“So…” I say, turning my full attention to August. “What’s this I hear about you not wanting to be a pirate this year?” I ask, brushing her hair away from her face. I trace the line of the teeny, faded scar on her forehead with my thumb. She ran head-first into our coffee table a little after her first birthday. Bo broke it down into firewood the very next day. We were so new to parenting, then. So sensitive to every cut, bump, and bruise. That one, though, was awful. “Have we finally outgrown our little tradition?”
“Will you be upset?” August asks, looking cautiously between Bo and me.
“No, of course not, sweetie. Just, what will you dress as? It’s a bit late to go shopping.”
“I was thinking a ghost. If you’re cool with me cutting up a sheet…”
I immediately sense her hesitancy. The do it first, then ask for forgiveness afterward attitude I swear she somehow inherited from her Aunt Sarah. Bo and I make eye contact from his crouched position on the floor as he wipes Joey clean. He grimaces, and I immediately spot the missing scissors from the knife block on the counter.
“Well, that depends, sweetie. Did you already cut the sheet?”
“Maybe.” She smiles mischievously, twisting from side to side. It’s so similar to her dad’s guilty face that it’s very hard to be as annoyed as I probably should be. But I just got home. I can’t be the bad cop right away. And I would have said yes if she’d asked first.
I close my eyes, nodding as I take a deep inhale.
“Sorry,” she says softly. “It was an old one, from the closet.”
“Ask first next time, kid. Go get ready. We’re supposed to be out of here in ten minutes.” I kiss her forehead, then bend down to pick up a now naked and clean Joey off the floor. “And let’s get you ready, parsnip.”
Bo pulls the delicious smelling cake out of the oven as I carry Joey down the hall toward the bedroom that she and Charlie share. Inside their orange and floral explosion of a room, I find Charlie already half-changed into her black and white striped leggings and pulling her pirate dress over her head.
“Aye, aye, Captain Charlie!”
“Aye, aye, Mommy!” she says, giggling as she unsheathes an imaginary sword from her belt loop.
“Your sword is in the closet,” I tell her.
“Win?” Bo calls out, shouting from the kitchen. “Your mom is calling. She wants to see the girls’ costumes.”
“I’m dressing Joey!” I say, forcing Joanna to remain still by pinning her between my knees. She’s so much more active than the other girls were at her age—I swear she’d scale a wall if given the chance. “Tell her we’ll call when they’re all dressed!”
Bo appears at the door, holding a phone in his hand, pointed outward toward us, apologising silently with a tilted grin.
“Oh, hey, Mom! Sorry, it’s a little busy at the moment,” I say, looking at Bo with a deadly smile.
“Charlie June, are you going as a pirate again?” Mom asks. She always calls her Charlie June. The moment we told her June was her middle name, Grandma June decided Charlie had two first names.
“Yes, Grandma,” Charlie says, running over to the phone. “But not August. She’s a ghost this time.”
“And Joey?”
“A parrot,” I say, holding her up to the screen. The beloved costume that each of our girls has worn their first few Halloweens. “It’s definitely the last year it’s going to fit any of them.” I pout toward Bo, off screen. “I could barely do up the zipper.”
“I guess we’ll just have to have another,” Bo says, giving the phone to August as she passes behind him in the hallway. With two eyeholes cut in not exactly the right place, Gus takes the phone and walks away, chatting busily to her grandmother.
“And put them where, exactly?” I ask, looping my arms around Bo’s neck. We’ve already filled this little house with as much furniture, children, and love as it can probably hold. But we’re sentimental people. Neither of us wants to leave the home where we fell in love or brought our girls home to. We’ve marked the girls’ heights against the bedroom door since they could stand. We’ve planted an apple tree in the backyard, above their makeshift treehouse, that is just starting to harvest fruit. The greenhouse has grown over with ivy, the earth claiming it back. And I feel the same—claimed by this house.
He hums, tucking his face against my neck and breathing me in. “I missed you.”
“Don’t dodge the question,” I say as he trails kisses along my jaw. “And don’t distract me either.” I giggle.
“Haven’t you heard? I have a hotshot wife. She could buy us a fancy new house,” he says, his hands drifting low on my back.
“Oh, could she, now?” I ask, tilting up to kiss him.
“Maybe if I ask nicely…” he says, tugging my lip between his teeth. “Or not so nicely?”
“I missed you too,” I say, brushing his hair out of his face. He’s continued to grow his hair and beard over the years, and I really like it this long. It suits him. He also ditched the contact lenses for glasses permanently—after I begged for a few years.
“But no new house. I’m staying put here. This is our home. How could we possibly leave? It’s bad enough when we’re up at the camp all summer.”
“Fine, we’ll dig out the basement.”
“Yes. And have cellar children.”
“They’ll age like fine wine,” he says, smiling. “Don’t you want another?” he asks, his hands gripping the fullness of my hips as if he’s ready to get started.
“Do you really think we could handle another? You just spent four days alone with them—you seriously want more?”
“You know I do, honey.” He brushes his nose against mine, then his lips. “Want to play worst-case scenario?” he asks, his mouth gently brushing across mine. “Or… best case?”
After the camp was a roaring success for the fifth year in a row—and Bo couldn’t resist knocking me up for a third time—he decided to quit corporate life and become a full-time dad. He’s never been happier. Still, three children is already a lot of children.
I check my watch and groan, kissing him one last time. But he doesn’t get the memo. “Bo, hey,” I say between kisses, smiling against his mouth. “Quit it. We’re gonna be late.”
“Let me help you get dressed, then,” he says, scooping me up and hauling me over his shoulder as I laugh ferociously. “I seem to recall there being fishnets one year. Can we bring those back?” he asks, turning the corner into the hallway.
“Dada!” Joey says, standing next to Charlie, who narrows her eyes at me. “No!”
“We’ve been spotted,” I whisper, holding on to Bo for dear life as he takes off jogging.
“Put Mommy down!” Charlie says, giggling as she swipes at Bo’s calves with her foam sword.
“Never!” he shouts.
Yes, it’s chaos. And yes, we have our hands full. But it’s a perfect little life. A beautiful, contented life. Hours spent by the water when we can. Cosy days on the couch when we need them. Dancing in the dining room whenever we want.