I was sobbing long before Kellan handed him to me.
Several months later, I was wading through a sea of pink and white balloons. They were all over my house. And I mean all over my house. Clumps of them were attached to every lamp, vase, banister, doorknob, cabinet handle, and chair back. The ceiling was littered with them. So was the floor. People in the living room were having a blast, kicking them back and forth. Hopefully nobody took a swipe while Gibson was near. My fifteen-month-old niece was in hog heaven, trying to collect as many squishy balloons in her arms as she could carry. Anna was watching her like a hawk, making sure none of the balloons popped and scared her, or popped and became rubbery treats. That little girl still had oral-fixation issues. She would put anything in her mouth. Anything. Anna had already told me about Gibson finding her sex-toy stash. She’d saved Gibson from a lifetime of needing therapy by mere seconds. They now kept their assortment of adult toys in a locked box on the top shelf of their closet. And I’d give anything not to know that.
In my kitchen, a three-tiered cake was resting on the middle of the wide oak table. It was in the shape of a heart, and each layer was a different shade of pink. Even the plastic tablecloth was pink. And the plates. And the silverware. Surrounding the cake were cookies and candies in various colors and styles, all of them with a heart theme. And little conversation hearts were spread over the table as edible decorations. It looked like we were throwing a birthday party for cupid.
We weren’t. The party we were throwing was a conglomeration of congratulations. A banner taped above the sliding door leading to the wraparound porch out back announced all the festivities: Happy one year anniversary, Denny & Abby! Congratulations on publishing your second book, Kiera! Congratulations on your second album reaching #1, D-Bags! Happy Valentine’s Day!
Abby had arranged the party. Not only was she a huge holiday nut, but she was also an impossibly organized multi-tasker. When she saw on opportunity to combine events, she jumped on it! The only thing that was missing from the banner was the fact that my little man was five months old today. But that fact was really only significant to Kellan and me. Most people didn’t throw a birthday party every month of someone’s life. But we celebrated the smallest milestones with our son.
It was lightly snowing outside, but that wasn’t stopping our group from having a barbeque. Evan was in front of our stainless steel grill in a fluffy jacket and a stocking cap, flipping burgers and rotating the hotdogs. Matt was with him, his arms securely around Rachel, who looked like she was slowly freezing to death. As I watched other people come into the house to take a break from the chill, ducking under the massive banner as they did, I felt someone standing beside me.
Turning my head, I smiled over at Denny. He was completely clean-shaven; it was the first time I’d seen him that way since college. Back then, he’d seemed so young with his baby face and youthful smile. But he’d grown over the years, and now he looked like someone who knew exactly who he was and where he was going. The peaceful smile on his face told the world My life is good, and I’m content. Seeing him look that way lifted my heart.
Pointing over to the table of holiday-inspired confections, I told him, “You really weren’t kidding about the holiday fetish, were you?”
Denny laughed as he looked my way. “No, I wasn’t. You and Kellan will have to come over for St. Patrick’s Day next month. You will not believe the dinner Abby serves.” He twisted his lip. “Ever had green potatoes?”
I laughed at that remark and instantly pictured my pink table transformed into a green wonderland, full of foods that shouldn’t ever be green. Glancing at the ring on his finger as he sipped his fruity pink punch, I told him, “Congratulations on your one year anniversary.”
He paused with the cup to his mouth. “Thank you.” After taking another drink, he told me, “I have some good news for you too. Like we talked about, I gave Irresistible to every publishing house I could. One of them called me yesterday. They’re impressed with how well the book has been doing, and they absolutely loved the story. They want to talk to you about publishing it professionally.”
My eyes widened. A traditional book deal? Right now, my book was only available on the Internet. Having my title on bookshelves everywhere would be the culmination of all of my dreams. Amazed, I told him, “Thank you for doing that. I’d love to talk to them.”