“How’re you feeling about tomorrow?” I ask, and feel her smile against my skin. It’s Thanksgiving, and our first holiday together as a family, with everything finally out in the open.
It was Thanksgiving a year ago when Steph’s secret detonated right into the middle of our attempt at a second chance, and for a while there, it seemed like we might not be able to find our way through it.
If there’s anything this life has taught me, though, it’s not to give up.
It’s that sometimes, things need to fall apart before they can be put back together, and often, they turn out even better than they were before.
Piper recently told me about a Japanese art called Kintsugi, where they use gold to repair broken pottery, resulting in an even lovelier product in the end. It celebrates the beauty in the brokenness and the strength that comes from the mending. I like to think our family is just like that—that little by little we’re weaving our own strands of gold through the wreckage, building a bond that’s so much stronger than it might’ve been without the obstacles we’ve faced.
So I don’t dwell anymore on what we’ve lost, the time spent apart, for I know now it was all leading up to this.
“I’m excited to host everyone here for the first time.”
The guest list has changed a little this year. Lucy and Noah will be entertaining his parents at their new house—another check in the plus column forfamily therapy right there—but Bobby and Matt’s girlfriend, Priya, will be joining us in their stead.
“Me too.”
“You’re just itching to try out that deep fryer.”
I grin. “Damn straight. And you better believe Aidan, Jack, and Bobby will be out there keepin’ an eye on the bird with me.”
“No football while there’s a vat of hot oil in my yard,” Steph warns, emphasizing her words with a pat on my chest before resuming the slow trail of her fingers across my skin.
“Already talked to the boys about it. They’re strictly sticking to watching the game.”
“That goes for youolderboys, too.”
I roll my eyes.
“Wait.” She stills, her fingers pausing right over my heart. “What’s this?” She lifts her head, leaning in to get a better look at my chest, and I realize belatedly that she hadn’t been idly caressing my skin, but tracing the lines of my many tattoos.
“Whatisthis?” she asks again, smoothing over the still-tender location of my latest ink.
I shrug, jostling her a bit in the process. “Got a new tattoo.”
“I see that. But … what does it mean?” Steph had spent countless hours—torturous ones—learning all of my tattoos with her hands, and then her mouth. And we’d spent many late nights afterward, curled together like we are now, while she’d questioned me about their origins and the locations they represented. She’d never asked me about the empty space I’d kept so close to my heart, though.
Now I’ve filled it.
I swallow before answering, my throat thick with the words I need to say. “You know how all of my tattoos are for places I’ve called home?”
Steph nods, her eyes wide with awareness, and I know she feels the shift in the air. The mood.
“They represent my growth and journey, in a way. My journey back to you. You’re the home of my heart, Sunshine. Even when it seemed like an impossibility, this spot was always waiting for you.”
I place my hand over hers, holding it there, pressed so she can feel the beats that are just for her.
Her breath catches.
“And the numbers?”
One hundred and fifty-nine.
“That’s how many smiles it took before I knew I’d won your heart again.”
Tears spill over, and she pulls her hand from under mine to wipe at them.
“You counted my smiles?”
