Charlie
Tristan, who’d been forced to leave his Game Boy in our grandparents’ car and was starting to lose his mind, took a running leap at Emily, karate kicking in the air. She shrieked as his foot narrowly missed her face and stumbled backward into Jane. Fury flashed across Jane’s face when Tristan turned his kick on her. She put him in a headlock and whirled him around in a circle until he fell dizzy on the floor.
“Knock it off!” Dad roared loud enough to wake every baby on the floor. Then he snuggled against Mom on the hospital bed. “This isn’t a WWF match. Your baby sister is trying to sleep.” He shook his head. “Six kids, Tally. This is insanity.”
“I know.” She beamed. “It’s the best.”
Resting soundly in Theo’s arms, Baby Girl Dupree—name still to be decided—had already acclimated to our crazy, rambunctious family. I sat next to him. Granny was snuggled up on Theo’s other side while Gramps sat on the armrest next to me.
Theo raised a hand like he was in school. “I just want to point out that three of your kids are behaving and three aren’t. And the ones who aren’t are all blond.” He and I gave our parents cheesy grins. “Heh. The score is finally even.” He offered me a fist bump with his free hand. I proudly bumped back. “The dark side’s looking pretty good after all, isn’t it?”
I laughed. “It is indeed.”
“Hey!” Jane said, offended. “I’d behave just fine if Tristan would keep his feet to himself.” She propped her hands on her waist. “I’m dyeing my hair when we get home.”
“No, you’re not,” Mom said. “Hair color doesn’t determine behavior. Choices do.”
“Don’t touch your hair,” I said. “Guys like pretty blonds.”
Jane hugged herself. “You think I’m pretty?”
I rolled my eyes. “I’ve only told you every day since I got home.” I had. But Jane never got tired of hearing it. Just batted those mascaraed lashes and widened those light blue eyes whenever she wanted attention. And she got plenty of attention, let me tell you.
Curled up on the vinyl couch next to Theo, I propped my chin on his shoulder as I gazed down at the baby. She’d been gripping my pointer finger for the last half hour and I was here for it.
I bent over and placed a kiss on her tiny knuckles. “I love how she smells.”
He pressed his nose into her hair and sniffed. “Like baby powder. But also slightly sweet.”
“That’s Mom’s boob milk you’re smelling,” Jane said.
“It’sbreastmilk,” Mom corrected.
Jane shuddered. “That’s worse. I’m going with boob milk.”
“How about we don’t talk about boobs or breasts,” Dad said.
Gramps peered down at the baby. “I always forget how tiny they are.”
“Not tiny enough,” Mom said. “I could’ve handled her being a pound smaller.” Eight pounds, seven ounces. “And an epidural,” she added. “I could’ve handled that too.”
“But she’s here and both of you are safe,” Dad said. “You were a rockstar.”
Granny, who’d reluctantly given the baby up when Theo arrived, said, “Any woman who delivers a baby in her vehicle has the right to complain.”
Mom’s nurse bustled into the room. “Visiting hours are over in fifteen minutes.” She glanced at Theo. “Do we have a name yet?”
“Sunflower Peony.” Emily bounced on her toes, hands together, pleading. “Please, Mom, please.”
“Oh, good heavens, no,” Granny said like Mom and Dad might actually be considering it.
“We could call her Sunny Pee-ony,” Tristan snickered into his fist. Such a boy.
Emily frowned.
Dad looked at Emily so seriously. “Mom and I were thinking of Tinkerbelle Honeyblossom.”
Emily’s eyes turned to saucers. “Really?” she squealed.
