“I was told by a redhead holding a French Bulldog in a suit that you need to get your ass out there.”
It was time.
To sign up for a lifetime of Christmases. And Central Park walks. And late-night pizza. And, fuck, everything else life had to offer us.
We’d ended up renting out the same ballroom where we’d attended the lawyer holiday party two years back.
Hell, we even rented the same band.
Though we went ahead and chose a different caterer. No fancy-ass, too-small portions of weird, barely edible foods for us.
We’d opted to go full Italian for our reception.
It just seemed fitting.
Cesare hadn’t been kidding.
If possible, the ballroom looked even more Christmasy than it had the last time we’d been here.
The walls were lined in Christmas trees.
The tables were draped in red and gold.
Everything had twinkle lights.
It looked warm and bright and so much like Steph, my damn heart hurt.
The whole event was unconventional. With flower girls walking with Noel between them and ring bearers taking Meatball and Potroast down the aisle.
Then there was Stephanie.
In a dress that shimmered like snow.
Walking toward me to give me her forever.
We’d just sealed the whole thing with a kiss when she leaned into my ear to whisper. “Meet me in the bathroom.”
I guess it made perfect sense to consummate our marriage in the same place we’d first gotten together.
Luckily this time, no one chased us through the city afterward.
Though we both became pretty sure in the weeks that followed that it was there that we’d expanded our little family.
Stephanie - 4 Years
“Listen, little man, we gotta let Mom get some sleep, you know? She’s tired as fuck.”
I winced at that.
We were steadily passing the point of ‘he’s too little for it to matter’ and approaching ‘he’s going to repeat that eventually’ territory.
“I get it. You don’t like sleeping. But Mom? Mom does. So you gotta stop screaming your head off at three in the morning, or she’s gonna wake up and come running.”
We hadn’t been as lucky as some of our friends and family in getting a baby who slept through the night after the first three months.
Our son was restless.
And to be fair, those first few months, as tired as I was at times, I soaked up all those late nights with our little baby in my arms, touching his tiny fingers, stroking his chubby cheek, listening to his coos, seeing so much of his father in him already.
