“Thanks for coming.” I follow Bree and Austin through my living room as they gather their things and say their goodbyes. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
Austin turns back and whistles for his dog. Virginia Woof thumps her tail on my carpet but doesn’t take her focus off the task of cleaning Long Long Peter’s ears. Between that and the fact that Libby is rubbing the dog’s belly, Virginia’s in heaven and not looking to leave anytime soon.
“She can sleep over if you want,” Chelsea offers. “I’ll have Libby bring her by in the morning.”
Libby bounces with energy, her birthday hat slipping sideways on her head. “Please? Oh, please, Aunt Bree?”
Bree smiles and slides her arm around Austin’s waist. “We probably can’t say no to the birthday girl. It’s in the manual or something.”
“Just don’t feed her any cupcakes,” Austin says. “She passed gas for three days last time.”
Libby dissolves into a puddle of giggles, because farting is funny to a seven-year-old no matter who’s doing it. “Thanks, Uncle Austin.”
Aunt Bree. Uncle Austin.
There’s no blood relation among any of us here, save Libby and Chelsea. None of us are married yet, either, which I guess is a damn good reminder that family has nothing to do with blood ties or wedding vows or any of that shit. It has everything to do with who you decide to love with your whole damn heart and hold tight to no matter what.
“By the way,” Bree says, hesitating in the doorway. “I’m not really one for those cheesy social media announcements or some huge proclamation at a family gathering, so I’ll just tell you now—”
“Oh my God.” Chelsea draws a hand to her mouth. “You’re—”
“Yep.” Bree grins.
“For sure?”
“For sure.”
Austin gets a big dopey grin and puts his hand on Bree’s back. “We’ve known a few weeks.”
I look from Chelsea to Bree to Austin and wonder what the fuck everyone’s talking about. “Will someone please translate this conversation?”
Chelsea laughs as she pulls my sister in for a hug. That’s when I notice Bree’s touching her belly. Pretty sure it’s not because she ate too many cupcakes.
“Holy crap,” I say. “You’re knocked up?”
“I am.” My sister is glowing, and she laughs as I take my turn hugging her. “Kinda doing it in reverse order. We’ll have a quiet wedding, maybe in the next month or so.”
“Congratulations,” I tell her, turning to shake Austin’s hand. “Way to go.”
“Thanks.”
I’m half tempted to salute or something, but I settle for glancing back toward the living room. Libby’s too far away and too wrapped up in playing with her birthday gifts to care what the grownups are talking about, which is just as well. No sense overshadowing her birthday with news of some other baby’s impending arrival.
“Congratulations,” Chelsea says. “We’re so happy for you.”
I love that she speaks for both of us. Chelsea and me, a unit, a family. My big, dumb heart swells like a mylar balloon.
“Thanks for having us over,” Bree says, then peers around me to shout back to Libby. “Happy birthday, kiddo!”
“Thanks!” Lib shouts back. “G’night.”
Chelsea gives a big, contented sigh as the door clicks shut behind Bree and Austin. She turns to me and smiles. “Well, that was amazing.”
“Yeah.” I’m grinning like a dumbass, so happy for my sister.
But that’s not the only thing I’m jazzed about right now.
I watch as Chelsea moves back through the living room, and I admire the sway of her hips as I trail after her.
“Was the party everything you wanted it to be, Lib?” she asks.
“It was the best party ever,” she says. “My friends thought the horses were cool, and I love Grandma Bootie’s present.”
Long Long Peter was less enthusiastic about the sweater my mother knitted for him, but he doesn’t seem to be suffering much as he rolls to his side so Virginia Woof can clean his other ear.
“And I like the stuffie she brought me, too,” Libby says. “The giraffe sheep.”
“Llama,” Chelsea reminds her, even though “giraffe sheep” is so fucking adorable we almost didn’t correct her.
“Yes,” Libby agrees. “I’m naming him Llamanade.”
“Perfect,” I say, clearing my throat. “There’s one more present.”
Chelsea’s head tilts in confusion, and she leans close for one of those low-volume parental conferences I’m just now learning are a thing. “Am I forgetting something we got her?” she whispers.
Nope, she’s not. This one’s a surprise for both of them, and I’m nervous as hell about it. Nervous, but also excited.
“Have a seat,” I say, gesturing to the couch. “Both of you, right next to each other.”
Mother and daughter exchange a look of intrigue as they settle themselves on the sofa side by side. Libby’s pigtails are crooked, and her face is smeared with chocolate, while Chelsea’s decked out in leggings and one of my old shirts.
“I turn into a pumpkin after nine,” she told me earlier after Libby’s friends got picked up, and the party was just down to family. “Might as well be comfortable.”
“You’re beautiful when you’re comfortable,” I told her, kissing her as she rolled up the sleeves on my old plaid flannel.
As I look at them now—both of my girls—I’m pretty damn sure I’ve never seen so much beautiful in one place. Not even the cupcake displays at Chelsea’s shop, which is saying something.
I settle on the edge of the coffee table I built from an old Ponderosa pine that got hit by lightning last fall. It’s scarred and sturdy and my favorite piece of furniture in the whole house.
Taking a deep breath, I begin. “Libby and Chelsea.” My voice wobbles a little, so I clear my throat. “The two of you have become the most important people in my whole life. Every day, you make me smile and laugh, and I love the crap out of both of you.”
Libby giggles, delighted by the curse word as all good seven-year-olds are. That’s another thing I’ve learned lately: A curse word or two never killed any kid, and it’s okay to cut myself some slack.
Chelsea’s smiling, but there’s still a question in her eyes. I wonder if she knows what’s coming. If she recognizes an even bigger question I’m trying to get out in my own fumbly way.
