Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. No copyright infringement is intended.

Beta'd by HollettLA

Summary: Young mother Kylie just gave birth to her second child, who just can't stop crying. Dumbfounded and clueless, she tries to no avail to stop his tears while also trying to care for her four-year-old son and her husband, who just doesn't understand…How will she cope?

"Clueless"

Chapter Four

Kylie POV

I giggled, sitting on the side of the recliner.

Alas, as soon as my ass hit it, Lala started to serenade us.

"Good!" Aro clapped, hopping up when I did. "He's up! I'll get him."

I followed Aro out of the room. "He needs a diaper change. I'll bring him down."

Aro turned to look at his wife. "Let's go. You change him." He jerked a thumb.

"No—"

Lisa chuckled. "It's fine. You get his bottle ready." She squeezed my shoulder, trailing after her husband.

When they were gone, my chin wrinkled and my lip quivered.

Gio was in my face fast, but I tried to cover it up with my palms. "Hey…" He pulled my hands away, not letting me hide. "What's the matter?"

I sniffled, shaking my head. "I never took Peto to see Santa…Now everyone knows I suck." I shrugged. "I love everyone for helping, jumping in and being pushy about it…But, Gio…they probably think I'm horrible."

"That's not true. No one thinks that." My husband wiped my tears away before placing several soft kisses all over my face. "I wish I could throw you down and fuck you."

I barked out a laugh despite my tears. "Oh my God." I held my stomach.

"Bleeding or not, when you cry, baby—you get upset." He bit his lip, gathering me into his arms, his hands grabbing my ass. "The cock makes you feel better."

I cried harder as I nodded.

I've always been what my mom said—a pervert baby mush. And sex, God, Gio-Sex is the best.

After getting married, I learned that—even when we fight, bicker, argue, and I swear I hate him—I don't have to "like" him in order to screw his brains out. I love him all the time, no matter what, but sometimes . . . I mean, we both have our moments.

And Gio's just as much of a perv. If he's angry with me, I hop on him, and he stops bitching. He cheers right up with some Kylie-Poon—Kylie-Sex.

"I-I kno-know." I held back a sob. "I love you."

He groaned, his nose trailing up my neck, his lips ghosting over my jaw until they landed on my mouth.

Gio's kiss was so sloppy, so perfect, my stomach knotted up. He was also just in a pair of basketball shorts, and I felt his hard cock on my stomach.

My hands traveled up to his shoulders, meeting at the nape of his neck, a moan spilling from me.

He sucked a breath in through his teeth, sneaking his hands under my shirt—placing them to the bare skin of my back. The contact gave me a jolt; I pushed my tits into him.

I wished it could be time—that we could have sex.

Maybe years ago, I was more concerned about my weight, and I fully intend on starting Weight Watchers soon. I yearn to get back down to the size I was—the size I was before Peto was born, what took me over a year to get back to. Plus, I gained more weight this pregnancy.

Even so, it's not that big a deal.

Gio loves me.

Hell, the day before Lala was born, I danced for Gio—naked as the day I was born—and he went nuts. Huge belly and all.

My stomach is still protruding. It's all jelly-like and yet hard under the surface, although my uterus has gone way down the past two days. My ass is still my ass—my fat pregnancy ass, and my boobs have been tamed a bit since I took those pills to stop producing milk.

But the way my husband was loving on me, you'd never know it.

I'm his—his woman, his Kylie, and he loves me crazy, just like I love him crazy.

Before I realized what he'd done, Gio was placing me down, quick to pin me on the couch. His arms were underneath me and still roaming, his cheek resting to my forehead as he panted. "Christ, baby…You're so soft." He turned to bite my lips, groaning again, which went to my crotch.

"You—" My chest heaved, and I loved feeling his weight on top of me, wanting him to squash me. "We can't. Your parents…"

He paused to listen, and we heard Aro's loud croons, accompanied by his grandson's cries. "We gotta few more minutes."

"No," I whined, trying to push him off. "I forgot—I gotta get his bottle ready." Gio wouldn't move. "I mean it. Move," I said.

"Hey…" He held my chin.

