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Cammie moved into the hallway from the kitchen where the smell of spicy sausage lasagne was filling the space.
Leaning down, she put our toddler on the floor, smiling as he went down on his hands three times in his rush to get over to me.
Three boys.
Neither of us had been surprised by the number, given how many brothers I had.
“What the hell is this already?” I asked when I detangled from the kids and made my way toward my woman, noticing a stain on my shirt.
“Honey, haven’t we learned not to ask those kinds of questions by now?” Cammie asked, reaching up to wrap her arms around my neck, and pulling me close for a kiss.
“True,” I agreed. “Nino told me about the eggs,” I said when we pulled away.
“Oh, don’t get me started,” she said, shaking her head as she turned to make her way back into the kitchen. “I mean, we can technically blame August for that.”
“I’m always down to do that,” I agreed, smiling at her as she moved behind the island. “But why can we blame him?”
“Because he brought home those fertilized chicken eggs for Traveler to incubate. How was the flight?”
“Long. Boring. I’m glad to be home,” I told her.
“Your mom is coming over for dinner,” she told me.
“And by that, I can infer that the entire family is going to be showing up at some point or another.”
“That’s usually how it goes,” she agreed, smiling. “What are the chances that the front windows stay clean for them?”
“Hate to break this to you, baby, but they’re already messed up.”
“Those heathens!” she declared as she moved a vase of calla lilies from the island to the table, risking them getting knocked over. Which was why it was in a glass-looking plastic vase. “They’re lucky I love them,” she added, making her way to stand next to me where I was watching them plot some sort of chaos right in the hallway by the front door. “All four of them,” she added.
“Four?” I asked, turning, brows raised.
Her hand rose, resting on her belly. “Yes, four. Seems like a good number to me,” she added.
“The perfect number,” I agreed, pulling her in for a kiss.
And so it would be.
Cammie - 29 years
“Honey, I don’t know what to tell you,” I told our youngest, Calla, as she paced back and forth in the kitchen, her long black hair flowing, her long-legged pace wearing dents in the flooring.
“It’s ridiculous!” she declared, turning to pin me with an intense stare that was all her father.
“Probably. I mean, I have to confess I wouldn’t be thrilled if you got your way here, kid.”
“Oh, but it’s totally fine that my brothers are part of the Family, right? That’s sexist as hell, Mom.”
A slow, deep exhale escaped me.
She wasn’t wrong.
All her brothers had been made, or would be in the near future. And I guess I hadn’t had such a strong reaction to that because I’d always known it would be that way.
Did it make me anxious?
Yes, of course.
