Page 224 of True Blue

My lips curve into a smile instantly, my eyes trailing over the picture.

I pick up the picture and hand it to her because I am more than a little crazy about the three people in it. My heart outside my body. Dr. Browne takes it with a fond expression as I gesture to each of them, all of us dressed in sky blue on the beach for our annual family photos.

“Yes. My husband, Teddy,” I say proudly, my finger automatically touching my moonstone engagement ring. “Our daughter, Ella. She’s nine. And our son, Teddy Two. He just turned seven.”

“Teddy Two,” Dr. Browne repeats, chuckling as she hands the frame back. “They’re beautiful.”

“Yeah…” I smile, my fingers gently brushing against each of their faces. “They sure are.”

Teddy and I were married a year after we got engaged. We didn’t want the huge church, white dress, penguin suit affair. We wanted our chosen friends and family with us.

And we wanted something completely nontraditional.

Vegas.

When I called my friends, they were ecstatic and met us in Sin City. Petra and the girls set me up with an entire day of pampering while Teddy, Heath, and Luke played blackjack in the casino. That night, I wore a rather risqué short white dress that made Teddy’s eyes glaze over, and we were married at the Little White Chapel by Elvis, which we knew Ellie would have gotten a kick out of.

Another perk was knowing Dawn’s head would spin on its axis if she ever found out her baby boy got married in a place she would have deemed trashy and uncouth.

It was perfect.

We exchanged Nana and Pop’s rings, taking them off the chains around our necks and sliding them onto each other’s fingers, where they fit as if they had always belonged there.

Because they did.

I like to think Ellie left us those rings because there was some gravitational pull to them. Some quiet magic that led Teddy and me back together as we fixed ourselves into the versions we each needed.

Not too long after, we found out I was pregnant with our firstborn—our daughter, Ella.

I was terrified when we found out, thinking that I was just going to mess it all up. That I would just turn into my parents, that the timing wasn’t right with work.

And then we had the first ultrasound, and as Teddy held my hand, we listened to her heart beating strongly. I felt another hand on my shoulder, squeezing lightly, and I felt Ellie there.

And I knew it was meant to be.

“A little you, baby,” Teddy said, kissing my forehead before groaning. “Oh, God. Wait. A little you. She’s going to look like you. Fuck, I’m in trouble.”

Teddy loves that she’s my little twin. Tall for her age, with long blonde hair and big blue eyes. She also has my attitude and is very commanding—although I encourage it, because only women get called bossy; men get called leaders. She’s a bit stubborn and hard-headed, like her namesake—her great-grandmother, Ellie.

Ella is sharp as a whip and an all-star softball pitcher now, which has been interesting, terrifying, and so much fun.

Teddy was constrained by what his parents wanted for him, and I grew up unable to play sports, music, or anything that cost money. So when the kids expressed interest in something—painting, tap dance, lacrosse, Brownies, chess, soccer, ceramics, piano—Teddy and I signed them up.

Even if they only did it for two weeks and hated it, I wanted them to just try. To find the thing that they love.

Ella loves softball and wants to be an Olympic pitcher one day. Knowing my daughter, she’s probably going to make that happen.

We wanted to really focus on Ella before we considered having another. Then, we took a vacation to Greece, where she got to meet her Aunts Petra, Zuri, Genevieve, and Lupita, who spoil her rotten with gifts from all over the world that still show up on our porch each month.

Santorini seems to be a very—ahem—charged place for Teddy and me,, because one night, newly pregnant Petra and Demetri offered to babysit Ella so they could practice, and we could have a date night.

And that night, in our Sea View room, I asked Teddy to crawl to me as he had those years ago, only this time I did not ask him to leave.

And about nine months later, Theodore Ambrose II was born.

“I’m in heaven, honey. You just make little clones,” Teddy said, gently brushing a finger down our son’s little nose as he gently rocked him in his arms.

Six hours postpartum, my hormones were going insane as I tried not to choke up at the sight of our baby tucked safely against my big bear’s chest.