"I forgot," I cried. "You made me forget…I gotta fix his bottle, not make out with you."

He helped me up but refused to let me go. "You still bleeding? I know nothin' can go inside—the drill. But can I get some Kylie-Poon for breakfast?"

My heart skipped a beat. "I…I'm still spotting. Nothing too big yet today, but…it's intermittent." Not to mention the gross, pinkish discharge.

"I can work around that." He's nasty, and I usually love him for it.

His lips met mine again, and I was pinned to the sofa once more.

First off, I hadn't showered in days, so that was a must. Second, my follow-up appointment isn't until Tuesday. I don't know what it looks like down there. The first few days, when it'd burn when I'd pee, I'd squirt the water—take care and do what I had to.

Now…? The poon's not bothering me, and I didn't want to bother it. "What if it's still…ugly?" I knew it would be.

He smirked. "No such thing."

His words made me smile, even if they were crap.

"Um…I gotta shower before we do anything." I shook my head, thinking I'd grab a mirror and check shit out first, too. "How 'bout we start slow? Just…nothing down there." No matter what, I knew it was way too soon.

"PG-13?" he asked.

"Yes." I grasped his hands and placed them on my boobs. "Some material may be inappropriate for children."

"I get Kylie-jugs and a hand job…I dig it." Gio chuckled. "I'll sit with Lala today...you relax, take a long shower, do some Kylie things." He lifted my foot to place it to his chest, his hand riding up to knead my thigh. "My meaty-meats."

"Shut up." I sucked my teeth.

"Lala has your nail beds." He said out of nowhere. "I noticed that. Each of your fingers, your nail beds, matches his. How cool is that?"

I looked to my nails, as I haven't gotten a manicure or acrylic tips since Peto was two. "I can't believe you remember to make the comparison."

"Are you kidding?" His fingers grazed my crotch, like it was an accident, as he massaged my thigh. "I can close my eyes and see any part of your body." He closed his eyes, smiling brightly.

I sighed, staring up to him, and his face fell—his suddenly anguish-filled eyes were searching mine.

"Baby…" He lay on top of me again. "I only left last night because…I know you. I knew you'd want me back—you wouldn't be angry anymore—as soon as I closed the door." He nipped at my chin. "You forgive me?" He was correct, totally on the money.

"You played me?" I whispered.

"You pissed me off—hitting me and throwing shit. It's better I leave than I try and make you listen." He continued to stare into my eyes. "Understand? It hurt, you telling me to leave. Plus, we're gonna be twenty-six this year. It's time we grew up and…fight like adults, talk shit out."

"Yeah…" I could agree to that, a thought hitting me. "Maggie's gonna have four children by the time she's twenty-five."

"I've heard about those Irish broads—same shit they say about Italian chicks. Mad fertile. I bet she looks at Sonny's cock, and kablam!" His eyes widened. "Knocked up."

I giggled. "They have sex every day—twice if he's home." I frowned. "I'm—you know I love gettin' down, but—all the time? They do it all the time. She's got three kids...How does she find the time? We have two, and…well, we only had one until ten days ago." We don't have sex every day—not since we were first married—but we do it often enough. I have no complaints.

"Kylie, I'm ready—ready at any time'a day. I'm home, you get at me. You feel me?" He pushed his cock against me. "Any time. Our sheets see a lot of action, too. What? You wanna be like them? Running into every empty bathroom and fuckin' in closets? They do that shit because there's always a kid in their bed," he laughed.

I gasped, remembering something—juicy gossip, and I couldn't believe I forgot to tell him. "Did I tell you? Freakin' Maggie was just doing dishes one night a while back. We were on the phone and then she let out a yelp—this clipped scream of terror. I didn't know what was going on, but then she said, you know. From her kitchen, she can see Dame's kitchen…He was givin' it to Jordan good on the counter."

I snorted. "I wanted the deets, you know? But Maggie's no fun. She crawled out of her kitchen, refusing to look, putting on this innocent act . . . blah. It's not like she has virgin eyes. God knows what the fuck she does with her husband in their bedroom, if they get busy everywhere else. AND, Jordan gave me all the deets that time she saw Sonny and Maggie going at it in the backyard, up against the BBQ—and then they ended up in their pool. Jordan even hid in the bushes for me 'cause she's awesome like that. Fucking Dame watched them that night, too, was in the bushes with Jordan." I shook my head, wishing Maggie spied on Dame.

