Page 39 of Honkers Under the Holly

Mac

The Kingman houseerupted in cheers when Chris walked through the door. Sir Honksalot, not to be outdone, announced our arrival with his signature honk—still impressively loud, despite his age.

“There’s my boy,” His Aunt May pulled Chris into a hug while his Aunt June tried to fix his “TV hair.”

“First-round draft pick and his hair’s still a mess,” June tsked.

“Some things never change,” Bridger laughed, watching his oldest son get mobbed by his siblings.

“Uncle Tommy!” Jules squealed as Tommy and his husband Martine arrived with their twins, five-year-olds Jayne and Jerry, racing to join the chaos.

“Sorry we’re late,” Tommy grinned. “Someone had to make sure his tie was perfect for the photos.”

“You’re the one who spent twenty minutes fixing your hair,” Martine countered, earning laughs from everyone who knew exactly how long Tommy took to get ready.

In the happy chaos of Tommy’s kids teaching Sir Honksalot to dance to some new pop star who’d won a singing competition show they loved, while the Kingman boys argued over draft statistics, I found Sara Jayne watching it all with that soft and knowing smile I’d fallen in love with years ago.

“Pretty amazing family we ended up with,” I murmured, wrapping my arms around her from behind.

She leaned back against me. “Better than anything we could have planned.” Her hand found mine. “Though I still can’t believe Jerry asked Sir Honksalot to be his show-and-tell last week.”

“That’s our godson.” I chuckled. “Following in his dad’s footsteps with the goose-related chaos.”

“Speaking of chaos,” Sara Jayne nodded toward where Sir Honksalot was now waddling past with his newest prize—Chris’s sock, somehow stolen despite his shoes being firmly tied.

“How does he do that?” Chris demanded. “I do not understand how people have birds as pets. They’re nothing but trouble.”

Tommy snorted. “That’s what I said before Sir Honksalot changed my life.” He scooped up little Jaynie who was trying to chase after the sock-stealing goose. “Though I have to admit, watching him teach my kids his tricks is a little concerning.”

“He’s just passing on his legacy,” Martine said, catching Jerry before he could knock over Aunt May’s carefully arranged celebration snacks.

I pulled Sara Jayne closer, thinking about legacies and family and how the best things in life rarely follow your carefully laid plans. We’d tried for years to have kids of our own, but somehow the universe had given us something different—and maybe evenbetter. Seven honorary nephews who came to us for advice, one fierce little honorary niece who thought we hung the moon, two perfect godchildren, and a goose, while getting up there in fowl years, still thought sock theft was an Olympic sport.

“Wouldn’t change a thing,” Sara Jayne whispered, as if reading my thoughts. “This is exactly the family we were meant to have.”

Jules bounded over, Sir Honksalot trailing behind her with the sock still in his beak. “Uncle Mac, Aunt Sara Jayne, tell the story about the time Sir Honksalot made you fall in love.”

“Oh no,” Everett groaned. “Not the Oktoberfest story again. I’m telling you, chasing a goose or a girl is not the way to fall in love.”

“Always the Oktoberfest story,” Tommy grinned, settling on the couch with both twins. “It’s a classic.”

Later that night,after the celebration wound down, and we’d said our goodnights, I stood on the back porch of our Denver home watching Sir Honksalot arrange his stolen sock collection in the moonlight. Ten years, and he still treated every new acquisition like a precious treasure.

Mac’s arms slipped around my waist. “Janynie wants to take him to kindergarten for Career Day.”

“As what, exactly? A professional sock curator?”

“According to her very detailed plan, he’s going to teach her class about ‘being your authentic self, even if that self is a little chaotic.’” He chuckled against my hair. “Tommy swears Martine’s the one who taught her that phrase.”

“Smart kid.” I leaned back against him. “Though I suppose Sir Honksalot did teach us all something about embracing our most authentic selves.”

As if hearing his cue, our silly goose looked up from his sock arrangement and let out a proud honk. The same honk that had started it all at Oktoberfest. The same honk that had approved our fake engagement and then our real one. The exact same honk that still announced every family gathering and holiday celebration.

Some people might think it’s strange that a temperamental rescue goose with a sock-stealing habit changed our lives. That he led me to the love of my life, helped create a family bigger and more beautiful than we could have imagined, and somehow turned chaos into magic.

But then again, the best love stories usually are a little strange.

Just ask our silly goose.

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