Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 88208 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88208 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
“That’s fair. I keep telling Shippy we should get a dog so he can get used to the idea of kids, since they’re like training wheels for wanna-be parents, but he’s worried that Dicken won’t adjust well.”
“Isn’t Dicken his brother’s cat?”
“Yeah.” Stevie wraps her teal hair around her finger. “It’s not his best argument since Dicken doesn’t even live with us anymore.”
“I think Bishop would make a great dad,” Lainey says.
“Does he want kids?” Violet asks.
“Shippy wants whatever I want. He’d let me adopt a freaking walrus if I said I wanted one. The issue with the dog and the kids is that Shippy isn’t the best at sharing. And kids mean he’s not the top priority anymore. He’s also worried about the impact on our sex life.”
“Well, the last worry is a legit one. It sure does have an impact on the sexy times. Or at least the frequency and the location.” Violet nods solemnly.
“Mom, I can hear you, and there are already enough reasons for me to need therapy without this being one of them!” Robbie yells over his shoulder.
“I guess it’s a good thing your dad has a great medical plan then, isn’t it?”
He turns his head slowly, gives her the side-eye, while muttering “indeed” before turning back to his book.
“That kid’s sense of humor is drier than beef jerky.” She looks to me. “Anyway, I have to say, you are honestly the most badass mother I have ever met. Most of the time I’m in bed by ten because the four of them suck all the energy out of me.” She thumbs over her shoulder. She could direct traffic with all the hand gestures. She makes a face and drops her voice. “Actually, it’s just Maverick who does that. He’s a pure hybrid of his dad and my mother. I’m terrified of what’s going to happen when he’s a teenager.”
“He seems like a pretty good kid.” I glance over to where he and Kody are sitting, watching the game.
“He is. A little impulsive and probably too smart for his own good, but definitely a good kid. It’s great that he has Kody around. He’s a real rule follower, kind of like King.”
“That’s just his personality. He always loved the rules. Still does.” Whenever he takes JJ, he follows the naptime routine like it’s the law.
“Except when it comes to Queenie.” Violet smirks.
“If it wasn’t for Queenie, I wouldn’t have any of this.” I motion to the group of women I’ve come to love like a family, especially since I made the decision to move to Seattle.
Queenie slips between the girls and wraps an arm around my waist. “I’m so grateful that you and King came into our lives.”
“Me, too, Queenie. Me, too.”
The sound of cheers coming from the jumbotron has us all turning to see what’s going on. I expect we’ve been so immersed in our conversation that we’ve missed the beginning of the second period. But that’s not it at all.
On the screen is Jake. He’s gotten rid of the carrier and he’s holding baby JJ in his arms, and beside him is Ryan.
I can see the family resemblance.
Pieces of myself, of Jake, of Ryan.
JJ may have come along when we least expected him, but he’s certainly going to know what it’s like to be part of a big, amazing family who loves him with our whole heart.
EPILOGUE
Strangely Perfect, Perfectly Strange
Jake
“DA-EE! CAN I show Scout how to play hockey? Pee-se!” JJ pulls on the hem of my shorts, looking up at me with his wide, dark eyes. His hair is the same color as Hanna’s and has the same unruly waves. It appears as though we never brush it, and there’s a flip at the front that makes him look like he’s part of an aspiring toddler boy band.
I crouch down so I’m at eye level with my son. There’s some kind of orange residue around his mouth. Probably from a Popsicle. I pat my pockets, but I don’t have a tissue on me. “You’ve got something on your face,” I tell him.
I’m about to try to wipe it away with my thumb, but he twists his head away. “Mommy will get it for me. She more gentle than you.”
I chuckle. He’s not wrong about that. Hanna is a gentle soul. And that softness and warmth make her an incredible, patient mother.
“You can give it a try, but he might not be able to get the hang of it. Tell the boys to use the foam pucks and make sure Scout gets the red plastic stick, okay?”
“Okay. Thanks, Da-ee.” He runs full tilt to where Queenie is sitting with my grandson, Scout, at her side, eating what I’m guessing is probably his seventeenth Arrowroot biscuit. That kid always has food in his mouth and he’s forever holding a sippy cup of milk. He seems to be a lot like his dad in that respect.