"Dame wanted to make popcorn and charge their neighbors," I giggled.

I'm not gross, just curious, although Jordan says Damion's a rough, passionate lover but very sweet. The way she described Sonny and Maggie, it just seemed kinky—like nasty and almost beastly, which is awesome, too—if you ask me.

Gio and I have moods. He can be both. My husband can go from being rough and dragging me to the bedroom like a caveman, and then very sensual. The freakiest we get is doing anal stuff, oral sex, 69 . . .

I don't know how else we can do it. I think we've tried everything at this point. But we've never done any role-play, nor have we…tried any fetish stuff? I'm so boring; I don't even know what kind of fetishes are out there.

He'll bury his head in my butt; he loves it. That's "kinky" to Gio. I'd dress up as a fucking alien from Mars if he wanted me to; I'm always game for anything, but he just loves the Kylie-poon, and me—never needs anything fancy.

And, God, I love him.

It felt good to ramble about crap, soothing, like normal—when I used to tell Gio about my day and everyone else's, including my thoughts, those obscure ones I know he won't judge me for.

"That could be fun, us knockin' boots in new places." I smiled. "I wanna do it at Midnight Sun. But we can never do it at my parents' house. It's okay for them—Sonny and Maggie. Baby boy fucks his wife in the bathroom, and Dad gives him a pat on the back."

"He'd kill me," Gio said.

My lip jutted out. "He'd probably try, but I'd never let him."

He rolled his eyes.

"I'm serious. He listens to me sometimes." I thought about how I'd asked Daddy not to hurt Gio and he'd done it anyway. "Sometimes. The big, bad Skip is my daddy. He's wrapped around my finger."

Gio laughed, getting at the Kylie-neck, placing kisses.

I hummed, holding him close.

"Are we interrupting?" Aro asked.

One would think I'd be mortified, but those two—Aro and Lisa—have caught us going at it a million times. Hell, we've caught them, too.

I pushed against Gio's shoulders, and he backed off, grabbing a pillow to hold it, hide the tent in his shorts.

I smiled, leaving the couch to get Lala's bottle ready. He was quiet, but the tears still pooled high on his cheeks, nestled into Lisa's arms. "How'd you get him to stop?"

"Eh…" Aro shrugged; Gio's parents following me into the kitchen. "I made him an offer he couldn't refuse."

"Godfather!" I cackled, placing a bowl with water into the microwave. "Seriously, though?" I needed to know.

"I changed him and then rocked him." Lisa swayed with the baby.

"Right." I still wondered what I was doing wrong.

"He's good," she said.

"Dame said it might be colic," I explained, which would mean I hadn't done anything wrong. All too quickly, I felt like shit again. I mean, hoping your kid's colicky…hoping for a reason? My child could always just hate me…No. I refused to believe that.

They both blanched hearing the word "colic."

"Oh, hell, Shortcake." Aro squeezed my shoulder.

The doorbell rang, and I actually dropped my head, wondering who else was here to witness my epic fail as a mom.

Lisa didn't say much, but Aro left to get the door. The microwave dinged, and I placed Lala's bottle in the water so it'd warm.

When I lifted my head, I saw my mom rushing to get to me. It alarmed me until she hugged me tight. She'd missed me, and that made me smile. "You okay?" She pushed my hair back, taking in my details—looking me over. As a mother myself, I knew she was just taking stock.

"Yeah." I rasped, refusing to cry.

Mom sighed, relieved as she turned to Lisa. "How is he this morning?"

Lisa smiled wide, coming over to hand Lala to my mother. "You know you're holding back from fighting me for him."

Mom blushed, denying her words, but she took the baby—happily. Lala wasn't that fussy, sucking on his ciuccio. Then, without instruction, Mom stole the bottle from the warmer, tested it, and then started to feed Lala.

My mother just knows everything—how to do things, exactly what to do.

She's like a baby whisperer and wise and always calm.

