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“Good.”
Addy stirs in my arms, and she looks up at me. “Da-da,” she says, and tears well in my eyes. Sofia must have been teaching her that word when I was working. “Yes, Addy. I’m here to stay.”
“Oh, Bren, one more thing,” Sofia says.
“What’s that?” I ask, looking up at her again.
“Just because we aren’t getting married doesn’t mean I don’t intend to keep you for the rest of my life.”
Epilogue
Something big and dramatic always happens on Audrey’s birthday—a tradition that started on that first birthday when her dad walked into my bar and laid eyes on his daughter without knowing it.
Nothing changed after that. There’s something about my daughter that magnetizes huge life events to her birthday—the little witch that I swear she’s turning out to be. I expect her letter from Hogwarts any day now. Last year, when she turned seven, Bren released a solo album as a side project. It was meant to be a birthday gift for Addy, a little sweet and clean acoustic album, a little folksy, a little bit pop—something she could listen to without having to censor it. He didn’t expect anything to come of it, but it did. It topped the charts for longer than all the otherIndustrial Novemberalbums combined, and he was nominated for his first solo artist Grammy.
He hasn’t left the band, even as his solo career has skyrocketed. The band has slowed down a bit, but they continue to make music and tour some. I can almost see them old and wrinkled but rocking it like Mick Jagger on the stage.
The year before that, when Addy turned six, was just as big for me. I got a call from David on the morning of her birthday. He took theLa Oficinafranchise national and has been building the brand for the last few years. Sure,Industrial November’s unintended promotion helped boost the brand’s visibility, but I’ll ride any wave I can get. I’m ecstatic I’ll never have to worry about money in my life and can provide for my mom in her old age without having to rely on my partner.
Life is good.
This year is no different. Addy’s little witchy ways brought about yet another big change, and I bite the nail on my forefinger as I watch Bren frosting a cake, nervous about telling him.
But now is not the time. We have a million things to do before everyone gets here for the party. Instead of getting to it, though, I sit at the kitchen table watching my partner, Brenner fucking Reindhart, in an apron, frosting a crimson red cake with black spikes because that’s what his heavy-metal daughter requested. He lives for his daughter, and he really is the best dad.
Addy is better off for having him in her life and he for having her in his. They learn from each other, and the love between them is unreal. Girls and their daddies—I never understood until now.
We decided to have a big party this year because next year we’ll be in Germany. We alternate where we live every year, a compromise that nearly drew blood to achieve. In the end, it’s the best thing we could have done. Our little Addy is already trilingual, though she reads best in English. We’ll get her up to speed on German and Spanish, though—little sponge brain.
“What are you smiling about?” Bren asks with a smirk of his own, oblivious to the streak of red frosting across his cheek, and I laugh.
I get up to join him by the island and swipe the frosting with one finger. “This,” I say, showing him the red. “You have frosting all over.”
Bren chuckles and raises an eyebrow. “Is that so? Care to lick it all off?”
His voice, thick with arousal, still sends shivers down my spine, even after all these years.
“Absolutely not,” I say. “We need to hurry up. Everyone will be here soon—”
The ring at the door cuts me off. Guess my daughter’s not the only one with witchy ways.
“I can’t believe how late it is,” Bren says, looking at the clock on the stove. “Time just slipped away.”
I take the room in, and everything is just about ready. Black and red matte balloons are taped to every wall. The caterer has the buffet table ready, and the place is tidy.
“Addy!” I yell up the stairs. “Your guests are here. You need to hurry, baby!”
My voice echoes back from the tall ceiling of the foyer as I walk to the front door.
We live in Karl’s house now. Well, it’s not his house anymore. When Bren saw how much I liked it on that first day we visited Karl, he basically forced Karl to trade the mansion for the penthouse. It also served to calm Karl’s partying ways down a bit, and we needed the space for our family.
We have a house, not quite this big but just as beautiful, in Germany, and when we visit my mom in Mexico, we stay at the home that I bought for her three years ago.
When I open the door, I find Carolina and her husband, Hector. Hector holds a present, and Carolina holds her enormous pregnant belly. My eyes widen at the sight of her. She looks like she’s about to pop.
I gasp. “You look like...” I was about to say she looks like she’s about to pop, but Hector’s solemn shake of the head and a gesture of his index finger slicing across his neck in aYou will die, run fool!warning stops my sentence midstride. I clear my throat. “Uh, thanks for coming.” I chuckle nervously. “Please come in.”
Carolina’s eyes narrow. “You were about to say I look like a beached whale,” she accuses.
