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ALEXIS’S EPILOGUE, AKA HOW THE STORY ENDS
I really am a Fontaine! West and I spend nearly a year knocking boots as if we’re trying to win a contest for the most jizz inserted into a ginger’s muff. After six months, we move into our unbelievably comfy house—wood floors, colorful walls, a kitchen designed for family cooking, a back patio for good weather, and a master perfect for long days in bed.
Once in our place, we rub groins in every room. I can’t believe all the kitchen sex is sanitary, but that doesn’t stop us.
Yet, no baby.
Instead, we adopt a cat and name her Debbie Reynolds. The night before getting the call from Christine’s vet office about kittens, we watch the movie “Mother” with Edith. Laughing my ass off, I suggest if we get a girl kitten, she should be Debbie while a boy will be Albert Brooks. West very much approves.
Most of the kittens are black and white. But one girl’s coat has splotches of orange. West goes nuts when he notices that feature and asks if we can have her. I’m so excited to finally get a pet of my own that I wouldn’t mind if he picked a hairless cat.
During those few first months, Debbie Reynolds follows me everywhere in the house. When West leaves in the morning, she’ll stand in the living room and yowl for him to return. I give her lots of love, understanding her suffering without him nearby.
Unable to ditch my kitten at home alone, I use a carrier to bring her to Poppy’s house whenever I’m visiting. Debbie Reynolds also hangs out with her human meemaw when I go shopping or to work.
Many weekends, Lexi the Clown has birthday party gigs. Afterward, West takes me out for dinner, where we spend the money from my job. It’s a little self-defeating, but we can’t help having a blast. Especially when we know our fur baby is safe at Meemaw Poppy’s house.
Eventually, Debbie Reynolds gets settled and isn’t so needy. Her maturity comes at a perfect time, too. A month before our first wedding anniversary, I miss my period.
“We can do this,” West assures me when I show him the test.
“I’m going to get fat,” I say, rubbing my belly. “I’ve never had the luxury of doing so. I hope you’re ready for me to beef up.”
“We don’t fat shame in this house,” he murmurs before carrying me to bed where we can practice for baby number two.
I feel normal for the first seven months of my pregnancy. Then, Ace gets huge! I’m suddenly trapped with a giant, excited baby slamming down against my bladder and up into my stomach. I’m always ready to puke or pee.
When I do both simultaneously, West reassures me, “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
“Your baby is too big,” I reply, rubbing my round belly. “I don’t know what I thought would happen, but this wasn’t it.”
“You’re so close to the finish line. Let me baby you while you protect our boy.”
The next day, West talks to Court about spending more time home with me. Having his uncle as the club’s president definitely offers bonuses. Those last two months are easier with West’s constant support.
A month before delivery, I have a fun baby shower. Zelda and Juno join the homestead chicks. Poppy makes lemon coconut tarts and pitchers of limeade. Tuesday cooks ginger chicken since I’m obsessed with spice despite my wild baby making my acid reflux often intolerable. After lunch and presents, I tell everyone’s fortune. Naturally, they all have wonderful futures ahead.
Poppy is a godsend those last weeks. Whenever West isn’t around to baby me, she’s got my feet up and a fan keeping me cool. We watch TV together and talk about a million things. She’s always reassuring me how she didn’t know squat about babies when she had West. But her family helped her, and they’ll do the same for me. West wasn’t wrong about how the homestead feels like its own little world where only our people exist.
As my due date approaches, the doctor suggests a C-section. Since the idea of Ace getting stuck on his way out terrifies me, I’m fully cool with the plan. However, West rebels against the idea.
“I don’t want my dream girl cut open,” he says, wearing a worried pout on his handsome face.
Even understanding his fear, I point out, “Well, I don’t want my muff to explode outward like a chest after a xenomorph is born.”
Horrified by the picture I paint for him, West eases into the surgery idea. Though the C-section goes easily, West acts like I’m dying. He clings to me, afraid to lose his dream girl.
Fortunately, Ace is born screaming for attention. West peels his gaze from me long enough to smile at his boy.
“He’s got red hair.”
“Poor sumbitch,” I mumble while West cranes his neck to see our gooey boy better. “Go to him and say hi for me.”
As West stares at our son with such bright, loving eyes, I fall in love with my beefcake all over again.
Ace is immediately adored by so many people. That’s what I didn’t get by living away from the Toomey family. Gary and I were always on our own, struggling alone. But, at the homestead, Ace is surrounded by family. Even Gary can’t get enough of his grandson.
“I worried too much,” he tells me one day. “Grandkids are easy.”