I hope to God that I'm just like her someday.

Elated that she was here, I felt…a multitude of emotions, too.

I bet she never had to be rescued, like Maggie in that she's a total natural, has the patience of a saint. I was going nuts listening to Lala cry. Plus, with no sleep. Yesterday, I was desperate, scared and frustrated, and my brain stopped working—unable to think.

Well, I can make up all the excuses in the world, but I harbored too much guilt—enough, that when I think about it, it threatens to swallow me whole—because I forgot to feed Peto his lunch.

How could I forget? Every day, we have the same routine. He's not napping as much as he used to, but we have lunch after his nap. He must have woken up starving, probably thinks I love Lala more—for devoting so much time to his brother.

How could I forget…?

I'm probably going to mommy-hell, where infants cry 24/7 for all eternity.

The thought made my tits hurt.

I bet Mom never forgot to feed us.

Then again, if Mom ever forgot, Sonny would feed us—Damion and me, his firstborns. Nah, I goof but I remember quite a few times when Dad would have us, and he'd be alone, trying to make sure we were all taken care of—fed and clean, and content, trying to help us with our homework.

He heavily relied on Sonny, barking for my big bro to gimme a cookie, check my math, or even gimme a bath.

It's weird, an odd memory to have at this moment, but I remember Sonny used to let me use a lot of bubbles. He'd play with me and make bath time fun. Dame would splash me with the water. I remember Mom used one of those empty and huge, yellow Ricotta cheese containers to scoop water on me to wash my hair.

Damion was so weird, he'd lift it and drink the bathwater—I'd try and pull it away and then let go. It'd splash everywhere, while we laughed, and Sonny would yell, 'cause we'd be getting the bathroom soaked.

Dame and me, we might have been "good" kids. But I know we were a handful, always happy to bust Daddy's balls and make it all the more difficult. Sonny used to get in on it, too—we'd steal Dad's coffee, change the channel when he wasn't looking, make a lot of noise, hide somewhere, or just whine for our mother.

He'd try his hardest not to chain us to trees in the backyard.

Sonny would tell us when it'd be enough, when to stop, before Dad lost it or turned into the Hulk.

No one likes the Skip when he's mad . . .

Mom and I are lucky to have Dad, Sonny, and Damion. When I was younger, I couldn't stand it—them being so macho, overbearing, and always in my business. Hey, if I couldn't take a deep breath, I knew Mom couldn't. She's like…the Virgin Mary to Sonny and Dame; they worship her, the ground she walks on. They'd die and kill for her, and I know that applies to me, too.

Dad…? There's no limit to what he'd do for us, his ladies—all of us in general.

I'm lucky to have them, my family.

"We're going to take Peto to see Santa," Lisa said.

"Oh…" Mom looked like she didn't know what to do, leaning into me with her arms full. "Get my wallet out my purse. I want my own—"

I giggled. "Aro's getting copies."

"Thanks." Mom kissed Lisa's cheek, but she whipped back to me. "You gave her clothes for Peto? Nice clothes?"

"Yes." My eyes widened.

"Hey, I'm just making sure." She bumped her hip to mine, smiling. "I know Sonny and Maggie took the kids to see Santa. But Dame might not have taken Izzy—"

"They took her yesterday," I said, vaguely remembering the Polaroid on their fridge. And I didn't comment when they'd only come back with the one picture. I hope my brother and Jordan know Na-Na's jacking that shit. Mom'll probably steal it next time she's there. No shame.

Mom leaned back against the counter. "Knowing Dame, he just got the one pic." The wheels were turning in that head already; I saw her face.

"You're such a schemer," I teased.

"Psst…oh well." She didn't elaborate.

"We'll go." Lisa kissed Mom's cheek and then mine. "You call if anything. Okay?"

I nodded. "Thanks…and thanks for the food."

She waved, leaving the kitchen.

Mom sighed when she was gone, getting closer to me. I thought she was gonna talk smack, gossip about Lisa so I got excited, but all she did was ask, "How are you doin' this morning?" Eh, she doesn't usually talk crap about her half-sister; I just like gossip. It keeps me going, fuels me, gives me strength.

