A Year Later
“Tell me whatever is in that box isn’t actually alive,” Charlotte hisses, pointing at the massive wrapped gift.
It shakes again.
I grimace. That was shitty timing—or perhaps ironic is a better word.
Patrick snorts, sliding his hand around her stomach from behind. “That one isn’t for you, darling. Just remember how much we love and adore you.”
“I love you too, but now I’m nervous.”
“Don’t be. It’s a great surprise.” Patrick cradles her six-month pregnant belly, smirking like he always does any time he touches her growing stomach.
I don’t know why he’s so cocky.
Malachy and I have an equal chance of being the new baby’s biological father. The world is already convinced he fathered Lucky. We’ve done nothing to dissuade that belief, but we’ve done nothing to encourage it either. Well, we falsified his birthcertificate to include the three of us listed as his fathers. We also had it updated to show he was born in Boston, but we haven’t advertisedthatfact.
We just don’t talk about it at all, and I believe the rumors have spread even more swiftly because of it. It’s for the best if the other families view him as our biological son. That way, no one will cause him any trouble when we hand off the family to him one day.
“That means it’s for me,” Lucky declares.
He’s getting so big and speaking so much more clearly. It makes me immeasurably proud and equally choked up when I think about it.
He shoves himself off the ground where he was examining the other presents under the tree and makes his way to the big one.
The entire back of the gift isn’t wrapped, it’s just pushed to the wall to make it look like it is. It was the last thing we brought in before letting Lucky come into the living room, but it probably is best that he opens it first.
“Go on, rip into it.” Malachy laughs, moving closer with his phone held up.
A soft whining fills the air, and I’m pretty sure we’re caught.
I smile tightly, checking on Charlotte.
Patrick is the one who convinced us this was a good idea. I have no problem tossing him directly under the bus and backing over him if it comes down to it.
Charlotte was extremely ill during the first four months of her pregnancy. It’s settled down a bit, but none of us dares to ask for fish, shellfish, eggs, or, strangely, mushrooms.
I didn’t even realize the latter had much of a smell.
They clearly do.
Charlotte could pick up the scent across the room when Seamus accidentally got mushrooms on his pizza. He learned that day exactly how intimidating our wife can be.
The new Mrs. O’Connor has had a fair amount of ups and downs during her pregnancy, but she’s also glowing. Well, now that the constant vomiting has ended. For a while, she looked as miserable as we all felt having to watch her experience constant sickness.
She’s been much happier the last five or six weeks, and that’s why the expression on her face is making me nervous.
A playful bark fills the air as Lucky rips through the wrapping paper covering the crate.
“Mommy! No way!” Lucky squeals. “You got me a puppy! I love him.”
He is actually a she, and the three of us were technically the gift givers, but I’m certainly not going to correct him.
“Her name is Cleo,” Malachy says, snapping pictures. “Here, let me help you get her out.”
“I’m six months pregnant, and you three thought it was a good idea to bring home a puppy?” Charlotte whisper-hisses. “I have so many words right now, but I can’t say any of them in front of my kid.”
“Our kid,” Patrick corrects her, kissing her cheek from behind. “And she’s not just a puppy. She’s a built-in best friend for Lucky. Not to mention, an added layer of security.”
