Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 72154 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72154 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
“Come again?”
I started to nervously giggle. “Funny story. So Janie and I had this pact…”
***
1 year married
Parker
“What are you doing?” Kayla asked me as she dropped down heavily onto the couch beside me.
I raised a brow at her in question as I looped my arm around her shoulders and tugged her in close to me.
“Why are your hands closed?” she pushed.
I brought one hand from around her and showed her what was in my palm.
“What are you doing with that?” she questioned.
“Hatching it.”
“Why?”
“Because Abrielle put it in my hand and told me to keep it warm,” I explained.
“Abrielle is two, not eight. She didn’t ask you this.”
I shrugged. “Actually, she handed it to me and told me to ‘open.’ So, I had to warm it up first, per the instructions.”
She rolled her eyes heavenward, then flopped down farther on the couch, repositioning her body for her comfort, rather than mine.
Kayla was now thirty-eight weeks pregnant with our son, and I knew she was more than ready to be done.
She was beautiful, but, according to her, she felt like a beached whale who was about to give birth to twins.
Luckily, we knew for a fact that there was only one in there. We also knew that it was a boy thanks to a blood test that she had around the twelve-week mark.
Though, he was big according to the doctor. They guestimated he was weighing in at close to eight pounds now, and they expected him to grow at least another pound between now and the finish line.
Abrielle came barreling back into the room, naked again, with Rafe on her heels moments after Kayla got comfortable more on my lap than off.
Her belly was facing upwards, and our son was currently doing acrobats in there. Which caught Abrielle’s attention.
The little girl ran up to her and pressed her forehead against Kayla’s belly. “Tell him to talk to me!”
***
5 years married
Kayla
“It’s in one minute!” Parker bellowed.
I looked down at the state of my clothes.
I had the stomach flu. I’d been in the bathroom for the better part of the night.
It was New Year’s Eve.
I was fairly sure I had vomit in my hair, but I was too exhausted to get up and take myself to the bed because I knew that in just a matter of moments I would have to repeat the whole process over again.
Want to know what love is?
Love is when your husband of five years walks into that bathroom, ignores the smell of vomit, and the state of your hair, and gives his wife a kiss despite her highly contagious self.
He gives her a good kiss, too. One that made my toes curl despite feeling like shit.
Grinning, I laid my head back down on the blanket that he’d been kind enough to go retrieve for me.
He backed away moments later and exited the bathroom.
I laid there and tried to think of something—anything—else.
My son, Abram, could be heard somewhere in the back part of the house—far away from me—screeching in excitement because Parker had allowed him ‘champagne’ that actually happened to be sparkling grape juice.
Our daughter, Elinore, was luckily still sound asleep despite the obnoxious noise of our neighbors setting off a thousand dollars’ worth of fireworks. Though, from what Parker says, the display was fairly spectacular.
Not that I would know.
From my vantage point, I only had three walls and a closed door to look at.
But every ten minutes or so, Parker would send me a picture of them, and I would smile despite the pain.
That was what love was.
Stupid text messages, short phone calls, and I love you kisses.
The only thing missing from my perfect life was my dad—but I knew that wherever he was, he was smiling.
***
Twenty-eight years married
Janie and Kayla were hanging onto each other crying their eyes out. Rafe and I stood next to each other, staring at the spectacle before us.
“Do you have to pay for the wedding, or do I?” Rafe asked.
I stared, watching my son get up off one knee and wrapping Abrielle in his arms as he pressed his lips to her neck.
Kayla and Janie were right. Abrielle and Abram were best friends. They had been from the moment Abram had been born. They grew up together. They spent their lives together, and when Abrielle was eighteen, and Abram sixteen, their relationship morphed from best friends to something more.
Now, here we were eight years later, and my son had just proposed.
“I think you do,” I paused. “I think it’s the father of the bride’s job to do that.”
“Fuck you. You have just as much money as I do.”
That was true. I did.
“Okay. I’ll pay half,” I offered. “But you’re covering the alcohol.”
He snorted. “I think we should offer up a bar, but you have to self-pay. The boys can drink.”
That they could.
Abram joined us moments later as Abrielle ran to Kayla and Janie. Both women wrapped their arms around each other, and I looked at my son.