I shrugged. "After some sleep…I do feel better. But I still feel gross." Even if the deodorant I bagged from Dame did the trick, I still smelled like…old sweat, baby vomit, and…just funky. I don't know.

Mom beamed. "We're fine here. You can go take a shower." She adjusted Lala, perching him on her shoulder to burp him. He started to cry again, fussy, but Mom giggled. "Oh, listen to you…" She continued to burp him. "You're causing all this trouble already." Her voice was real soothing, even to me as an adult. It was carefree and enthusiastic, almost a croon. "You need to give Na-Na a burpy, Mr. Fussy Pants." She rubbed his back in between pats. "You gotta finish your ba-ba, too."

A pretty decent belch sounded in the air.

"Damn." I snickered, smiling, proud of my baby. "That was a good one."

Mom cradled him close to rock him. "He's precious. He looks more like you—when you were a baby." Peto looks just like Gio, always has. "The same eyes and mouth."

"Gio said he has my nail beds." I looked to my nails again.

Mom adjusted him and gave him his bottle, gazing at his tiny fingers. "Yeah…he does."

I stared, looking back and forth, and I understood what Gio and Mom meant. I could see the similarity of our fingernails.

"All he's done is cry since we brought him home," I whispered. "I haven't even had the time to just…enjoy being his mom." I wasn't sure if that made sense. "I love him…" My lip quivered. "I've loved him since I found out I was pregnant—more when he was born. That all-consuming feeling, like when I had Peto. I just—I don't know." I didn't know how to explain, knowing that by my complaining, it might sound like I don't love my child, when I love him more than words could express.

"You're trying. You've been trying your best." Mom met my gaze. "What have I always said? As long as you try your best…it's okay, and asking for help is never a bad thing."

I leaned my head to her bicep. "Did Daddy tell you? I forgot to feed Peto."

She laughed, but I didn't know why that was funny. "Kylie…Baby girl, he told you when he was hungry, right? Don't beat yourself up. Honestly, after Dame was born…Dad would be out late, sleeping right through his cries. He'd never notice anything amiss."

She rolled her eyes. "Do you know…I used to forget to take Sonny to school? It was only Pre-K, but getting your brothers up in the morning—giving Sonny breakfast, getting to Dame before he wailed, changing diapers, making Dame a bottle, making sure Sonny brushed his teeth, was wearing clean clothes...I'd get him ready for school."

Mom chuckled some more. "Then I'd wake up your dad, and he'd race to get Sonny to school…He'd be an hour late, and a few days I didn't even bother. When you were born, things had slowed down. I knew a lot more, and I had more time since Dame and Sonny weren't as needy. They were four and eight and both in school."

My mother seemed lost in memory, a smile on her lips. "Geez. When I had Sonny? Forget about it. I knew nothing, and I worried about everything. I used to sit in the nursery and watch Sonny breathe 'cause I was paranoid."

"That poor child." She tsked, only to snort. "It was trial and error, and your great-grandma, Nanny Josie, helped me out a lot with Sonny. She had her own children, raised your father, and she just knew everything. Even though I loved her, I used to hate her—be jealous. She could calm Sonny down, be calm herself, and I'd be ready to pull my hair out. God, I miss her. I wish you could have known her. She died when you were two." Mom frowned. "She adored you."

I smiled. "I would have…" Suddenly I was in tears again, covering my face to sob into my hands. "I love you…I love everyone, my family, and I feel like such a failure." A loud cry escaped, and I had to calm down, but I didn't know how.

"Let it out," Mom whispered, patting my back. "Just let it all out. A good cry, and it's okay to cry…You're choke-full of hormones right now."

I grabbed a dishrag to mop up my tears, these ugly wails making my body rock.

And I couldn't understand.

Maybe I just felt too much. Too many emotions from both sides of the spectrum. The happiness of being a mother again—feeling all the love—being overshadowed by my guilt and shortcomings.

"This-this is sup-supposed to be a happy time." I tried to compose myself, and it didn't work. "Plus, I used to be such a whiny, bratty shit to you and Dad." I wiped my eyes, my cries getting caught in my throat. "If-If I knew then, wh-what I know now…" I sucked a shaky breath back, which made my body tremble.

