“Oh no, not again,” groans the voice of a middle schooler. “Don’t come up here, Mona,” our son yells to his sister. “They’re making out.”
Loud gagging sounds follow his warning. Mikael’s mouth trembles against mine as he tries to hold back his snickering, the lustful mood quickly turning to laughter. I give him a little push away, and we both stare at the ceiling for a short count to gather ourselves.
Mikael recovers first, swallowing his chuckles as he walks out the door to greet our two kids. I give myself a few extra seconds because the giggles keep welling in my throat.
I find the three of them downstairs in the kitchen. Mikael is making an afternoon snack of bananas and peanut butter. Our thirteen-year-old, Asher, the middle schooler, glares at me when I walk in while Mona, our ten-year-old, just sighs.
“Why are you two always kissing?”
“Because your mom is hot, that’s why,” Mikael says, pushing two plates toward his kids.
Mona heaves a giant, put-upon sigh while Asher rolls his eyes. “Even my friends comment on it. How you two can’t keep your hands off each other. You’re supposed to be the cool mom, being young and all.” Asher points his fork at me.
Mikael pushes the cutlery down with a warning look. Asher gives me a sheepish look and then digs into his snack. He knows there’s a line that he can’t cross, and he came close to it by pointing in my direction. Mikael is ever protective, even with this sort of small thing.
“I was never a cool kid, Ash, honey. I’m as uncool as they come, and I won’t get any better with age.” I walk over to the refrigerator and start removing the ingredients for dinner.
“That’s a lie,” Mikael says. “You’re getting better with age. Like a fine wine. Besides, if I didn’t find your mom hot,” Mikael says to our two kids, “you two wouldn’t be here.”
“Can I be excused?” Mona asks. “I have homework.”
“You’re ten. How can you have homework?” Mikael questions.
“I do, too,” Asher proclaims.
“I love you, Mommy. Sorry,” Mona yells by way of apology.
“Me, too,” Asher pipes up.
“What about me?” hollers Mikael in mock indignation.
A wave of giggles greets us.
Before I can protest, the two dash off. Mikael grabs my arm before I can chase after them. “Let them. We’re alone now.”
“If by alone, you mean with my thawing chicken on the counter and our third child in my belly, then yes.”
Mikael smiles and picks up the chicken and places it back in the refrigerator. He scoops me up in his arms and starts for the back stairs that lead up to our suite.
“What about dinner?” I ask, winding my arms around his neck.
“We’ll order out.”
That sounds perfect to me. And later, it feels perfect, too, with Mikael’s body moving powerfully over mine, his rough voice whispering tenderly in my ear how much he loves me, adores me, can’t believe I’m his.
I didn’t know I could be loved like this. I didn’t know I deserved this, but now that I have it all, now that I have my two beautiful children and a third on the way, now that I have my handsome as hell husband, now that I’m loved and I love in return. I probably don’t deserve this, but I have it, and I won’t let it go.