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I’d worried initially that stepping back from that mom role would strain our relationship, but I’d found just the opposite.
And, to my surprise and utter delight, without me there to try to wrangle her in, to calm her wild behavior, she somehow learned for herself what her limits were. One too many wasted nights had her actually swearing off parties for a while, deciding to nurture friendships that didn’t require so much alcohol and adventure.
Yeah, she was always going to be extroverted and social and a little unruly, but she’d somehow matured more in a few months than she had in years.
On top of that, I also learned that it wasn’t that I was antisocial or a loner—though I sure had my moments—it was that I had no use for vapid, superficial connections.
Once I’d gotten integrated into the club, into the family dynamics surrounding it, I found I really enjoyed being with those people.
For the occasional party at the clubhouse, yeah, but also going out with the ‘girls club’ when they went shooting or to sing karaoke, or to make pussy earrings at a pottery class.
I loved dinner at Finn’s parents’ house, chatting with his mom as I lent as much help as my mediocre kitchen skills permitted.
I liked getting to know his nieces and nephews, as crazy and feral as they all were.
And I really, really loved having holidays and traditions. Ones that not only pulled me in, but my sister as well, so we could experience all those things we’d missed out on as kids.
“Hey, I got an idea,” Finn said as we walked up the path toward his therapist’s office.
“What?” I asked.
“After our session, I heard about this enormous fucking record store just over the border in PA.”
“A man after my own heart,” I said, beaming up at him.
He was, too.
I loved him in a way I honestly hadn’t thought I was capable of loving anyone.
And, even better, he loved me back the same.
Finn - 5 years
“Caught you,” I said, making Lexy jerk and whip around, eyes huge.
Caught.
Caught in the fucking act.
“I was… checking to make sure we had a, ah, proper winter emergency kit in the trunk,” she lied. Right to my face.
I glanced past her where she had the carpet in the trunk of our SUV pulled up, inspecting the storage compartment.
Looking for her birthday present, no doubt.
“Liar,” I said jiggling our son on my hip.
“Bad,” he said, his big green eyes serious.
“Lying is bad, bud,” I agreed, raising my brows at his mother.
“Don’t you bring him into this,” Lexy said, slitting her eyes at me as she slapped the carpet back into place before slamming the trunk and turning to me. “This one is gonna be on my side all the time, damnit,” she added, pressing a hand to her belly that had just started to pop.
“You don’t want the two of them learning to snoop for their birthday presents, do you?”
“How dare you point out how my bad behavior will look reflected in my own children,” she said with a smile as she followed me back into the house.
“It’s not here, by the way,” I told her, rubbing her lower back as our boy reached for her.
“Of course it isn’t,” she grumbled.
I did manage, on and off, to hide shit around the house because she was so focused on looking at other places. But not this time.
“You will get it later,” I reminded her.
“But I want it now,” she said in a great imitation of Veruca Salt.
“Mama, Bop Bop,” our son said, and I watched Lexy’s eyes slide closed as she tried not to groan. Hell, I felt that silent groan down to my soul too. So I was impressed when she managed to give him a smile.
“Bop Bop, huh?” she asked. “How about the snowman song?” she tried to compromise.
We’d known when the stick turned blue that we would have a future of children’s music ahead of us. We’d been pleased to learn, though, that some of the soundtracks to kid movies were fucking banging. Hell, I caught myself singing a track from Tangled alone in the kitchen the other day. And on more than one occasion, heard Lexy singing songs from Hercules in the shower.
That said, our son, our precious, perfect little angel of a child… had absolute shit taste in music. No amount of trying to teach him new songs would sway him from his one true musical love.
Bop Bop.
The most cloying, repetitive, high-pitched, over-the-top song ever to have been created in the history of mankind.
To this day, neither of us even knew how he’d first heard Bop Bop, but I had a sneaking suspicion my pain-in-the-ass brother was to blame.
And now, it seemed, we were going to suffer for eternity.
“Bop Bop. Bop Bop,” he chanted, bouncing back and forth and clapping his hands.