Mom had tears in her eyes, but she was smiling. "You were wonderful, always our pervert baby mush. You just didn't like the word 'no.' Dad used to spoil you—his princess. But I can tell you now…that 'If I knew then what I know now' feeling…Baby, you're going to feel that way so many more times. But you gotta experience life. You live, and you learn. I bet you'll tell Peto and Little Aro the same things I've always told you years down the line."

She shrugged, sniffling. "Some things are easier and harder than others, but I know you'll get through it. I know. I know how strong, how brave, how smart you are. And you're always going to worry. You're always going to second-guess, feel guilty when you screw up, but it happens. Peto's not starving. You were late giving him lunch. Relax." She blew out a breath.

"Don't cry…." I sobbed. "I'm sorry, Momma. I love you."

She giggled through her tears, placing an arm around me, holding Lala and me. "I love you, too."

"I love him…so much." I kissed his hand, as he sucked down the last of his bottle. "I, like, resented him or something last night, wishing things were simpler. I always swore I was grown, and last night I wished I was still a kid."

"You are—technically and in my eyes—still a kid. And now you have two kids." She kissed my forehead. "You were frustrated, but that doesn't mean anything. Only God knew you'd give birth to a baby with colic. Nanny used to say that God only gives us what we can handle. I worry…I hope you don't get depressed; meanwhile, you've been doing fantastic. You hit your breaking point yesterday, and some women…I don't wanna get into the horror stories, how some women snap—try to get their kids to stop crying by any means. Everyone's different, but bad things…real bad things can come from a situation like you were in. I only wished you'd told me a lot sooner. It's okay to ask for help."

That started a new round of tears for me.

Mom stared to the ceiling. "I never wanted my life for you—two kids so young, married young. I never regretted a thing. I love your father…too fucking much. I'd do it all over again, all over, and I wouldn't change a thing. Before I met your father, I wanted so many things…Having a baby…I wasn't against the idea, but it scared me. I wanted to finish school, be successful, travel the world…" she laughed.

"The next thing I know, I fell head over heels in love. We were married a second later. We tried for Sonny, thinking like young people do." She smiled wide. "We tried and tried, and I couldn't get pregnant fast enough. Meanwhile, there really wasn't a rush, and we didn't have to wait that long. And as a mom, well…I always wanted better for my kids. Dad, too. Especially knowing the struggles I'd gone through—that I learned from. I'm no expert. There's no going to college to take courses about being a mom."

She snorted. "You guys didn't come with a book of instructions. You learn by doing, accepting, trying, and understanding. It took me a while to realize that settling down isn't necessarily settling."

Mom searched my eyes. "Not when you find your love—your soul mate. People can be as successful as the next, the most wealthy, but if they don't have love…they don't have anything. I was…empty, a nothing person, before I met your dad."

I nodded, and I didn't know what to reply with.

With tears still falling, no matter how hard I tried to stop, I blew my nose on the dishrag.

Mom blew out a breath. "Basically, it took a few years for me to learn—to accept—that as long as you guys are happy, I shouldn't want or ask for more. I don't regret my life, but I never wanted it for you, is what I'm saying. Trust me; I know how difficult being a mom is," she sighed. "It's the hardest job in the world. Harder than…than, I don't know, thermodynamics and metaphysics."

"I don't know what those are," I cried. "Oh…"

My emotions were getting the best of me, and I knew that.

But Mom told me twice more to "Get it out."

I tried my best to get it all out, not hold back, release the tears before they snuck up on me.

"What's going on in here?" Dad and Gio ran in, and I didn't even know Dad was here, too. "Yo, what'd you do now?" He yoked up my husband, slamming him back into the wall—his hands around Gio's neck. "You don't make her cry, understand?"

"Dad!"

"Edward!" Mom shouted.

Lala started screaming again.

"Oh…" I tried to soothe him. "We're loud…You gotta get used to that, Little Aro."

Dad backed off while my husband stared to the ceiling, and Lala stopped crying.

