“Look, Daddy.” She points to the banner that says, Paisley Gray Monroe in bright pink letters. That’s it, just her name. Not welcome home or welcome to the family, as she’s already so ingrained in our lives that would be foolish. Instead, it’s her new name, my last name that’s now tacked on to the end of hers that adorns the sign.
I set her on her feet, and she makes her way around the room, getting hugs and kisses from her official aunts, uncles, and cousins. She’s lapping up the attention like I knew she would. I knew coming home is what I needed today, what we all needed.
“Proud of you,” my dad says from beside me.
“Who would have thought all those years ago, I’d become a father for the first time the same day that you did?”
He smiles at me and nods. “Love you, son.”
“Love you too, Dad.”
“What are my boys doing over here?” Mom asks, stepping into me and wrapping her arms around my waist.
“Just taking it all in,” I tell her. She smiles up at me, giving my waist another squeeze. “Well, excuse me, but my granddaughter has a gift to open.”
“Mom,” I scold her.
“She’s our princess, after all.” She grins over her shoulder as she picks up a bag I missed and then takes a seat on the floor next to my daughter.
Larissa appears beside me, and I pull her into my arms. “Thank you,” she whispers, not taking her eyes off our daughter.
“For what?”
“For loving us.”
I laugh. “Baby, loving you is the easy part. It was getting you to love me back I had the issue with. I should be the one thanking you.” She swats my chest playfully. We watch as Paisley opens her gift. It’s a bracelet of some sort, and I’m just about to ask when Dad explains.
“It has her name on it.”
“Paisley Gray Monroe,” my daughter reads the words aloud. “Thank you, Grandma.” She launches herself at my mother, and I can see the tears in her eyes from where I’m standing. Mom catches my eyes from across the room and smiles. I know what that smile means. Paisley is me, and my mom is Larissa. She knows what it meant to us and in turn how much it means to my girls.
Larissa turns in my arms and looks up at me. Her smile is blinding as unshed tears fill her eyes. She laughs softly as she wipes away an errant tear. “You got a minute?” she asks me.
“For you, I have a lifetime.” Lacing my fingers with hers, I allow her to pull me out on the back deck. “I used to worry,” she says once the door is shut behind us and she’s back in my arms, her back to my front as we look out over the landscape. “I used to constantly worry and never felt settled. That changed when I met you.”
I kiss the top of her head. I’ve seen the change in her; it’s nothing she has to tell me.
“I think he brought you to us. He knew that it would take an amazing man, one full of love and patience and understanding to break through my walls. I like to believe that he picked you for us. That he knew you would be the father she needed, the partner I needed.”
“I like the sound of that.” It’s hard to think about everything she lost and my heart aches for her, but then we wouldn’t be where we are today. I like to think that everything happens for a reason. We might not know what those reasons are at the time, but we have to have faith that everything works out as it should.
“The last time I had this conversation, the day started out great and ended not so much. This time, I can feel it in my gut that it’s different. I’m not worried.”
“Babe, you’ve lost me,” I tell her. I have no clue what she’s talking about.
She turns in my arms and presses a kiss to the corner of my mouth. “I have a secret,” she whispers.
“I’m your husband. We don’t have secrets.”
“This time we do.” She grins.
“Larissa,” I warn. I hate not being involved in every aspect of their lives. I never want to miss a minute. It’s hard enough being away from them during the season.
Grabbing her phone out of her back pocket, she taps the screen a few times, then turns it to face me. “I got you something,” she says softly.
My eyes focus on the screen, and it takes me a minute to realize what I’m looking at. “Is that?”
“You’re going to be a daddy, again,” she adds.
My hands grip her hips, pulling her impossibly close. “We’re pregnant?”
“We are. We’re in the first trimester.”
“I don’t know what that means? Are you okay? Is the baby okay? Have you been sick? Why didn’t you tell me?” I fire off questions faster than she can answer them. Something that happens a lot between the two of us.