Parker laid on his horn for no reason I could discern, and I was grateful for the thousandth time that I wasn’t the one navigating Manhattan traffic in a U-Haul truck that smelled vaguely of old sub sandwiches.
“I’ve never been a father.” He grinned at me. “Wouldn’t it be boring if we just stuck with what we knew?”
When Parker and I had gone, together, to tell George that we were pregnant, that his grandchildren were going to come into the world after all, when we had pitched him the idea of us relocating Southern Coast—and ourselves—to Cape Carolina, he had fallen as to pieces as I’ve ever seen a man. He had to leave the room to compose himself.
But once he returned, it didn’t take him long to spring into action. He had planned to give Parker a big bonus. He would relocate us, buy us a home. But he wanted a huge house, one big enough for him to have his own wing, somewhere that he could come visit his grandchildren for weeks at a time without disturbing us. And, well, we knew just the place.
“Well, at least the house is familiar,” I said now. I had pushed Parker on Dogwood, made him express his opinions, voice his concerns. I had insisted that he take the small third floor with the peerless view and make it into a space for himself. His house in Palm Beach had been all Greer. Dogwood was, by default, all me. But I wanted him to stake his claim there, to make it his own. Some days I knew the details drove him nuts, but I thought he would be glad when he walked into the kitchen and saw the dishwasher that he had researched in Consumer Reports, when he sat at the dining room table and remembered that he had helped choose the art hanging over it, when his bedroom was a mix of soft blues and creams that he had chosen.
“I can’t wait to see the new master bath,” Parker said. Parker had dreamed of having a master bathroom with a steam room and sauna right inside—especially since there wasn’t a gym in Cape Carolina that had them.
I nodded, happy and proud that we had created this home together for our life together. “I think I’m most excited about the kitchen. No, no! I’m most excited about the nursery.”
After Parker and I had told George the news that day, I had to visit one more place in Palm Beach. Walking up the three flights of stairs to that apartment I used to share with Thad didn’t hurt like I’d thought it would. I hadn’t told him I was coming. And if he hadn’t been there, that might have been that. I would have just left that day. I’m so glad he was home. So was Nita, a sprightly, bright-eyed eight-year-old who Thad and Chase were fostering and hoping to adopt.
“She’s so special,” Thad said. “But she has so much to overcome, so many scars.”
Sitting in this living room where I’d had some of the best and worst moments of my entire life, I felt at peace, and I knew for certain that everything had worked out for the best. When Nita went to the kitchen to get a snack, I said, “Thad, I’m pregnant. The second pair of embryos took.”
He smiled. “That’s such a nice thing for you to do for Parker. You have always been so selfless.”
I shook my head. “We’re having them together.”
It took a moment for the news to register, but when tears gathered in his eyes, I knew he understood. He took my hand. Neither of us said a word, and that made the moment so perfect. We had already said everything there was to say. We had moved on. We had healed.
As we said goodbye, I was struck by the most overwhelming need to know that I would see Thad again. “When we get settled in Dogwood, when the babies come, will you, Chase, and Nita please come visit us? Maybe spend Thanksgiving or Christmas?”
Thad wiped his eyes and nodded. “I’ll be counting down the days.”
Parker and I had flown home that night to tell our parents the news about the babies. We had originally thought we were flying home for our last family Thanksgiving at Dogwood. I had been devastated, of course, but my joy at this pregnancy had blocked my sadness. I had Parker. I had the babies. I had a new life and a new lease on it, too. After our conversation with George, I realized I didn’t have to be sad anymore. Dogwood was going to be a part of our family for another generation.
I’ll never forget walking into Dogwood last November, the smell of pine absolutely everywhere, giant Frasier firs flanking the staircase in the entrance hall. Mom always decorated for Christmas the day before Thanksgiving, to make the season last. I could imagine that she wanted this one to last even longer. Christmas Songs by Sinatra was playing soft and low, and this old house shone. Its presumed last Thanksgiving in our family might very well have been its most glorious. I paused for a moment to try to picture being the one in charge, the one who had the final say on the Christmas decorations.
I had snuck up on Aunt Tilley in the kitchen, kissing her cheek from behind. She turned and laughed and hugged me full-on. “My girl is home,” she said, wiping her hands on her black slacks. I wondered how it felt on days like today, when she was okay, to sit across the table and know that Robby was hers, that she had spent a lifetime playing his aunt when really she was his mother. In my current twins-induced hormonal firestorm, I couldn’t control my sobs. Aunt Tilley smiled at me knowingly and squeezed my hand. Mom and Olivia’s voices drifted toward us as Olivia said, “I just think the Lismore crystal is more classic for the last Christmas.”
Parker was getting my luggage out of the car. So as not to be caught unaware like we had been the last time we had made a large family announcement at the dinner table, we had carefully scripted how we would break our latest—and best—news.
But then I saw them. Those meddling little women in ballet flats with matching bobs. And as they hugged me and asked in soothing tones what was wrong, I couldn’t help but blurt out, “I’m pregnant.” I sobbed, and added, “With twins.”
The shrieks could have been heard ’round the world. As I began to recover from the deafening noise, I realized Parker was standing in the kitchen doorway. “Babe, you’re not great at sticking to a plan, are you?”
But he couldn’t say anything more because three women were covering him with kisses.
That night at dinner we told them all about the plan, about moving to Cape Carolina, about buying Dogwood, about taking over the magazine. I am quite certain there have never been that many cheers, tears, or toasts at a Dogwood dinner table. When everyone was somewhat settled down, Daddy said, “Amelia, Dogwood is yours for the taking. That was always the plan. We don’t want to sell it to you. We simply want to pass along the nightmare of its upkeep.” He laughed heartily.
“I insist,” Parker said. “We can’t take the house…”
But Mom put her hand up. When Mom puts her hand up, no one argues. “It is a family home, meant to be passed down through the generations. As of this moment, the house is yours,” she said.
“Thank you,” I said. It was all there was to say.
“Then we insist on renovating the back house for you when we renovate this one. It’s the least we can do,” Parker added.
No one argued.
“As homeowners, you are now in charge of washing all these dishes,” Aunt Tilley added.
Robby put his arm around her and squeezed her shoulder.
“I am so excited that I will help you!” Trina squealed. “Oh, to have babies in the family again!”