Epilogue

"I'm happy to hear how well you're doing, Mr. Roth, but I'm sorry this will be the last time we see each other," I say as I sign my client's release form.

"I'll miss chatting with you, too, Alex," he replies. "But I think seeing you twice a week for the past six months was plenty enough for me."

I smile. "I don't know if you know this, but you were my first client after I bought the practice."

"Really?" He shrugs into his jacket. "I'm honored."

I walk with him to the door. "Thank you for always showing up with a good attitude."

He touches my shoulder. "Thank you for helping me battle addiction."

I finish up a mound of paperwork at my desk, and then glance at the clock, realizing I'm six minutes late for my 5 p.m. meeting. I head down the hallway into the break room. "Hey. Sorry I'm late."

My co-worker takes a sip of Evolution Fresh green juice. It seems to be the only thing she drinks these days. "Do we really have to do this today?"

"Yes." I plop a stack of resumes on the table. "New clients are having to wait at least six weeks to get an appointment, and you're about to pop. We need a third, full-time therapist."

As if on cue, her oversized belly bumps the counter. "I'm exhausted, and my feet are killing me."

I pull the chair out for her to sit. "I'll rub your feet as we comb through these resumes."

"Fine." She pulls a piece of paper from the top of the stack. "I remember reading this first one. She sounds promising."

"She's only been licensed for a year," I respond, taking her shoes off for her. She hasn't been able to reach her feet in two weeks. "Her inexperience doesn't bother you?"

"I'd been licensed for six months when we bought the Peterman Clinic," she says, allowing her head to fall back. "Ahhh, that feels good."

"You were different."

Even though her head is arched back, I watch a smirk form on her face. "I was different because you were fucking me."

I stop massaging her foot. "That's not the only reason. And what's with the past tense? I'm still fucking you."

"We haven't had sex in like a month," she observes.

"That's entirely false," I let out an incredulous laugh. "I have sex with you at least a couple times a week. If anyone should be complaining, it's me."

She places her hands on her stomach. "I can't exactly pleasure you in my current state."

"I realize that, but don't say we haven't had sex in a month." I go back to massaging her left foot.

"Maybe I can talk dirty to you or something," she suggests.

That causes me to laugh. Piper and I tried having phone sex several times, but her dirty talk leaves a lot to be desired.

She lets her head lull back again. "Anyway, you were saying?"

"You were born to be a therapist. I watched you grow into a knowledgeable, compassionate counselor over time. Other than lacking years of clinical experience, you had what it took to start your own practice at a younger age than most."

"I appreciate the accolades, Al." She adjusts her head back to normal. "And I think this woman…" she glances at the resume. "Maneet Achal, who earned her master's degree from Yale, is worth interviewing."

"I'd like to talk to four or five of them on the phone, and then maybe bring two to our office for in-person interviews."

"Sounds good."

We spend the next hour reviewing 20 resumes, and then I call our receptionist into the break room. It's the same receptionist who worked here all those years ago when I was still working on my licensing.

"Leia, would you mind setting up phone interviews with these candidates?" I hand her the five resumes.

"No problem, Alex," she responds. "Should I look at your schedules to see when you're free?"

"Neither of us is going to have a long enough break to do the interviews during working hours," Piper replies. "Maybe ask the candidates who live in the Central or Western time zones if they could talk around 5 o'clock our time."

"And see if the East coast ones—I think two of them live locally—can talk before we start seeing clients in the morning," I add.

"Anything else?" she asks.

"No thanks," I say. "You can go home if you want. We'll lock up."

"See you tomorrow," she replies with a wink and a smile.

"Take me home." Piper stretches her arms out. "But first, help me out of this chair."

I pull her to her feet and crane my neck to kiss her. "Before long, I won't be able to reach your mouth with your belly in the way."

She takes my hand and hobbles down the hallway. "That's not something you should tell your pregnant wife."

"I love your baby bump." I rub her tummy. "I love it so much that maybe we could consider doing it again."

She stops short. "We haven't yet had the pleasure of seeing how raising one kid will affect us. Maybe we can hold off on talks of number two for at least a year."

"You'll be 29 next year. Isn't that kind of old to get pregnant?" I tease, knowing I'll likely be faced with physical retaliation.

She slaps my arm as expected.

"Ow!"

"You want to talk about getting old? You're pushing 40."

I open the door for her. "They say 40 is the new 30."

"I always wonder who 'they' are in those statements," she replies. "Are 'they' the authority on aging? Like geriatric specialists who study people of all ages to determine how young or old they feel?"

"I don't know, babe," I chuckle. "And you're right, I'm almost officially old."

"You're still hot," she says as I help her into the car. "And I like that you're older. I always have."

"Let's see if you're signing the same tune when I'm 60."

"I'm guessing 60 is the new 50, so you'll probably still be hot then."

I start the engine. "Thanks for boosting my ego."

"By the way, I talked to my dad today."

