Page 118 of Cain

One room at a time, that was how this was going. The living room floors were next. And the powder room.

“How’d it go?” I asked, following her to the powder room to scrub at all the clay on her skin. “The teacups came out amazing. Which is good because I have twenty pre-orders.”

She didn’t need the money.

I paid for everything.

She hadn’t held down a normal job for a long time now, since she had no bills of her own to pay. But she’d posted some short-form videos of her process online, went semi-viral, and had been making a nice little sum of side money ever since.

As much as she didn’t need to work, I think doing so did something for her mentally. It helped her feel secure to have her own money. And I loved watching her succeed. Celebrating with her when she reached some new milestone.

One day, I hoped to be at her side when she grabbed ridiculously oversized scissors and cut the ribbon on her new studio—a place that would teach the next generation about pottery and give community members somewhere to go to have fun and learn a new skill.

We would get there.

One project at a time.

“Hey, Cain?” she called when she finished washing her hands.

“Yeah, babe?”

“I, um, I made you something.”

“Yeah? What is it?” I asked, frowning when she reached into her pocket. What could she have possibly made me that was that small?

But then she held up what had to be a Christmas tree ornament.

It was a mug filled with tools: a ruler, a hammer, and a wrench.

But that wasn’t what had my heart seizing in my chest.

It was what was written on the mug.

#1 Dad

“Georgie?” I asked, my gaze shooting up to hers. “Really?”

“Remember when we had our Ghost reenactment in the studio?” she asked, her eyes all watery. “Well, it seems like that jump-started our family plans.”

We did have those.

Family plans.

Our wedding was just weeks away.

It was something Georgie had been working on tirelessly with the girls’ club, the moms, the aunts, and the sisters.

Once we got back from our honeymoon, we both wanted to jump right into trying for a baby, since having kids was high on both our priority lists.

But we’d jumped the gun a little, it seemed.

“Are you happy?” she asked, shifting her feet. “I know it wasn’t in the plans—”

“No,” I cut her off. “No, I’m not happy. I’m over the fucking moon.” I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her against my chest. “Though, the powder room might have to drop lower on my list. Seems like we need a nursery.”

Georgie - 10 years

I just barely resisted the urge to cheer when my little girl tossed a boy onto the ground, then climbed on top of him until he tapped out. Even then, the coach needed to pull her off him.