We trail Mom and Hewson into the main living space where the rest of our family is waiting, minus the younger kids, who must either be outside at the playground or in the game room. Mom hired an entertainer, and Kyler and Faye’s part-time nanny, Samantha, is here to keep the kids occupied so the adults can talk for a change. Usually, when we all get together, we only manage to grab snatched conversations.
We make our hellos and accept a glass of champagne from Dad. “A toast,” he says when all the adults have a flute. “To Selena and Moonlight. Congrats, honey. We’re all so proud of you.”
Everyone offers their congrats, and we chink glasses.
“You gave a beautiful speech, darling,” Sandrine says, wrapping her arms around her daughter. “I know you still hate public speaking, but you were a complete pro. It was perfect.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Selena extracts herself from Sandrine’s arms to give her stepdad, Paul, a quick hug. “Thank you both for cutting your honeymoon short to attend. I didn’t expect that, but it wouldn’t have been the same without you.”
It’s such a shame Denise couldn’t be there. She had a stroke last year, which left her paralyzed from the neck down. She lives full-time in a retirement home, and we visit her weekly. Her mind is still sharp even if her body has let her down. Cheryl recorded Selena’s speech, and she has already emailed us a copy so we can show it to Denise at our next visit.
“We wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” Paul says, reaching down to grasp his wife’s hand.
Sandrine surprised us all a year ago when she announced she was in a relationship with a man fifteen years younger than her. Paul is a junior partner at Stearns & Westfall, the law firm Kent works at. It was a whirlwind romance, but the two have known each other for years through their work in the legal system. Sandrine has presided over several of Paul’s cases in court. They got engaged three months ago and wed in a small ceremony ten days ago at city hall. Selena is delighted for her mom. I know she worried about her living alone.
“Congratulations on your marriage,” Kent says, coming up beside us. “I didn’t get a chance to talk to you last night before you left.” The party lasted into the small hours of the morning, but Sandrine and Paul had left shortly after Selena received her award, citing jet lag.
“Thank you,” Paul says. “Congrats on your promotion. It’s very well deserved.” Kent passed the bar a couple of years ago, and he was recently appointed to a senior attorney position at the firm he has worked for since he graduated law school. He likes it there, and he has garnered quite the reputation as an advocate of children’s rights.
Kent’s seven-year-old daughter Shania is clinging to his back like a spider monkey, her small hands wrapped around her dad’s throat.
“Where’s your partner in crime?” I ask, looking around for Austen and Keaton’s son because those two are joined at the hip and one is never far from the other.
“My what?” Shania asks, her brow puckering.
“Eliot,” Selena clarifies, reaching her arms out for the little girl.
Emotion swirls through my veins as my wife lifts Shania off Kent’s back, placing her feet on the ground, and Shania throws herself at Sel, hugging her. “We had a fight. He’s a stupid boy,” she says, sniffling a little. “All boys are stupid.”
“They are,” Kent agrees, crouching down in front of his only child. “It would be fantastic if that sentiment could be imprinted in your brain for the next thirty years or more.”
Shania’s nose scrunches in confusion.
“But Eliot is your cousin and your best friend, and you were really looking forward to playing with him at the party.” He unfurls to his full height, taking his daughter’s hand in his. “Let’s go find him so you two can make up.”
“I think we have the same idea,” Austen says, entering the room from the hallway. “We were just coming to find the princess,” he adds, bending down in front of his son. “Don’t you have something to say to Shania, Eliot?”
Keats steps into the living room, carrying his sleepy-eyed three-year-old daughter in his arms. Austen straightens up as Eliot walks toward Shania.
“I’m sorry for pulling your hair,” Eliot says, his lower lip wobbling as he looks at Shania. “I just got mad when you said Taylor was better than me at Little League.”
“Oh boy.” Kent smothers a chuckle as Keats’s lips curve at the corners. He gently rocks Lia as Austen puts his palm on the top of her head.
The kids are competitive, and it’s clear the Kennedy blood flows through their veins. We used to argue like crazy over sports and games growing up, and it’s amusing to see the next generation is as spirited as we were.
Selena slinks up alongside me, and I tuck her into my side, holding her close as we watch the drama unfold. Our eyes meet, and I see the same expectation on her face as I’m feeling. I’m bursting to tell everyone our news.
“Well, duh.” Shania rolls her eyes at Eliot. “I only said that to cheer Taylor up because Cathal said Taylor throws like a girl. Everyone knows you’re the shit at baseball.”
“You’re not supposed to say shit,” Eliot replies. “My dad says it’s a bad word.” Dad means Austen, because Keaton is Daddy to their kids.
“Well, my daddy tells my mommy she’s the shit in bed.” Shania bats her long eyelashes at Kent. “It’s okay if you say it. Right, Daddy?”
“Presley will rip you a new one if she hears about this,” I mutter to my triplet while we all try not to laugh.
“You need to stop eavesdropping on adult conversation,” Kent says, fighting a smirk. “What do you say to Eliot?”
“You’re forgiven.” Shania throws her arms around Eliot, and he hugs her to his chest. Though they are roughly the same age, he’s a good head taller than his cousin. His eyes close as he hugs her, and she seems to melt into him. It’s super cute.