I twist my neck and look at her. "Is he still wondering how I knocked you up?"

She snorts. "You know he was joking, right?"

I roll my eyes. Although Bill has come around considerably, he still doesn't enjoy our public displays of affection. Even when we kissed at our wedding, I heard he looked away. Nevertheless, he's excited about being a grandfather even though the baby will have two moms.

"They're coming over for dinner tomorrow night," Piper says.

Spending time with the Chapmans is not my favorite activity, but despite living in the same town, we haven't seen them much. "It's on my calendar," I sigh.

"You have to admit, they've gotten better about us."

I turn down our street. "It only took four years."

"My mom helped plan our wedding just last year."

"She's been more tolerant than him," I respond.

"Once he has a grandchild, he'll be more accepting."

"I'll believe it when I see it."

Moving back to Darien has been a godsend. I missed the hustle and bustle of the East Coast, not to mention our proximity to Manhattan, and of course, Nicky. Piper missed her brother, and if pressed hard enough, she'd admit to missing her parents, too. As time moved on, they did become more tolerant of us, especially when we were still together after Piper finished grad school.

I'd always appreciated working with Drs. Peterman and Eckstein, so when they decided to retire and sell the clinic after Piper finished her master's, it didn't take much to convince her that we should buy it. She'd been working at St. Ann's Hospital in the psych ward, but she didn't like her hours and had every intention of moving to a private clinic within the next year or so. When Dr. Peterman suggested that Piper and I run the clinic together, she was thrilled to start the next chapter of our lives together.

We kept all the clients but changed the name to the Vauseman Clinic. Piper was the one who suggested combining our last names, and while I protested at first, I've now come to appreciate it so much that we've agreed that it'll be our child's legal last name.

I pull into our driveway at the end of a cul-de-sac. "Hang on." I quickly get out of the car and help my wife out of her seat.

"Why didn't we buy that mini-SUV a few months ago?" she asks as she holds onto my arm. "The seats in this car are too low."

"Because we couldn't agree on which one to buy."

"I don't care if it's the Audi or the Mazda, Alex. I just need something easier to get in and out of for these last three weeks, not to mention a more reliable car than your 2010 Jetta."

"Don't dig on my Jetta." I open the front door. "How about you have dinner with your parents tomorrow night, and I'll go buy a car?"

She gives me a look. "Nice try."

We spend the evening very similarly to every other evening we've spent since Piper got pregnant, which is to say we eat a healthy dinner, discuss a few of our clients, and then watch Jeopardy before retiring to our bedroom. Before dozing off, Piper reads a book called The Happiest Baby on the Block, while I read The Whole-Brain Child. We've been reading parenting books for the last eight months, swapping them when we're done.

This is nowhere near the life I expected. In my early-20s, I thought surely I'd still be working for the international drug cartel and making millions. In my early-30s, I thought I'd be living a sex-filled, unattached life. Of course, I met Piper when I was 29, but it wasn't until we actually got together three and a half years later that I abandoned the notion of being alone for the rest of my life.

They say people can't change you—only you can change yourself; however, I believe people can influence or affect you deeply. That's what Piper did—she affected me profoundly long before we could be a couple. I still marvel at that sometimes. How could a 17-year-girl have gotten under my skin and never let go? Piper didn't pursue me in college. I was the one who wanted to keep in touch, and she went along with my request. Back then I couldn't even fathom building a life with her. And here we are, married with a baby on the way.

Life might not have turned out the way I thought it would, but I wouldn't change it for the world.


"Ava, stop bouncing the ball on your brother's head," I request as I trip over a toy on my way to the kitchen.

"He likes it," my daughter responds. "Look, he's laughing."

"I don't want you to mistakenly pick up the wrong ball—one that's hard—and try the same thing, crushing his skull."

"Dramatic much?" Alex asks as she mashes sweet potatoes.

I toss the offending toy in a wicker bin. "All we need is for her to injure our son again."

"The first time wasn't Ava's fault. He was just starting to walk, and she led him too close to the fireplace."

I stand across from her, hands on my hips. "After four stitches and an $800 medical bill, I'd rather not encourage her to hit him with anything."

"Babe, you gotta loosen up." Alex sets the masher down, placing her hands on my shoulders. "They're kids; they're going to play and sometimes get hurt. If Mason starts crying, we'll address it, but look at him. He's smiling."

I release a long breath.

She kisses my forehead. "You good?"

I nod.

She releases me. "Kids, it's time to eat."

Ava runs into the dining area, and Mason makes his way over, tripping when he tries to keep up with his sister. He gets to his feet and grabs a chair. "Up!"

Alex scoops sweet potatoes onto two plates, and then cuts a chicken breast for our daughter as I help Mason into his highchair. Our kitten slithers between my legs. I wasn't on board to get a cat three months ago, but when the neighbor's cat had a litter of kittens, Alex and I fell in love with this little guy.

