Page 151 of One More Chapter

Idon’ttell her that that particular scene was semi-real-life inspired.

The night wears on. We mingle. Eat take-out pizzas because we’re all too tired from our own family parties to cook. We move to the living room, ladies cuddled up on the oversized couch that we bought specifically for these occasions, guys standing like bros at a construction site with beer bottles and crossed arms. We cuddle each other’s babies and wrestle with each other’s dogs and compare birth plans. Claire shares her itinerary for the surprise trip she’s been planning for Nathan to take him to New Zealand for the ultimate Lord of the Rings getaway. Sam, Aaron, and Ant talk about the upcoming season of T-ball as if they’re drafting for the big leagues.

“Is this when I finally get inducted into the ‘last name on the back of my shirt’ club?” I ask. “Ant stopped coaching when he took on the AP role, so I never got to have one.”

“Trust me when I say, I’m pretty sure wearing that shirt is what conceived Linc,” Juliet says, blushing at the memory.

“Aaron hides it, because if he sees me in it, he, and I quote,Needs a solid seventy-two hours to get it out of his system.”

“So, in other words, it comes out when we have three day weekends?” Claire asks, before sipping her wine.

“Yup.”

We all laugh, then eye Claire, whose husband’s preferred sport is chess, which doesn’t have a uniform. She shrugs.

“What? My man built me a custom shelf in our custom library specifically for sex. I’m good without the sports references.”

I think my favorite part about the home Anthony and I built is the way that laughter reverberates off the vaulted ceilings. He told me that when he built this house, he wanted it to be filled with the people he loves. I’m just so glad that we get to experience that together.

When the toddlers start to get too Christmas-cookie-tired to keep their eyes open, car seats are loaded, leftovers are divvied up, and my husband and I carry our own red-headed little sweethearts up the stairs.

Well. I follow. He has one on his back and one cradled to his front like a spider monkey.

We forego baths, brushing their teeth in their Avengers-themed bathroom before they collapse as soon as their heads hit the pillows. Ant and I don’t even make it back downstairs, retiring to our bedroom with both baby monitors stationed on our bedside tables. We’ll leave the cleanup for tomorrow, while our babies play with all of their new Christmas toys.

“Good day?”

“Mhm. Good day,” I agree as he starts to work the knots out of my ever-aching feet.

“Do you know what I like about this chapter?”

We’ve started doing that—talking about our stages of life as “chapters.”

“What’s that, baby?”

“Getting to see love in human form. Like, there’s a bunch of little versions of us and all our friends running around our house and eating our cheeseballs and drawing in Sharpie marker on the walls, but in the end, they’re just proof of the love we all have.”

“Asshole,” I chuckle, reaching for the tissue box I now keep on the bedside table.

He beats me to it, collecting my tears with his thumb before kissing the rest away.

“Let it out, Mama,” he soothes, cuddling up beside me where one hand tucks the hair around my ear, the other resting on my belly.

“What do you think, little guy?” I ask my belly, squeezing my husband’s hand. “Are you ready to join our story?”