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"Boys!" Elsie shouts from down the hall. "Time to eat."
"Coming!" Dad shouts back with a wide grin.
We begin to leave, but I glance back at our family picture. This will be the first Christmas dinner we will all be together since Mom passed. Somehow, though, it feels like Mom is here in spirit.
My family might have gaps and holes. Some seats are missing, but soon, our growing members will fill them. We have scars, but we’re together, and in the end, that’s all that counts.
"Thank you," I say to Dad. "I know you think you failed as a father figure, but you didn't. I'm the man I am today because of the lessons you taught me."
Epilogue
Poppy
A few years later.
This is heaven. A prelude to it, at least.
It's also where I spread some of my parents and brother's ashes. This house was always special to Julian, and now it is to me. Here, both our families—those present and those above—can mingle and be at peace.
Lake Tahoe in the summer—mountains, water, and peace.
I take a deep breath, the crisp air filling my lungs, and try to infuse my mind with a sense of calm. Gently, I place my hands on my stomach. I’m pregnant again. After the twins, Julian and I decided we needed a few years' gap. That, and the diaper factory needed a breather after Emma and Peter. I knew we’d go through diapers, but I didn’t expect to need a constant 24/7 shipment. I think the delivery guy started to suspect we’d opened a petting zoo with the mountain of diapers we went through. I say a petting zoo and not an orphanage because, well, I’m me. At the time, you could trust me more with an animal than a baby, but now? I'm practically a pro.
Now that Emma and Peter are five, I’m hoping they might help me with the babies.
Yeah, it’s twins again.
I made Julian an appointment with a cardiologist. When he found out it was double duty again, I thought he was going to have a heart attack.
Once he was cleared, I made him another doctor's appointment to get a vasectomy. That man has super sperm, and there is no way my stomach can handle stretching for a third pregnancy.
Turning, I lean back against the patio railing and peer into the massive kitchen window. Inside, Harper and Emma are embroiled in what looks like a culinary experiment gone rogue, trying to whip up a dessert with a good old Easy-Bake oven. Emma received one for Christmas, and Julian and I thought, "Why not get Harper one, too?"
Harper's mastered a few dinner dishes, like spaghetti, meatballs, and hotdogs. She even tried grilling burgers but left the gas tank on, so we've restricted her to electric cooking appliances only. She's managed pancakes, only burning them some of the time. She tried waffles and got so frustrated that she tossed out the machine, forgetting it was still hot. That day, she set the trash bag on fire.
Sadly, she’s still not quite the master chef, but she hasn't given up hope, so we're all trying to encourage her. We figured we’d throw her back to the basics—an Easy-Bake oven. After all, if it can teach kids to bake without burning down the house, it might just be the culinary crash course Harper needs.
I took her to a cooking class once, which I swear I'll never do again. We got kicked out when she went rogue and couldn't follow directions. I mean, who knew that "add a pinch of salt" could be interpreted as an invitation to start a food fight?
Emma bounces forward and then giggles, tossing her hands in the air like a joyful conductor leading an orchestra of invisible instruments. Harper can't help but laugh, too, her laughter mingling with Emma's in a symphony of joy that fills the room.
The moment is so pure and heartfelt; it's clear she's completely engrossed in their little world of culinary exploration. Despite the mess they’re making with the flour and random sprinkles scattered everywhere, Harper’s patience and affection shine through.
I watch them a moment longer, feeling a warmth spread through me.
“Mama, look!” Peter exclaims as he comes bounding up the patio, his presence almost larger than his frame would suggest. He’s tall for his age, with short brown hair tousled from playing, hazel eyes sparkling with excitement, and a scattering of freckles across his nose—a charming mix of Julian and me.
Mama. I adore hearing that name on Emma and Peter’s lips.
I can’t help but grin and drop my hands from my stomach. We haven’t told the kids about the babies yet. They can’t keep a secret to save their lives. It’s a lesson Theo is still trying to instill in them after they accidentally spilled the beans about him bringing home a girl to sleep over one night while babysitting.
“I caught a fish!” Peter shouts, his voice filled with triumph as he skips a step and leaps onto the patio, a fishing line clutched in his hand. His grin is a carbon copy of Julian’s—wide and infectious.
“Where is it?” I ask, playing along with his excitement.
“We let it go. But I caught it. Dad took a picture,” Peter tugs on Julian’s hand, eager to share his victory.“Show mom what I caught.”
Julian chuckles and sets down his fishing gear.“I will,” he nods, reaching for his phone.
