There are voices from the garden as I enter the house, and I make my way around to the patio that leads off from the kitchen. It’s where Blake often likes to spend time with the kids, making BBQ for them for dinner, or playing games.
But they’re not there. I step onto the grass and follow the subdued but excited sound of children’s voices, and the low rumble of my husband’s voice.
“Daddy, do you think they’ll be happy with just grass? Should we get them something else?”
“Be careful stroking her, Jane. Gently.”
My brows pinch with confusion.
“And yes, Thomas, I think they’ll be happy with grass. That’s their natural diet.”
“What about a carrot?”
I round the corner and find my husband and three children all sitting on the grass in the middle of the biggest lawn. There’s a plastic hut, and a mesh pen to their side. It’s on wheels.
I blink.
“He likes me!” Jane says, a bit too loudly.
“He likes you more when you’re quiet,” Blake replies.
My jaw drops open when I see that each child has a small rabbit on their lap. Grace has an exceptionally fluffy little grey rabbit, Thomas has a cream-coloured rabbit with dark points at its ears and nose, and Jane has a brown and black mottled rabbit that’s very smooth. Blake is reclining on the grass, hands holding himself up, his long legs stretched out, monitoring them carefully.
“Bunnies!” I exclaim as I reveal myself.
Blake looks up, his eyes full of mischief.
“Mommy! Look at the rabbit Daddy bought for me!” my youngest, Jane, says. She’s been watching a lot of Americantelevision and has started calling me Mommy instead of the English word, Mummy. “Mine is the most beautiful, which is why she’s called Beauty.”
There are cries of dissent from my older kids, who are convinced that their choice of rabbit is the prettiest.
“Mine is called Easter, and is going to bring me chocolate eggs,” says Thomas, a bit hopefully.
“They are all gorgeous,” I say and meet Blake’s gaze. I tell him silently that he’s a big softy for his kids.
He lifts one hand and crooks a finger to me in a silent, “Come here, wife.”
I go to him as the kids tell me in fragments about how their dad took them to an animal rescue centre, and there were all these rabbits, and they were all allowed to pick one each to have as a pet.
Blake hooks an arm around me and settles me into his lap, kissing my cheek affectionately.
Grace notices and wrinkles her nose. “Ewww.”
Blake laughs, low and easy.
“You two are so gross.” Thomas deliberately looks away from us and focuses on stroking the grey and cream head of his bunny rabbit.
“Speaking of that.” I turn to look at Blake. “Are they, uh, done? I don’t think I want hundreds more bunnies?”
“That would be fun…” he muses playfully.
I take a breath. “Blake.”
“But no, they’ve all had the chop. No baby bunnies for us.” He squeezes my waist. “Of the furry four-legged sort, anyway.” I melt into him as the kids continue to tell me all about their rabbits, and I listen. Blake puts me at a careful distance, no doubt so he doesn’t get an inconvenient hard-on.
“And their house—” Jane starts.
“Hutch,” corrects Grace.
