“Lookin’ good, Grandpa,” she teased.
Our oldest son, Caden was twenty-five. We’d finalized his and his sister Caitlin’s adoption from foster care when Sloane was pregnant with our first baby, a boy we named Simon. In the course of four months, we’d gone from zero children to three. And we’d added a fourth, Juliana, just one year later.
I shot my wife a smoldering look, a promise of things to come.
She winked, then asked, “When will Nolan’s family get here?”
“They’ll be here tomorrow night in time for Stef and Jeremiah’s Christmas party.” Stef had purchased the foreclosed Red Dog Horse Farm on the outskirts of town and turned it into a luxury spa. Every year, we gathered there for a catered feast.
Knox marched through the kitchen with his youngest daughter tossed over his shoulder. He paused long enough for Gilly to reach down and snag two cookies off the platter.
“Viking and Mini Viking, you’re both in trouble!” Naomi called after them.
“Does anyone need anything in here? A beverage? A clean dish towel? Some sanity?” I offered, admiring the platters of food.
“Wine,” everyone chorused at the same time.
“Lou, the kitchen needs wine,” I bellowed at Naomi’s father who, with Lina’s father, was manning the bar we’d added in the dining room. Amara looked up at me wide-eyed and then belly laughed.
“How’s my little one?” Waylay asked, cooing at her daughter nestled in my arms.
In a twist of fate, Caden and Waylay had officially joined our families by overcoming years of friendship and falling in love in college. I still thought they were terrifyingly young to have jumped into that kind of commitment, but Sloane made me promise to keep my concerns to myself.
As my beautiful wife pointed out, if we’d done our job right, Caden would be a well-adjusted, productive adult who knew what he wanted. So far, her prediction appeared to be accurate. Even Emry, who was in the family room with his wife, Sacha, wearing a Hanukkah sweater and explaining the dreidel to Nash’s twins, assured me that they seemed like a happy, healthy couple.
“Knock knock!” a cheery voice called from the front door.
“Let’s go see who it is,” I told Amara. We arrived in time to see my mother-in-law, Karen, stroll through the door with my mother, their boyfriends, and their suitcases. I was still withholding judgment on both men. Even though the barrel-chested Max, who charmed Karen through salsa dancing, and the Purple Heart recipient veteran José looked at my mother as if she’d given birth to the sun, the moon, and everything in between, I wasn’t ready to trust either of them any further than I could throw them.
The great-grandmothers dissolved into delighted squeals, and Amara was wrestled from me.
My flour-covered wife appeared and started doling out hugs and cheek kisses. “Your rooms are ready upstairs. Dinner is in an hour. And wine is now,” she said.
“We’ll take the bags,” Jose offered, using his good arm to heft my mother’s overnight bag. As an above-the-elbow amputee, the man was annoyingly good at everything. Which only served to make me want to find his weakness even more.
Karen sighed as she watched Max head for the staircase. “Tell me the truth. Am I too old for this?”
“Too old for what?” Sloane asked, slipping her arm around my waist.
“To be so…infatuated.”
“We’re never too old,” my mother assured her emphatically, winking at me as she jiggled Amara on her hip. I was still getting used to this new, confident Mom. And she was still getting used to Lucian the family man. But we were making it work.
“Mom, it’s like Dad picked him out personally for you. He’s lovely,” Sloane said.
“He is, isn’t he? Speaking of lovely, when are Maeve and Kurt getting here?” Karen asked.
“Maeve just texted. Chloe and her girlfriend just arrived so they’ll be here in a few minutes,” Sloane reported.
“I can’t wait to meet the woman who got Chloe to stop talking long enough to fall in love,” Karen said with a grin.
A twitch of fur caught my eye, and I spotted Meow Meow hidden behind the drapes in the front window.
Knox growled theatrically from the living room and lunged on hands and knees. Two kids screamed and streaked down the hallway, three dogs yapping at their heels. Knox laughed, until he had to get to his feet.
“Goddammit, this middle-aged thing sucks,” he groaned.
We were all older. More things hurt getting out of bed in the morning. But I’d never felt better in my life. Being part of this circus of a family had healed so many scars I didn’t even know I carried. I’d stopped tattooing over the physical ones after watching my wife wear hers like a badge of honor.