Chapter 11: Epilogue
I know I should be getting the bag out of the car, but I do nothing but smile as my wife fumbles with the straps before taking our daughter out of her car seat. Kimber looks so beautiful today in that velvety dress that highlights her curly hair perfectly. Being a mother has done nothing but good to her figure and she enjoys the pampering she can give to Carolina, and, not to forget, me.
"You gonna get the stuff?" She breaks my reverie and I collect Carolina's bibs, spare clothes and wipes into her little rucksack and follow Kimber into Sean's house. It's my little girl's birthday today and my friend insisted on throwing her a party, while I was adamant that two year olds don't need that kinda treatment yet. Sean won the argument because Annie took the phone away from him and told me she already baked some cakes and that she needed an excuse to invite her friends over for a laugh. Although it would be only a pretext for the teenagers to have fun, Annie adores her little cousin, and we found the perfect baby sitter in her as she offers to spend time with her any time. Just like now, she runs to take her from Kimber's arms and Carolina squeals of excitement when Annie shows her all the balloons.
"How are you pumpkin?" I ask her.
"Pumpkin? Thankfully not pumpkin pie as daddy sometimes still calls me!" She grimaces, "okay, pumpkin I am, just for you uncle Chris. But haven't you noticed me growing up?" She bounces away with my daughter.
"She technically has a boy friend," Julian explains and she nods several times half frowning, half smiling.
"Well, well, what do you say about that?" I whisper to Julia.
"How can I be seriously mad? I had a boyfriend at her age," she smiles at me, rolls her eyes and tugs my sleeve.
"Yeah, I know. It was me," I whisper back before Sean gets into hearing distance. He knows about that too, but there's no reason to spoil even one moment.
"Speak of the devil," he approaches me, "I was just telling Matt how amazingly wonderful you handled that emergency pan facial fracture surgery all by yourself today."
"There's hope for your facial fat grafting yet," my son jokes with me, well aware of my strong and weak points on a professional level as well since he comes into the surgery every day in his preparation to start a new year at medical school, and the surgical rotations with it.
"Oh, we'll see about that," Liz pats me in the back.
"Want some beer?" Her partner arrives with three bottles and hands one to me.
I still don't believe in happily ever after, but who says I can't enjoy this? All it takes is for me to sit down in the midst of my new, extended, not so dysfunctional, fortunate family.
The End.