“You had fourteen different bottle openers,” Blythe informs him. “I counted.”
“You never know when you might need a backup bottle opener.”
“Or thirteen backups, apparently.”
Moving day chaos aside, it works. Better than I expected, actually. The kids adapt to the new space with typical resilience. Tyson loves his room and the basement practice area. Blythe has already planned thirty different theatrical productions for the backyard “stage.”
And Dex... Dex fits into our daily routine like he was always meant to be there. Making coffee while I pack lunches, helping with homework at the kitchen table, reading bedtime stories with voices that make the kids laugh.
“How are you adjusting?” Elliot asks a month later, as we watch the kids chase each other around the new backyard during a weekend barbecue.
“Better than I thought,” I admit. “There are moments when I can’t believe this is my life. That I get to have this.”
“You deserve it.”
“I’m starting to believe that.”
Across the yard, Dex is explaining something about proper grilling technique to Brody, who’s nodding seriously despite the fact that he’s clearly not paying attention. The kids are playing some elaborate game that involves a lot of running and shouting and seems to have no discernible rules.
Normal. Happy. Home.
“So,” Elliot says casually, “when’s the wedding?”
I nearly choke on my drink. “What wedding?”
“Come on. You moved in together, bought a house, blended families. Wedding’s the next logical step.”
“We haven’t talked about marriage,” I tell her, which isn’t exactly true. We’ve danced around the topic, made oblique references to “someday” and “eventually.” But nothing concrete.
“Why not?”
Good question. “I guess... I’m still getting used to this. To being happy. To not waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
“The shoe’s not dropping, Golda. You’re safe now. You’re allowed to plan for the future.”
Before I can respond, Blythe comes running over, grass stains on her knees and twigs in her hair.
“Mom! We need to plan my birthday party! It’s only four months away, but proper theatrical productions require extensive planning!”
“Four months is plenty of time,” I assure her.
“Not for what I have in mind. I want to do ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’ but with hockey players instead of fairies!”
“That’s... ambitious.”
“Tyson said he’d help with the sports choreography. And Dex promised to teach everyone how to skate for the winter scene!”
I look at Dex, who shrugs helplessly. “I may have gotten carried away during story time.”
“It’s going to be the best birthday party ever,” Blythe declares.
“Of course it is,” I agree, pulling her onto my lap. “We’ll start planning next weekend.”
As the sun sets and the party winds down, I find myself on the back deck with Dex, watching the kids.
“Good day?” he asks.
“Perfect day.”
