Epilogue
Marshall
Today my youngest daughter turns one. It’s mid-June, the sun is shining, the sky is blue, and we are surrounded by our family. To me, you couldn’t ask for a better day to celebrate a birthday.
“Daddy, I think we’re ready for cake,” my mom tells me. She’s currently sitting next to Marley, the birthday girl in her high chair.
“Yeah, Daddy, we want cake!” my middle daughter, Macey, cheers.
“Mommy said we had to wait for Uncle Grant to get here. The baby didn’t sleep last night,” my oldest daughter, Madeline, explains to her younger sister.
At five, I swear she’s going on twenty-five. She’s smart as a whip, and she mothers her younger sisters something awful. Madeline was two when Macey was born. And from the moment she laid eyes on her little sister, she was overprotective.
“My girls want cake. We’re going to have cake,” I say, knowing that Grant and Aurora just pulled up. They had a rough night last night with their two-week-old son, Cane. He apparently woke up at 1:00 a.m. and thought that it was time to party. I remember those days all too well. Mom and Dad stopped by their place and picked up their eldest two on the way over. Everett is four now, and Elaine, their daughter, turned two last month.
Making my way into the house, I laugh when I see Owen with his twin daughters, Paris and London, hanging off of each leg. At two, the girls are daddy’s girls through and through. Owen wouldn’t have it any other way. Carter, who’s now six, and his second-oldest, Rebecca, who is four, are sitting at the table with their arms crossed over their chest.
“What are you in for?” I lean down and ask Carter.
“Dad’s mad because we splashed the twins. It’s a pool party.” He rolls his eyes, and he, too, acts way older than his six years.
“Uncle Marsh, tell Daddy it’s a pool party,” my niece Rebecca pleads.
“Daddy, it’s a pool party,” I repeat, grinning at my older brother.
“Fine,” Owen grumbles. “Apologize to your sisters and you can go back outside.” His two oldest do their father's bidding and rush out the door.
“Hey, babe.” I walk up behind my wife, who is standing at the sink, and kiss her neck. “The birthday girl is ready for cake.” I reach around and rest my hands on her swollen belly—baby number four. We’re not due for four more months, and I can’t wait to meet him or her. We find out soon what we’re having. Next week, in fact.
“It’s ready. I was just taking some of these dishes, putting them into the dishwasher.”
“I told you to leave all of that and I’ll get it later.”
“I’m pregnant, Marshall. Not injured,” she grumbles.
“Wren, did you not learn from your previous pregnancies?” Owen raises his eyebrows at her in question. “Sit down, woman.”
“I’m fine.” She waves him off.
“I swear all the wives, all five of them are too damn stubborn,” Owen rumbles.
“Damn!” the twins say loudly, repeating their father.
“Great. Do not repeat that word. It’s a bad word, and don’t tell Mommy,” Owen lectures them.
“Girls, why don’t you go out on the patio and find Mommy? It’s time for cake,” I tell my adorable twin nieces.
“Cake!” they cheer, release their hold on their father’s legs, and take off running outside.
“How’s Layla feeling?” I ask Owen.
He shakes his head. “Morning sickness is really hitting her with this one. I have her set up under the shade tree out back.”
“Morning sickness is no joke.” I nod. Wren was sick with Macey, and it killed me to watch her go through that and not be able to help her.
“Yeah,” Owen agrees, running his hands behind his head. He looks exhausted.
“Hey, did we miss her eating cake?” Grant asks, walking into the house with two-week-old Cane already strapped to his chest.
“Nope. We were waiting for you. I heard you pull up,” I say, motioning to the two cakes on the counter. One is for all of us, and the smaller one is for my baby girl, Marley, to go to town on all on her own.
Owen and I carry the cakes out to the back patio while a tired Grant helps to wrangle all the nieces and nephews.
“How’s he doing?” Royce asks Grant.
“Oh, he’s fine. He’s sleeping like a log. I’m hoping that all the excitement will keep him awake or at least from a peaceful sleep, and he’ll actually sleep tonight.”
Royce looks down at our sleeping nephew and chuckles. “Good luck with that, brother.”
“Yeah, wishful thinking on my part,” Grant agrees.
“Why don’t you let Everett and Elaine stay with us tonight? That way, you and Aurora can sleep when this little guy does.” Royce reaches out and runs his hand softly over Cane’s head.
“Yes.” Grant laughs.
“Yes, what?” Aurora asks as she approaches us. She looks just as exhausted as Grant.