Max’s smile widens as he uses both hands to point to himself.
“For you! Because it’s your birthday, huh?” I give him a little tickle on his belly. “How old are you today?”
My son holds a hand up, showing off all five fingers.
“You’re five?! When did that happen?”
He laughs at himself as I help him put three of his fingers down. “Or are you two?”
“Two!”
And how the hell is he already two?
My happy boy with so much energy, confidence, and bravery. He’s thriving and I couldn’t be more grateful.
“Should we go show Mom your cool outfit?”
“Yes!”
I stand from the ground, letting him put his hand in mine. “I think there might be a jungle outside waiting for you.”
Max looks up at me, wide and excited blue eyes.
“Maybe even some giraffes and elephants and zebras.”
His little smile is so sweetly hopeful as he hops around on his feet. Turning the corner to the living room, he stands slightly behind my leg, using it to shield his eyes. We stop walking and he peeks his little face around, as if he were nervous to see his birthday party.
There are endless balloons in all different animal prints, palm leaves draped all around. Banners hang on every flat surface, and the décor is finished with an array of giant toy animals you might find in the jungle.
I get down on my haunches next to my son, pulling him between my crouched legs. “What do you think, Bug? Is that jungle for you?”
He nods excitedly, but leans back on me, like he’s not so sure if he should go outside yet.
But then he spots Miller at the dessert table, rearranging the endless display she’s been busy baking.
“Mama!” Max pops off my chest, running his way outside to go find his mom.
I stand at the back door as I watch her scoop him up, resting him on her hip.
This is my favorite view—the two of them.
“What do you think of your birthday party, Bug?” Miller bounces him on her hip. “Is this all for you?”
“Yes,” Max says, hiding against her shoulder.
“I think we should go explore.”
I already knew they were close, but that bond has only strengthened since Miller officially moved in six months ago. A day hasn’t gone by that she hasn’t kissed him before bed or been with me to wake him in the morning.
Their love for each other is so evident.
Last month Max caught a little cold and, instead of me, the only person he wanted was his mom. My ego took a small hit but getting to see her confidence towards motherhood grow was well worth the blow.
I follow them into the backyard as Miller puts Max on his feet so he can play with the giant toy lion sitting on the ground by the dessert table.
“This looks amazing, baby.” I slide my arms around her waist from behind, chin leaning on her shoulder.
“Yeah? Do you think there are enough balloons? I have more inside I could blow up.”
I couldn’t tell you where she’d fit more balloons. There’s a balloon arch around the dessert and drink table. Over the photo backdrop. You walk through a balloon arch in the entryway of the house. I couldn’t count how many giant gold number two balloons are floating around out here.
I chuckle. “Yeah, we should probably get more out here. I’m not sure if people will understand this is a birthday party.”
She swats me in the thigh, but I catch her hand, pulling it to my lips. “It’s perfect.”
“Is it, though? I want it to be perfect for him.”
I sway with her as we look down at our son, who has now found his way to sitting on the toy lion as if it were a horse.
“I’m fairly certain this is going to be the best day of his life.”
My eyes drift back to the dessert table she’s working on. A tiered cake sits in the middle, each layer a different animal print. Cupcakes, brownies, and mini pies surround the table as well, all done in some sort of safari-themed way.
“These look perfect, Mills.” Reaching around her, I pop a mini brownie in my mouth. “Holy hell,” I moan.
“Kai,” she scolds with a laugh. “Those are for the guests.”
“We should cancel. The three of us can polish these off.”
“I worked way too hard on those not to share them.” She turns back to the table to cover the small gap I made on her brownie plate before she finds me over her shoulder. “But yeah, they’re good?”
Even after all this time and all this success, she still looks for approval from the people she loves, wanting them to love what she created.
I lean over her shoulder to kiss her. “They’re amazing. Everyone is going to love them.”
And when I say everyone, I don’t just mean our friends and family. I’m referring to all of Chicago.
Back in October, Miller became the owner of a little brick building on the North Side of Chicago. She spent the winter months hard at work gutting the place and turning it into her very own bakery. M’s Patisserie has only been open for six weeks and has yet to make it through scheduled business hours before selling out of her baked goods.
Violet, Miller’s agent, went to work spreading the word about the James Beard winner’s latest endeavor. She’s been written about in travel and food magazines. Her business’s social media already has an incredible following and each morning when they open, they’re greeted by a line around the block of both locals and tourists eager to try her creations.
I wouldn’t be surprised if she opened a second location by the end of the year, but for now, she’s enjoying finding success in something she loves, something with her name on it.
Though, she has yet to admit who M’s Patisserie is named for.
It could be for her own name or for Max, Me, or Monty. But when asked, she simply says it’s named after all her favorite people.
The bakery has a back room that serves as a cooking classroom. On Tuesdays she teaches baking basics, but every Thursday, she features a specialty dish on her menu. They’re the type of dishes she would’ve showcased when she was in the high-end restaurant world. She sells out every Thursday before noon then, that evening, she hosts a class and teaches people exactly how to make it for themselves.
That particular class is booked three months out already.
Miller works four days a week and entrusts the other three to her staff. And every day she comes home from work, she’s wearing an exhausted but fulfilled smile on her face. It’s the daily confirmation that she made the right choice all those months ago when she returned to Chicago. She came back not just for me or Max, but also for herself.
Sliding my hand down her lower back, I rest it on her ass. “Can I help with anything?”
“I think we’re good to go.”
Pulling her in, I kiss her temple. “He’s lucky to have you and so am I.”
She looks up at me, jade green eyes so full of happiness. “I think we’re all lucky.”
Just then Monty turns the corner, coming in through the side gate with a giant gift bag in one hand and a case of beer in the other. Because even though this is a two-year-old’s birthday, all my son’s closest people are well over twenty-one.
“Monny!” Max cheers when he sees him.
“There’s my birthday boy!”
“Let me go help your dad.”
Jogging over, I take the beer from his grip.
“Thanks, Ace. There’s more in the car.”
“I can go get it.”
“I’ll go with you,” he says, giving me a look that tells me exactly why he needs to go back to the car with me.
We get the present on the gift table and the beer in the cooler before we make it back out to his car.
“Do you have it?”
“Eager,” he laughs. “Yes, I have it.”
Monty dips into his pocket, pulling out a small rust orange velvet box.
A few weeks after Miller moved to Chicago, I went to Monty’s apartment and asked how he felt about me asking his daughter to marry me.