“Yes.” Maxime glances at the wet spot on his shoulder. Pushing to his feet, he says, “I need to change my shirt, and Jean needs a clean nappy.”
“Give him to me.” Violet stands and holds out her arms. “I’ll take care of the nappy so you can change your shirt.”
“Are you sure?” Zoe asks, shooting Violet a grateful look.
“It’s the first time you’ve put your butt in a chair today.” Violet smiles. “I’ve got this.”
Maxime hesitates, holding on to Jean as if his life depends on it.
“It’s all right,” Zoe says to her husband. “We can’t be with him twenty-four hours per day forever. He has to get used to caregivers and a nanny when I go back to work.”
After another moment, Maxime reluctantly hands him over. “Only if you’ll shout if you don’t manage.”
Violet chuckles. “I got plenty of practice changing Josie’s nappy.”
“I vouch for that,” Damian says.
“In that case, I’ll show you where everything is,” Maxime says, making his way to the house.
I lean back, shamelessly ogling my celebrity graphic novel wife as she carries Jean away. I’m proud of her and what she’s achieved. I have no doubt she’ll find her balance between being a mommy and a career artist. Watching her with Jean, I can’t help but imagine her with our baby in her arms.
We’ll need a bigger house. I moved a desk for Violet into my study so that she can draw while I’m writing programs and taking care of business. I like being close to her at all hours of the day, but there’s no arguing that the space is cramped.
“You know what the scary part about this is?” Zoe asks, swinging an arm over the chairback next to her. “How perfectly normal this seems.”
Damian pulls the wine closer and fills her glass. “You deserve a little normal.”
“Yeah.” Ian crosses his arms and stretches out his legs. “Who would’ve thought? A Sunday lunch in France of all places.”
“Considering,” Zoe adds.
She doesn’t have to elaborate. We all know what she means. For most of my life, normal seemed as unobtainable as the moon. We came a long way from the small apartment next to the dirty train tracks in Brixton. We’re not good or perfect, but we’re sitting around the same table, and our family is growing. By next year this time, we’ll have to add another seat or two. There’s a whole lot of normal in the lively discussions and animated chaos of our lunches and dinners, and that’s huge. For people like us, normal is a pretty damn big deal.
My favorite times are the ones when everyone talks at once, when Maxime and Damian argue about the future of diamonds and Cas explains the benefits of crop rotation to Violet. It’s when Zoe and Lina discuss fabric and psychology, and Ian tells Josh and Josie stories about elephants and baboons. It’s when Violet shows me her drawings and asks my opinion like it matters. It’s when the baby cries and the milk boils over and the house brims with voices and feet coming up and down the stairs. It’s when I step outside with Josh at night to spot satellites and look at the house and see its lit windows from a distance. It’s Violet and Lina drinking wine in the kitchen, and Cas rocking Jean to sleep. That’s when I’m the happiest, during those mundane rituals. People who didn’t grow up with normality will never take the luxury and simple joy of stability for granted.
In the end, that’s all that truly matters.
Family.
When I blow out my last breath, I won’t think about the program that’s going to earn me another few million or the name I finally made for myself. I’ll think of this, of burned meat and cold beer on a Sunday afternoon and of having found my place in the world at a table surrounded by the people I love.
In the end, it’s that simple.
Normal is the smell of garlic potatoes frying on the stove and a vanilla cake baking in the oven. Happiness is the sound of laughter carrying through an open door. Destiny is the imperfect road of the past that led us to this perfect moment.
~ THE END ~