"Are you hungry, too, Juice?"

He meows again.

I return to the kitchen to fill his food bowl. "What time are Nicky and Lorna coming over?"

"I told them around 7:30 so we could at least put Mason down."

"Mama, can I have apple juice?"

"We have milk with dinner, kiddo," Alex replies, returning to the kitchen to grab Ava's sippy cup. "You can have apple juice with lunch."

"Where does milk come from?"

"Cows," I respond, putting a bib on both children. "But there are other types of milk, too, like soy and almond milk."

"Which one do I drink?"

"Cow," I reply.

"What sound does a cow make?"

"Mooo!" she giggles. "And a duck goes quack, quack."

We play this game throughout dinner while I feed Mason and Alex gets the same components of our children's meal prepared in an adult version with a tomato and cucumber salad. Before we had kids, we'd often eat dinner at 7:30 or 8 o'clock, but now we try to eat when they eat so we can be at the table as a family. That's one thing Alex insisted upon—that dinner would always be communal even when the kids are older. She and her mom had the same rule until their work shifts didn't align.

"Did you buy more wine today?" I ask.

"I bought six bottles and got 20 percent off," she replies, returning to the table with our meals. "I hate going to the store every week to buy a single bottle."

I smile. "Next time, buy a case."

"Good idea." She leans over to kiss me. "Is that yummy, Mason?"

He nods and makes a sound.

"I think it's yummy, too," Ava responds. "I like orange food."

Alex fills our water glasses. "What other foods are orange?"

"An orange, obviously," she replies.

I'm impressed with her pronunciation of the word obviously.

"Pumpkins," she continues. "Carrots."

By the time we go through other foods and colors, dinner is over.

"Aunt Nicky is coming over tonight," Alex says as she helps Mason down.

"Her hair is orange!" our daughter giggles.

"Even though it is kind of orange, we call that red hair," I try. "Aunt Nicky is a red head."

She gives me a quizzical look. "Her hair isn't red."

"It's kind of close," Alex chimes in. "Like your doll…you know the one."

She runs into the living room to search for her red-headed doll.

"Did you see this month's financial statement?" Alex asks.

"I did." I bring the plates into the kitchen. "I can't believe how much money we're making. Is that wrong?"

"That we're making so much?" she asks.

I scrub the plates. "Yeah."

"People aren't typically paying out of pocket," she says as she puts leftovers into Tupperware. "Insurance covers more than half of most of our clients' bills, and we did thorough research on what clinics like ours are charging. We're on the low end."

"I know…" I rinse out Ava's cup. "I'd like to do more pro-bono stuff. Maybe we could present at schools or something."

"I love the way your mind works." She kisses me as she breezes by to put the Tupperware in the fridge. "We should also discuss hiring a fourth therapist."

"I know," I sigh. "It's just finding the time to interview them that sucks. Remember how long it took us to hire Maneet?"

We'd been vacillating between two candidates, and then Piper went into labor a week before her due date. Knowing she'd be out for a minimum of six weeks, I had to hire someone quickly to take her place. Maneet already lived in the area, so we went with her over the guy from Chicago. She turned out to be the perfect choice.

She nods. "If we're more proactive, we can schedule an hour or two out of our days leading up to the interview."

"Remind me of that on Monday."

She puts both hands on the counter, effectively trapping me against the sink and lowering her mouth to kiss my neck. "Would you be up for sex later tonight?"

"Is that what we've resorted to?" I snort, rinsing my hands before turning in her arms. "Scheduling sex?"

"It's either that or…" she places a trail of sloppy kisses up my neck. "We do it when the mood strikes."

I know she's kidding, but I miss those days when we could fuck on the kitchen floor if it sounded appealing or if we just couldn't quite make it to the bed.

"This is my doll that looks like Aunt Nicky," Ava announces with the item in her hand. "She's a red head?"

Alex pulls back and wipes her mouth. "Yes."

"Oh." Ava touches her hair. "Will you help me change her outfit. I want her to be a firefighter."

Alex winks at me. "To be continued."

I smile. "Can't wait."

I always thought I'd be married and have a child or two, but never in my wildest dreams did I think it would be with Alex. I didn't even allow myself to hope for this until I finished grad school. Every day, I think I couldn't love her any more, yet I find a way to make it happen. I'll never forget years ago when she told me, "You'd be amazed at how much capacity my heart has for you." She's right—our love keeps getting stronger.

This is stupid, really—no one should be as happy as I am. I'm eternally grateful that I get to spend my life with the woman I've loved since I was a teenager and that we get to raise a family together.

"Uh oh, mommy…" Ava enters the kitchen with her hair caught in the wheels of her firetruck.

"Alex!"

The End


Author's Note: I thoroughly enjoyed writing this LONG story! This felt like the right way to end it, but for those of you who have a hankering for Domestic Vauseman, stay tuned…Thank you to each of you who reviewed my work. Stay healthy out there.