I stared at my son, still paying attention to the other males in the room. All while I wondered if Lala was faking. There's no such thing as a baby as young doing such a thing. But…I don't know. I'll find out tomorrow what's really wrong. I hope any tests they do aren't too extensive. Maybe he was allergic to the formula? Maybe he's colicky, too? I still had no idea. And although he's still crying a lot, he's not doing the marathon screaming he'd been doing. He actually slept for more than an hour, too. That was almost the most worrisome. Infants need their sleep. A lot of it.

"I'm sorry," my father whispered.

Gio was taken aback. "For real?"

Dad nodded, gesturing to me. "Yeah…my bad."

Gio laughed, opening his arms to wrap them around my father. "It's cool."

Daddy was smiling, hugging him tight, before he patted Gio's back. "Do I get to hold him?"

"I hope you're talkin' about your grandson," Mom giggled.

Dad pushed Gio away. "Who else?" he spoke with his hands, coming over to hug me. "My Kylie…did you get sleep?"

I rested my head on his chest. "Yeah…Gio let me sleep all night. He stayed with Lala."

"Good man." He gave Gio a chin jerk, leaning away from me. "We need to work on a new nickname. I mean, Lala? I get it. Those are his initials, but…" He showed me his palms. "A kid—a boy called Lala's gonna get his ass kicked."

"Not one of Na-Na's babies." Mom had an attitude and screw neck now. "I don't think so."

I agreed with her. "I'd probably go to jail, but I'd kill some…asshole, bully, little motherfucker if they touched my son!" I'd gotten worked up, angry now. "When Peto fights with his cousins—they're his cousins. He's close to Little Sonny and Eddie, like they're siblings, and they don't really mean to hurt him . . . that's okay. And there's nothing wrong with him being called Lala. I love it. 'Aro' is already a nickname…he's called 'little' because of his nonno." I wiped tears from my cheeks again.

Fucking hormones!

"Fuck." Dad scoffed. "Fucking Artaro. You better hope they call him 'Aro', or his middle name in school. Xavier's not too bad. But I'm wit'chu—down, however we handle it." He gave me a high five. "How 'bout Ax?" He quirked a brow. "His first two initials…? Pop-Pop's littlest bruiser—Ax, the baddest muv'fucka in Bay Ridge." He pursed his lips, staring down to Lala, or Ax now. "He looks like Kylie…my baby girl." He smiled at me.

"Right?" Mom laughed, rocking him.

"He looks just like Kylie…He's gorgeous." My husband actually had stars in his eyes, grabbing the coffee pot. "There's rolls…" He flicked the paper bag Aro and Lisa brought. "Butter and cream cheese in the fridge."

"Nice." Dad like…attacked the bag, and then he took out a roll to squeeze it. "They're fresh."

Mom shook her head at him. "Come hold Lala before Kylie puts him back down."

Dad did a little dance as he walked over to Mom, and the baby hog gave him up, placed him in my father's arms. "Ahhhh!" Dad sniffed his forehead, taking a deep breath from his nose. "You can smell the youth," he told my mother.

Her smile reached her ears. "You want a buttered roll?" But she's Mom, always down to play her "role," always happy just to…serve, forever taking care of everyone. Especially Dad.

"I'll do it," I offered, wanting to at least be helpful—a good host even if they're technically not guests.

Gio stole the butter from me. "He's okay now. Why don't you go take a long shower?"

"Oh…" I pushed my hair behind my ears, turning to my parents. I didn't want them to leave, shower and miss any time with them.

"We'll be here when you're done. We won't leave without saying goodbye." Mom's voice was soft—she probably knew the waterworks could start at any moment. I appreciated it.

"Pop-Pop'll put him to bed." Dad made to leave the kitchen.

"I'll be back soon." I rose to my toes to peck my husband's lips.

Then I hurried to catch up to my dad.

He'd just made it to the rocking chair, letting out a sigh as he sat down. "I'm okay…I've done this a million times."

"I know." Whenever Maggie has a new kid, my father will sneak over around bedtime—to steal his bruisers for a bit. He did the same with Peto, although—since Mom and Izzy were always with us, Peto and me—he'd see a lot of us all. Dad wouldn't wanna step on toes, coming over too often. And Maggie would never tell the man he came over too much; he'd relieve her, give Maggie a break.

