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Epilogue
“I cannot believethat you forgot diapers, again,” Agatha hissed at Chris as she adjusted Christie on her lap. At three months, the baby was the spitting image of her sister but had a rather Agatha-like personality.
“I cannot believe you’re blaming this on me! I am not in charge of diaper bags.” He was trying to get Poppy to stop running away from him. At three, she was a terror and hated being confined.
“Because you don’t ever look at it until we’re away from the house. That means I have to do everything,” she argued, even if she couldn’t really be mad at him when he was wearing a T-shirt that had her little sister’s name on it. The shirt was maybe a bit too small, but she enjoyed the way his biceps stretched the sleeves so deliciously. He didn’t even argue when she gave it to him to wear that morning, probably because everyone else in the family had one. How else could they embarrass Emma at her graduation without saying a word?
“Stop fighting, you two. Because if your only issue is not enough diapers, I can assure you there’s a Lovely baby in every damn size around here.” Harper slapped them both on the back of the head from behind.
Agatha had no way of arguing back; it was true. From Poppy down to Buzz’s newborn, Lark, they had the spectrum of baby butts covered. The Lovelys had enjoyed a baby boom. It seemed once everyone had married, they started to have kids. Even Cliff and Dr. Maby had a baby not long before Christie had been born. The only holdout was Harper, who was steadfast in her refusal to even talk about having one of her own. Agatha knew it was more her lack of success in getting pregnant that she was unwilling to talk about, and since her catering business was booming, Harper was focusing on that.
“Shut up, Harper. That isn’t the point here,” Agatha said to her sister.
“Emma is graduating, you turds. Pay attention.” Harper stood up and took Poppy from Chris’s lap. Her goal now was being the best aunt, and she was more than happy to hold any baby she could for as long as they let her. That and spoiling them all rotten and telling the kids that their parents don’t love them like she did.
Chris turned and waved at their daughter, but Agatha knew the kid wasn’t paying attention anymore. With a grunt, he rested his arm on the back of her chair, making small circles on her bare shoulder.
“This is our first graduation together,” he whispered in her ear.
“You’re right. You have never taken me to one of these before. I should be upset,” she teased him, still loving their closeness after eighteen months together. Agatha knew she would never tire of being the center of his attention.
“You missed out on ours, Ag, the one where we could have sat together and made out,” he said with a smirk.
Agatha nudged him in the side with her elbow. “I think that would have gotten us kicked out of graduation, and therefore, making being here for Emma’s impossible.” Her eyes went to the graduates and found Emma’s head in the crowd. Her little sister was the first Lovely since Mabel to graduate with honors. Though she would never admit to liking school, she had flourished there. Very un-Lovely of her.
“Worth it, but you’re right as usual. I would have just held your hand and stared at you with dreamy eyes.” He took it and held it, even if she couldn’t hold his back because of baby Christie in her arms.
She leaned into him and whispered, “I do believe you were drunk that day, so I wouldn’t have held your hand, and your eyes would have been glassy.”
“How do you know that?” He sat up straight and looked at her.
“I might have attended, just not walked. Couldn’t miss Christopher Lowell getting his diploma, could I? Not after all the years I knew you.” She leaned her head onto his shoulder and kissed his chin.
The feeling that this was the man she would spend the rest of her life with hadn’t dissipated yet. In fact, it had grown every day since she had fallen for him. It wasn’t even the big moments that brought her the most joy; it was the little ones. Getting up in the night together with Christie, watching cartoons over and over on the couch with Poppy, rushing to the door when he came home from work, falling into bed exhausted at the end of the day, together.
That was all she had ever wanted in life: the little things. And to do them all with the man she loved by her side, knowing that he loved her as much as she loved him. Happy in their simple life together.
The wind pusheda lock of black hair across her face, and he instantly put it behind her ear, still loving to touch her after eighteen months and two kids. It still bothered him that he had missed so many years with her, though his life would have been much different if they had actually gotten together after the party. He knew he wouldn’t have led the same crazy life. She was his ground, as he was hers.
When Christie had been born, they had oddly agreed to name her after her mom, or as Agatha said, after him. Agreeing to disagree, they had just told anyone who asked it was a family name. The only one who had not liked the name had been Violet, who called her Plum because it was a color.
With Christie, he had finally gotten to nurture his child and watch her grow. Every day of it had been amazing for him to witness. Agatha’s second pregnancy had been just as good as the first. She had wanted to keep it from her family until she was well past the point she had miscarried years before but had slipped up. Or she had told Poppy, who was more than willing to tell everyone else.
Now with two girls, he was on his way to a full house of women, which Agatha was more than on board with. He knew she still missed her sisters living in the house, though she was happy that each had found love. She was happier now that she had as well.
Saturday morning was still breakfast with the girls, though men were now invited if they wanted to attend, and children were always welcome. As far as Chris knew, there hadn’t been a black eye in almost a year, though bruises were still common occurrences.
He kissed her temple. “I found your diploma and framed it for your office.”
“Why?” She turned to him in confusion.
“Because my wife needed something for her office walls.” Taking the baby from her arms, he settled her into his lap. She was sound asleep with her thumb in her mouth, her dark hair was, as usual, sticking straight into the air around her head. At three months old, he was sure she wasn’t going to have the curls of her sister, but she still reminded him adorably of Agatha.
Straightening the blanket around Christie, Agatha whispered, “I don’t need the office, Chris. I do my bills at the table like humans, and the rest takes care of itself.”
Chuckling at her answer, he said, “The rest is a company. You’re not just an artist anymore; you’re a company. The president needs an office.”
He wasn’t going to mention that “the rest” as she called it usually sat on the kitchen table, ignored, until she absolutely had to do it. Then she looked at the paperwork and complained. Luckily, they still had enough extra bedrooms that she could use one as an office.
