“Completely. And the house will go to them, too, which is what I wanted when I asked for it in the divorce, anyway.” She shakes her head, a disbelieving laugh escaping her. “It feels strange. I spent so long being afraid of him, thinking he had all the power. And now...”
“Now you’re free.”
“Now I’m free,” she echoes softly. Of course, she doesn’t mention that she won’t be getting any kind of settlement, but I know that the money wasn’t important to her, anyway. She’s looking ahead to her future, and I’ll take care of anything else she needs.
I pull her closer, resting my hand on her belly where our pups are doing their evening gymnastics. I can feel them moving under my palm, three little lives getting ready to enter the world. Dr. MacDougal says everything is progressing perfectly. Julia’s been taking her prenatal vitamins and getting plenty of protein, and the pups are right on track for their due date in less than a week.
I’ve been doing everything I can to make her comfortable. Extra pillows on the bed. Daily afternoon naps on the couch. Snacks on demand. Endless leg rubs, back rubs, and foot rubs, depending on what’s bothering her the most. She’s always so grateful, but it’s nothing compared to what she’s doing for our pups.
“We should finish wrapping,” Julia says reluctantly. “How many more do we have?”
I glance at the remaining stack. “Maybe a dozen? We’re really cranking through them.”
We work in comfortable silence for a while, the fire crackling and Christmas music playing softly from the speaker in the corner while we tie bows and add the gift tags. My phone buzzes in my pocket. I check it discreetly while Julia is focused on a particularly tricky wrapping job.
Landed. Getting our bags.
My heartrate kicks up. I type back a quick response and try to slide the phone away before Julia notices.
“Everything okay?” she asks. Apparently I wasn’t quite fast enough.
“Fine, just Mam checking in about the plans tomorrow. Making sure you’re still up for it,” I fib.
“I am, as long as these little ones stay put.” Julia pats her belly fondly. “I don’t think it’ll be tomorrow, but I’ve been having some Braxton-Hicks contractions, so it won’t be long.”
“You want me to get you some water? More pillows?”
“Ian.” She laughs. “I’m fine. Just help me get these done so I can get off the floor.”
We finish the last of the presents just as dusk begins to settle, clean up all the ribbon scraps, and then retreat to the couch to cuddle by the fire. The tree we cut ourselves twinkles with white lights, and the stockings we picked out for the pups hang from the mantel next to the ones belonging to Julia’s girls.
“I still can’t believe this is my life sometimes.” Julia says quietly, surveying the scene. “Less than three months ago, I was reading The Three Little Pigs to preschoolers and feeling sorry for myself. Now I’m here with you in our house, pregnant with three little pigs of our own.”
I chuckle at her description. “They’re definitely as hungry as three little pigs.”
“No kidding.”
There’s a knock at the door. Julia starts to push herself up to answer, but I put a hand on her shoulder. “Stay comfortable. I’ll get it.”
“If it’s carolers, call for me. I want to come listen.”
“Probably just a delivery.” I keep my voice casual even though my heart is pounding. “I ordered some last-minute things for the nursery.”
When I open the front door, two young women are standing on the porch, bundled up against the cold, surrounded by suitcases. The taller one has clear-pink glasses that are fogging with her breath, and the shorter one has a fuzzy angora hat with a huge pom-pom that makes her the same height as her sister. They’re both staring at me with curiosity…and smiles that look exactly like their mother’s.
Behind them, an older woman is waiting, rubbing her arms and stomping her feet to stay warm in the chilly evening air. She’s not smiling, but I have a feeling when she cracks one, it’ll match theirs, too.
“Welcome,” I say. “Come on in out of the cold. I’ll get the bags.”
“Hi,” the taller one says. “I’m Samantha. This is Molly. You must be Ian. And this is Halmi, our grandmother, of course.”
Thewhite-haired woman behind them, Julia’s mom, says something to me in Korean, and Molly translates. “She says ‘Don’t call me grandmother. I’m not old enough to be yours.’”
A surprised laugh bursts out of me. “What should I call you?”
Once again, Molly translates. “Eomma is fine. That means ‘mom.’ Or Mrs. Song, but she says that is her ex-mother-in-law’s name, so she would rather you didn’t.”
“Eomma it is.” That earns me a smile, and sure enough, it looks just like Julia’s. “Well, you three are even more beautiful than your pictures. Come in, come in. You must be freezing.”
