Page 128 of Before You Can Blink
“Eh.” I lifted one shoulder. “Was more luck than anything else.”
Daisy scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, it was luck that had you busting your ass from daybreak ’til dusk. I forgot.”
“All right. All right.” Both of my hands came up in surrender. “You win.”
She waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, I did that long ago when I married you.”
My eyes lifted to the ceiling as I shook my head. “All these years later, I still can’t believe you agreed to that.”
Wrapping her arms around my waist, my wife snuggled into my chest. “And I still can’t believe you proposed to me while saying ‘I love you’ for the first time in the same breath,” she teased.
Holding my most precious possession close, I whispered against the top of her head, “That boy had no idea how much deeper that love would eventually go. But I’m so damn glad he got the chance to find out.”
December
Christmas was chaos when dealing with six little ones ripping open packages at the same time. Tiny voices exclaiming in joy layered over one another as our grandchildren uncovered the treasures that lay hidden beneath the festive wrapping paper. The flurry of motion on the living room floor made it impossible to focus on any one child in particular, and it wasa wonder none of them dissolved into a fit of tears, because the whole situation bordered on overstimulating for me, and I was a grown man.
It was a stark contrast to the Christmas mornings in this very room when Tripp and Aspen were little.
For starters, back then, there were very few packages set under the tree. Not because we didn’t want to spoil them, but because we simply couldn’t afford to be frivolous with our spending. Every penny needed to be carefully accounted for, and it made my skin crawl just thinking of those days.
Because there were only a handful of gifts, we would stretch out the morning by requiring them to take turns opening one at a time. Daisy made it a whole production when a present was unwrapped, asking them to pose with each toy for a picture. The kids never complained about having so little, probably because they didn’t know any different.
Now that we had the means, it was far too easy to go overboard with our grandchildren. There was nothing I loved more than seeing their little eyes light up in wonder when they landed on the massive bounty set beneath the tree. I knew from raising Tripp and Aspen how fleeting these moments were—when the magic of the holiday was still alive in their hearts—and wanted to soak up every minute of it with the next generation.
We’d attempted to keep the tradition of going slow and savoring each gift’s reveal, but the first time I saw Cash’s lower lip wobble while Reagan opened a gift, I caved. After that, it became pure mayhem, but I wouldn’t trade it for the world.
And as always, amongst the pandemonium of happy, squealing children, the brightest smile in the room belonged to my wife.
This was her dream. A house full of children. A family we created with our love.
It was a dream I once hadn’t wanted, but I was so damn glad it came to life.
Reagan’s shrill cry rising above those of the others startled me out of my thoughts. There was a blur of motion before she flung herself into my ma’s arms, yelling, “Meemaw, you’re the best!”
“Thought you’d like that, darlin’.” A giant smile stretched across my mother’s face as she squeezed my eldest granddaughter tight.
Genuinely curious as to what kind of gift would elicit that strong of a reaction from an eight-year-old, I asked, “What’d ya get, Reagan?”
Curling into Ma’s side, Reagan looked to Mac. “Daddy, can you show Grampa?”
Mac eyed the craziness of the children he’d have to work his way past to get to Reagan’s gift pile with a grimace, but that man was powerless to say no to his baby girl, so he nodded. “Sure, honey.”
Though he navigated the battlefield of boxes carefully, there were still a few times when he stumbled, cursing low under his breath before reaching his destination. Assessing the items at his feet, he lifted one that was most definitely not a toy.
“This one?”
“Yes!” Reagan nodded enthusiastically.
“Uh.” I hitched a thumb toward the full set of ceramic cookware. “Ma, you know she’s eight, right? Maybe a play set would have been more appropriate than the real thing.”
My granddaughter’s face twisted into a scowl as she huffed, “I’m not a baby, Grampa.”
Holding up both hands, I was quick to say, “Never said you were.”
“’Course I know she’s eight.” Ma tsked. “Just like I know your mind’s been elsewhere lately.” Her eyes darted to where Daisy was seated in my recliner, Ellie tucked to her chest, the pair of them fast asleep. “As it should be,” she added. “But while you’ve been busy dealing with the hand life dealt you, I’ve been working with Reagan in the kitchen.”
My eyebrows rose. “Really?”
