorching a warm path down my cheeks. “Marry me,” he says flipping the box open to reveal a beautiful princess cut engagement ring. “Whitney Daigle,” he says, his eyes locked with mine. “Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife? To give you my name would make me the happiest man on earth.”
“Yes,” I say, blinded by tears as he slides the ring onto my finger. My heart is literally jumping up and down. “Yes,” I say again, wrapping my arms around his neck. “I’ll marry you. Of course, I’ll marry you.”
“Oh, my God, y’all are so gross,” Prissy groans when he pulls me in to seal our engagement with a kiss. But that little shit grin of hers says she couldn’t possibly be happier, and I might even see a tear or two forming in those baby blues of hers.
“We’ll pick this up a little later,” Wyatt whispers into my ear before dropping back to his knee, this time in front of my daughter.
“Priscilla Louise Daigle,” he says, retrieving another velvet box from his pocket. “I already consider myself to be your daddy in every way that counts, but it would mean the world to me if you’d agree to make it official.” He opens the box, removing a gold cuff bracelet with “Landry” scrolled in cursive writing in the center, and a sob bursts from my chest.
“Prissy, will you take my name?”
She nods and, completely out of character, starts sobbing when he places the dainty piece of jewelry on her wrist. “Yes,” she cries, falling into his outstretched arms. Her little body is vibrating with so much emotion.
“I love you, Daddy.”
“I love you, daughter.” With her head cradled against his shoulder, he looks up at me, and we share the most intimate moment I’ve ever experienced, one of love and longing and utter relief. We did it. We let our guards down and, in doing so, found everything our hearts desired—in each other.
My life has been filled with unforeseen twists and turns. But if I’ve learned anything in navigating the ups and downs, it’s that sometimes those unexpected curveballs turn out to be exactly what you never knew was missing.
Not every Prince Charming rides in on a white horse. If that’s what you’re waiting for, you’re likely to miss him altogether. Maybe he’s sitting next to you in church, or bagging your groceries at the Piggly Wiggly. And maybe you just might find him during a drunken hookup on Bourbon Street.
All I know for certain is that life didn’t sit around waiting for me to figure my shit out. It happened, despite my best efforts at times to thwart it. I wasn’t truly living, but merely existing, until I learned to recognize each unexpected blessing and seize them with arms wide open.
Delivery Day
“Nine centimeters,” our labor and delivery nurse, Gretta, announces, lifting her head from beneath the sheet covering Whitney’s business. And I say business in the very literal sense. So many people have done been under that damn cover, you’d swear Whit was running 7-11 out of her vagina.
“What’s that mean?” Priss asks, sipping a Coke and munching on gummy bears in the blue plastic recliner that’s supposed to double as my bed for the night.
“That means it’s show time,” she offers, popping her gloves off and tossing them into the trash. “We’re about to break down the bed and set up,” she adds, addressing Whitney. “Y’all got someone to watch the little one out in the waiting room? It’s probably time for her to head out.”
“She’ll be staying,” my wife says.
Yep, my wife. It’s crazy how much things have changed for me in the last year. I’ve gone from a bachelor in every sense to a married man with a child…soon to be two.
And let me tell you, people talk about being strapped down like it’s a bad thing, but I’ll take these shackles any day. Life is so much more meaningful when you have people to share it with. It’s all the little things. Take a fart, for instance… Pre-Prissy, it was merely a sound—a smell released into the void. Now? There are squeals and giggles and a feeling of accomplishment.
Gretta’s face scrunches with uncertainty. “Are you sure? No offense,” she says, glancing toward me, “but most grown men can’t even handle it without getting weak.”
I choke on a laugh. My grandmother gave us the same speech in the car this morning during the drive to the hospital—cited all the reasons her favorite granddaughter ought to hang out with her and Marie in the waiting room. It’s actually quite funny, the way she insists on treating her like a delicate flower, knowing damn well that kid is tough as nails. Mimi can’t get enough of that little girl, Whitney either. The woman calls her more than me now. I’m sure that will only increase with the birth of the new baby.
“Listen, I drain and embalm bodies for a living,” Prissy sasses, whipping her head so her ponytail swishes side to side. “I think I can handle watching a baby come outta a vagina.” She tugs the lapels of her leather jacket, sucking her tongue to her teeth like a total badass.
Whitney shakes her head, grinding her molars, while I have to turn away to keep from laughing. I find myself doing that a lot. “We own a funeral home,” she explains, pinching the bridge of her nose. “She doesn’t actually embalm the bodies, but she’s assisted countless times and will be just fine.” She dips her head back toward me. “He’s the one you should be concerned about.”
I nod, not even pretending otherwise. “It’s true.”
With a laugh, the middle-aged woman makes for the door. “Sounds like y’all have this all figured out. Be back in a jiff,” she says before rushing down the hall.
“This is it,” I say, beginning to pack up Prissy’s snacks. “Time to meet my son!”
“Daughter,” Prissy challenges.