“It’s been a lifetime,” I corrected. “And I want to get a jump on that happily ever after part. Now that the house is… livable.”
I’d maybe exaggerated when I told Lulu it would only be a couple of weeks. The house was a never-ending project. But, I reminded myself on days when I was tired from the club, and didn’t want to work on it, it was where we were going to sleep every night, where we were going to raise babies, and that hedgehog that Andi had decided was perfect for us.
“You’ve been busting your ass over there,” he said, nodding.
“It’s been a labor of love. But I’m glad it’s almost over. I just have to finish the far corner of the basement.” The part that Louana didn’t know about since she’d encountered a “dog-sized spider” and decided she didn’t need to use the basement in her own home. Not even if the washer and dryer were down there.
“Louana didn’t mention that. You keeping shit from my daughter?”
“Yes,” I said, nodding. “But for a good reason. Her birthday is up next. I’m building her a movie room. With a projector and daybeds. And a system that can store all her DVDs and even some of her VHS tapes. Oh, and a popcorn machine. And a cotton candy one.”
“You’re building her a movie room,” Luce repeated.
“I figure it will be a nice place for you guys to hang. And, eventually, when we have kids, for you guys to instill that love of movie into the next generation.”
One look at him then said I had it.
His approval.
And so I did.
He’d even given me his permission to marry his girl before I headed out with her later that night.
Marry her I would.
And soon.
Because that gift she’d given her mom?
It was a “grandma” t-shirt.
It seemed like we were getting a big head start on that happily ever after of ours.
Louana - 15 years
“Adie, you need to hit him,” I called from behind the desk at the self-defense gym I’d been practically calling my own for many years.
As it turned out, Lo and Janie were happy to hand over the reins to me, to let me continue on their legacy of training the next badass generation of girls.
Including my two.
One of whom was going half-force at her padded-up big brother.
Mills was the spitting image of his father when Valen was his age. Tall, a little bit all arms and legs that he would hone into strong muscles in a few years. He chose to keep his dark hair long, tying it back in a bun at his crown.
“I don’t want to hurt him,” Adie objected, giving me those big, doe eyes of hers.
Where Adie came from was a fucking mystery. That girl was all sugar and honey and everything kind and sweet the world had to offer.
If it weren’t for the fact that she looked exactly like I did as a girl, I would have sworn she’d been switched at the hospital.
Parenting had proven genuinely traumatizing when we’d welcomed Mills into the world. He’d come in breech and suffered with colic so bad that even Billie, who had the patience of a saint, hadn’t been able to comfort him.
As such, we’d taken a little break after him to recoup.
So while Mills was about fourteen, the girls were eight and nine, respectively. With Adie being the older of the two.
“Hurting him is the whole point, babe,” I reminded her. “He’s not Mills right now. He’s a bad guy.”
“Maybe he just needs a hug.”
“No, baby, he needs a kick to the crotch,” I told her, barely holding back a smile at how green Mills looked at that idea, even with all the padding.
“But, Mama, he—“ she started, then cut off when her little sister came barreling out of nowhere, her silly space buns at a contrast to the stern determination on her face as she ducked under the ropes of the ring, walked forward, and kicked her big brother in the crotch. Then proceeded to beat the crap out of him.
“Okay, killer, okay,” I said, ducking under the ropes, grabbing her under the arms, and dragging her back as she continued to swing and kick at the air. “Got a lot of rage inside you, huh?” I asked as I took her hands to inspect them since she hadn’t even bothered to put gloves on.
Vara Violet (yes we’d named her after her aunt) was the polar opposite of her big sister. There’d never been any doubt about who her parents were. She was pure sass, attitude, confidence, and boundless energy. And a heaping dose of rage at the world, it seemed.
“He ate my Lunchable,” Vara declared, crossing her arms over her chest and jerking her little chin up.
“Well, that is certainly a pummel-able offense,” I said, getting a nod from her. “But we can buy you more Lunchables.”