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Grey extends his hand. “Wanna?”
“Like you even need to ask.”
I take his hand, and he sweeps me onto the dance floor. I’m awkward and unwieldy and my center of gravity is God knows where, but Grey doesn’t seem to mind. He pulls out all the moves—lawnmower, sprinkler, shopping cart—and I do my best to keep up, laughing the whole time.
I end up in his arms again. Mine looped around his neck, his looped around my back (they barely reach all the way around me anymore!). My big old belly keeps us farther apart than I’d like, but Grey still bumps and grinds against me like the best of them. Turning me around so my back is to his front.
A pulse of heat moves through me when his hands slip to my ass.
“Inappropriate!” Ford says as he passes by, Bryce on his hip.
Laughing, I turn back around to kiss Grey on the cheek.
As I turn, I see that everyone has joined us on the dance floor. They surround us. Bumping hips, elbows. Faces lifted as we all sing the words to the song.
A swell of joy bowls me over. Here I am, shaking my ass like I’m not eight months pregnant, surrounded by so much love and support and happiness it almost hurts.
I never in a million years would’ve guessed my story and Grey’s would end like this—on such a high, happy note.
But then I realize that this isn’t the end.
It’s the beginning.
The beginning of something bigger than ourselves.
The beginning of a new story.
One that feels so very right.
This won’t be our last joyful moment. Just like we haven’t experienced our last painful one. There are more to come.
Many, many more. And I get to experience them all, good and bad, with Grey and Charlie Brown. I’ll have them by my side through it all.
We dance until our feet hurt. And then we go home and dance some more.
The behind-closed-doors kind.EpilogueJuliaSix Weeks Later
Greyson Parker Montgomery IV—I know, I know, the fourth thing is a little much, but Grey and I loved the idea of continuing a family tradition—came roaring into the world right on time on June twenty-third. Eight pounds, twelve ounces of pure scrumptious baby chunk.
I thought I’d die of shock when the doctor held him up and said, “It’s a boy!”
Greyson looked at the baby. Looked at me. Mouth agape, wide blue eyes welling with tears.
He kissed me, hard, and we both burst into the most gutting, most relieved, happiest sobs ever.
Grey opted not to cut the cord—“I won’t lie, y’all, I think I might pass the fuck out”—and then I held the baby skin to skin on my chest. One hand on Parker (that’s what we’re calling him), the other holding an orange popsicle.
I just stared at him. Shocked that he was a boy. Shocked that I had a baby.
A real live human baby.
Hard to believe this whole thing started nine months ago in the backseat of Grey’s truck.
Now here we are. A family of three.
Wild the turns life can take.
I traced the features of Parker’s face with the tip of my finger. Blue eyes, wrinkly forehead, the Montgomery dimpled chin. Same one Greyson shares with his dad.
My heart was so full in that moment I could barely breathe.
That was magic.
The not so magical parts? The two stitches I had to get after I suffered a second degree tear. How the baby gnawed on my nipples for two days straight after we got home from the hospital.
The pain was unreal. So is the appearance of my nipples.
“They look like taco meat!” I wailed after an especially long and frustrating attempt at nursing.
Greyson, patting the baby’s back on his shoulder, shrugged. “I like tacos.”
“I’m never having sex with you again,” I replied. “Your sperm has superhuman strength, and right now the thought of having another baby makes me want to stab someone.”
“Hopefully not me,” Grey says cheerfully.
Parker farts. A second later, shit leaks out of his diaper all over Grey’s shirt.
Grey gags. I bite back a laugh.
“That’s what you get for your smart ass reply,” I say. “And for your smart ass sperm!”
We brought the baby home to our new house. After months of searching, we finally found the perfect spot. We moved in a week before Parker was born. It’s a light blue Charleston single not far from Ford’s—we loved the idea of our kids growing up together, although Bryce has yet to warm up to the baby—with plenty of trees in the backyard, a kitchen that needs a lot of work, and tons of character.
The best part? Neither of us has to work like a dog to be able to afford it.
Grey has taken his promise to step back at Montgomery Partners seriously. He’s got his eight weeks of paternity leave, and I have to say I am incredibly grateful we both have the privilege of paid time off. He’s lucky that he had a partner who was willing to cover for him. And I’m lucky I work for an institution that provides excellent benefits.