I love my best friend, my sister-in-law, but I hate how easy she makes everything look. She's fierce; don't get me wrong. She's so not the meek schoolgirl Sonny fell in love with anymore. She's a woman, a mom, and she thinks her badass kids are angels. Especially when she gets called to the school, she defends them. But she has a lot of patience. A lot of shit just doesn't bother her—that unimportant stuff that might get on people's nerves.

Jordan and I goof on her all the time, calling her a freak of nature, but it's cool.

We love each other, and I know when they get together they talk smack—goof on me, too. I'm not the sharpest tool in the shed, the brightest crayon in the box, and I'm immature, silly in nature. I talk way too much. I'm random and I ramble, blah, blah.

The same as Maggie and I talk about Jordan, the control freak, perfectionist.

Sometimes Jordan can be very dry, easily misunderstood, not reacting how normal people would in certain situations. She never gets that emotional about things, almost too logical, which makes her seem like a robot; meanwhile, she complements my goober of a brother well.

She shines around Dame, and they are best friends—really and truly. There's nothing she's ever been afraid to tell him, crazy honest with Damion about anything and everything.

I was surprised when she said she'd be quitting her staff position at NYU. There's nothing wrong with being a stay-at-home mom. I love what I do; I just thought being a doctor was important, had the same level of importance as being a mother to her. Apparently, medicine—no matter how much she loves it, has strived for it—doesn't compare. She achieved her goals, but circumstances have changed.

Jordan knows this, because I've told her, but others have always thought I was so down to watch Izzy because they were paying me.

That's far from it, actually. The extra money was awesome; don't get me wrong, but I thought what she was doing was so cool. Mom, too.

Jordan's like my mother's idol—having a career and being a mom, doing both, which is most commendable. Mom wanted to see a Cullen woman strive for greatness, success. Proud that she was doing both, able to do both.

Yes, Mom has claimed Jordan as her own.

My mother asked her recently, stating that it must have felt like Sophie's Choice—which is some old movie I've never seen—but Jordan declined. It really wasn't that hard to choose to take time off. Sure, she's young in her career, but she finished her residency—got to the point where she could stop, and it'll always be there when she decides to go back.

Jordan wants to take a year off, maybe more, when she has the baby, and then join a practice—be affiliated with a local hospital, but not on full-time as a staff member, which will ensure she'll only be part-time.

My mother can't make up her mind, was even more proud when Jordan decided she was taking time off.

I just want them to be happy.

And asking Dame for the babysitting gig when Izzy was born . . . I knew it'd ease Jordan's conscience in some ways.

I might not be crazy smart, but I know people, and I wanted to help.

Nowadays, she comes out of her shell since she's comfortable around us, and she can be such a kid when she's around Damion—funny and shit. She's bossy, too.

I love it when she tells Dame what to do, and he does it with a smile.

They're adorable.

Nonetheless, in all circumstances, we're never too catty and/or mean when we talk about each other. They're my sisters, the sisters I never had growing up, and I love them crazy.

"He's asleep," Dad whispered.

I'd zoned out, staring at the floor while relaxing back against the crib. I moved when Dad placed him down. Silently, we left the nursery, but Dad gave me another hug after closing the door.

"Whew…you do need a bath." He bit my nose.

I swatted him away, giggling. "Shut up."

"I'm kidding." He gave me a nudge. "But go…wash your ass and relax."

I grabbed his hand to squeeze it, and that's when I noticed his knuckles were pink and raw.

And that's when I slapped his bicep, hard.

"Owww," he whispered. "You workin' out? What's wrong wit'chu?"

"Don't beat on my husband." I shook my finger.

Dad shrugged, clapping once. "Hey, he makes you cry . . . I don't give a fuck. That's the way it is." He showed me his fist. "He fucks up, he gets it. Everybody needs a beatin' sometimes."

"Goodfellas," I giggled.

Thank you for reading.

I hope you guys enjoyed it.

Sonny's outtake is next, which takes place around seven months after this. It'll be broken up into multiple chapters 'cause it's just as long as Damion's.