“I’ll be an old maid by then, but I’ll go, too,” Magnolia teases, but in reality, that’s only five years away.
“We’ll be goin’ every year that Ellie is racin’,” Landen says. “Probably the next few at least.”
“And how’re y’all gonna give me more great-grandchildren in between all that?” Gramma Grace blurts.
“You literally have three right here.” Landen points to Willow and Laken, then over to Poppy, who’s sitting between Mom and Dad. All three kids stayed here while we were gone.
I heard it was organized chaos the entire time.
“Okay, and?” Gramma Grace scowls. “I ain’t gonna live forever.”
Gasps circulate around the room, and she waves us off with a laugh.
“I’ll make sure to tell Ellie we’re on a deadline,” Landen taunts.
Dad chuckles. “That’ll go well.”
We all know Ellie’s independent and stubborn. She hardly takes orders from her husband, who was once her trainer.
Once we finish eating, I walk around the table and collect empty plates, then bring them to the sink.
“Waylon, darlin’,” Gramma Grace coos, standing next to me while I rinse the dishes.
“Hope you’re not about to ask me for more great-grandchildren because I hate to break it to ya, but there’s no Mrs. Waylon, which means, no Waylon babies.”
The corner of her mouth lifts in a confident smirk. “Maybe not yet, but I can tell there’s someone special in your life.”
I furrow my brows, confused. “Why do you say that?”
“You’ve been happier these past few weeks. Lighter. Not so tense and moody.”
“I’m not moody,” I defend, opening the dishwasher to load it. This is something Noah usually does since Wilder and I tend to leave after dessert, but I’d rather be helpful than make my mom do everything.
She snickers, removing her apron, then sets it on the counter. “Well, whenever you decide to share her with us, I can’t wait to meet her.”
Meet her?Me too.
Or hell, I’d like to figure out who she is first.
After the kitchen is cleaned, Mom brings out the scrapbooking supplies and demands we all stay. I grab one of the unfinished books and look for photos and stickers to decorate the page.
Noah and Fisher have made one for each other already. Same with Tripp, who made a cute baby book for Magnolia when she was pregnant with Willow.
Landen made one for Ellie last year so they could document her year leading up to the NFR. Now he gets to add in a final page of her winning it all.
I hope one day I can make a special one for my partner—whoever she ends up being.
“Look how cute you two were as kids…” Dad holds up a photo from Wilder’s and my first day of kindergarten.
He mostly sits next to Mom and watches her flip through photos, but he’s made a couple anniversary ones for them that are kept in the living room for everyone to enjoy.
“I can’t even tell who is who.” Mallory squints.
“Really? You can’t tell by the goofy grin on Wilder’s face?” I nudge him next to me and grab his attention. “You got caught liftin’ Bridget Mueller’s skirt on the playground.”
“Oh damn, I forgot about that! She wouldn’t tell me what color her underwear was and told me to figure it out myself. So I did.”
“That sounds like assault,” Mallory deadpans.