“You are my family,” I say to my girls. “Both of you, unquestionably, until the day I keel over from sugar overdose, you’re my reason for getting out of bed in the morning and the reason I want to get into it at night.” I nod at Libby. “That part’s more for your mom.”
She grins. “I figured.”
“But tucking you in at night is one of my favorite parts of every day.”
“Because Alice the Camel,” she says.
“Yeah.” But that’s only a tiny fraction of why, and I hope she knows it.
“You’re our family, too,” Libby says. “Right, Mom?”
“Absolutely.” Chelsea reaches out to touch my hand, which I didn’t realize is shaking.
There’s a damn lump in my throat, too, so I swallow it back and keep going. “So, we’re all each other’s family,” I continue. “And if it’s okay with both of you, I’d like to make that official.”
I reach down beside me and pull open the drawer I built into the coffee table. Inside is the cigar box James has been keeping for me in his safe. I pull it out and rest it on my knees.
Libby cocks her head. “I’m old enough to smoke cigars now?”
“Definitely not.” I fight the urge to smile. This is serious stuff, right? “There’s something in here that belonged to my father. And before he had them, they belonged to his mom—my grandma.”
I’m leaving out a few details, though I’ll explain later to Chelsea. I’ll tell her how my dad had an endless supply of valuable gemstones, courtesy of his mother’s extensive collection and her willingness to fork over a handful any time my father felt like proposing to someone.
He got that urge a lot, but that’s beside the point.
“Two times, my dad proposed to Grandma Bootie,” I explain as I extract the first ring box. “And both times, she said no.”
Pretty sure the rings had nothing to do with her answer, or with why she eventually returned them both to my dad. Just in case there’s any lingering bad juju, I had them melted down and the gemstones reset into something new. Something just for the three of us, the family I’m hoping we’ll become.
“Oh, Mark.” Chelsea’s eyes glitter with tears as I open the first box to reveal a tiny gold pendant studded with sapphires. Blue, Libby’s favorite color, and I hold it out as her eyes get bigger.
“Giving you a ring felt sorta creepy, but you’re part of this proposal, and I wanted you to have something.” I slide to one knee, taking the necklace out of the box. “Libby, would it be okay if I asked your mom to marry me? If I promised to be your stepdad forever and ever, and to love you even more than your mom’s gingerbread cupcakes with candied orange and molasses?”
Libby laughs, pigtails swaying as she nods. “Yes!” she says, bouncing a little as I clasp the necklace for her. “I say yes. I love you, Mark.”
I half expected questions about what stepdad means, but she’s paid attention. We’ve talked a lot these last couple months about families and how they all look different. She’s only recently learned about her biological father, and how he’s chosen not to be involved.
We’re probably a few years away from the more detailed explanation that includes details like Senator Assgrab’s wife in prison for attempted murder, or how he halted his presidential run to focus on family matters. She’s also too young to hear how I’ve chosen not to learn about my biological father. Maybe someday we’ll get there, Libby and me, to a point we’re ready to make those connections. But right now, there’s no rush.
I take another deep breath and turn to face the woman I love more than anyone else in the world. The woman who just wiped her eyes on the sleeve of my faded plaid shirt.
“Chelsea.” The wobble is back in my voice, but she doesn’t seem to care. She’s smiling her biggest, broadest smile, and it’s enough to keep me going. “I’ve loved you from the first moment you stood there in your stripey apron feeding me cupcakes,” I tell her. “But back then, I was too dumb and too scared to recognize love when it hit me upside the head like an axe.”
I pull out the second jeweler’s box and open it, and she gasps. I think it’s a good gasp, but I can’t tell with her covering her mouth like that.
“Oh my God, Mark! It’s so beautiful.” She’s flat-out sobbing now, tears rolling down her face as she laughs and smiles and displays a bunch of other emotions I’m still learning to recognize.
“My mom helped come up with the design,” I tell her. “She said tungsten’s one of the toughest metals, and diamonds are one of the toughest stones, and all that strength put together makes something beautiful. Something like you. Like us.”
I slip the ring from the box, admiring how the rose gold inlay matches the glints of red in her hair. It’s beautiful, but the woman whose finger I’m slipping it on puts the damn ring to shame.
It flashes as she holds her finger up, laughing and crying and hugging me and Libby in a great, big, soggy, laughter-filled embrace.
“Wait,” I say, pulling back a little. “Was I supposed to wait for a yes before shoving that on your finger?”
She laughs and wipes her eyes. “I don’t recall hearing a question.”
Oh, shit. I forgot that part, didn’t I?
Well, nothing about this family, this union, has gone according to the rule book. Why would the proposal be any different?
“Will you marry me, Chelsea?” I ask. “Make me the happiest man who ever lived, which you’ve already done, but now it’ll be official.”
“Yes,” she says, laughing as she touches the side of my face. “Yes, absolutely.”
This time it’s me pulling her in for a hug, her and Libby all at once. I wrap my arms around both of them, sealing us into a big, warm cocoon of love and family and togetherness.
“Did I do okay?” I ask. “The proposal, the jewelry, all that stuff? It’s the first time I’ve ever done that.”
Chelsea laughs and pulls back to look in my eyes. “It was perfect,” she says. “A first time and a last time all rolled into one.”
Libby wiggles between us. “And a happily ever after.”
“Exactly.”
***
Ready for James and Lily’s story? That’s next in the Ponderosa Resort Romantic Comedy Series. It’s coming June 14, 2019, and you can pre-order Stiff Suit right here:
Keep reading for a sneak peek from Stiff Suit . . .