Page 140 of Freeing Denver
“Mom rolls her eyes at you.”
“With good reason,” I say. My son’s hand is still in the air, and he’s bouncing on his toes. “Yes, Finn?”
“The rule is Mom has to have a good time.”
“Exactly. And why?”
“Because it’s her birthday.”
Jessi kicks her little legs in the stroller, as if confirming Finn’s answer is correct, or maybe she can just hear Denver’s shoes clicking across the hotel lobby before she comes into view. She’s in a flowing white sundress that closely matches the one Jessi is wearing, sunglasses balanced on her nose that’s already developed a few new freckles since arriving in the city a few days ago.
Five years married and I still get that giddy, new-love feeling whenever she strolls into a room. If possible, I’ve fallen in love with her more, and as our family has grown, so has the mess. I love every second of it.
“I’m here!” she sings, and Holly immediately goes to her side and takes Denver’s handbag, and then her hand.
“You look pretty, Mom,” Holly says.
“Thank you, baby. Youalwayslook pretty,” Denver says, kissing Holly’s head.
It was nearly a year into moving to England when Holly first called me “Dad” and Denver “Mom.” That night, I didn’t sleep. Pride at her viewing me as her father warred with the overwhelming guilt that I was taking Wilder’s place. We have pictures of him in the house, I tell stories about him, too, and Holly knows her dad was my brother and he died. But there are still moments when hearing her refer to us as parents hits me hard, and maybe it’s because after five long years, we’re back in New York.
We figured it was time we tear off the Band-Aid and go home for a visit. We’re having a small party for Denver—but not in the hotel. I think we’re both still haunted by our wedding night.
We pile into the SUV for the short trip because despite the years that have passed, I’m not comfortable walking my family through streets where I’ve killed men. I could still very easily be recognized, and Denver still is sometimes, even back home.
“Do you think Wesson is okay?” Finn asks as we arrive at the apartment building.
“Are you kidding? He’s at a golden retriever retreat. He’ll be having more fun than us,” Denver says.
The dog is still practically a puppy, and even though he loves all the kids and is always by their side, it’s Holly he’s stuck to the most. He’ll be fine at the retreat, but he’ll definitely be missing her.
“Do you think I can use the Wi-Fi?” Holly asks as we take the elevator to the penthouse.
“No hacking tonight,” I say, tugging playfully on her braid.
“It isn’t hacking. It’s looking at websites in different ways.”
Denver says, “Honey, last time you did that you knocked out the power in the street.”
Holly flushes. “That was a code issue.”
My wife eyes me, knowing full well where Holly is learning all this stuff, and it isn’t me, but it’s me-adjacent. I focus on Jessi in my arms, kissing her red curls. She smells like sunscreen and baby, and I hate that she’s almost walking already.
Finn takes Holly’s hand. “What’s hacking?”
“It’s what cool people do,” she says.
“Can I do it?”
Holly shrugs. “I can teach you.”
“No!” Denver and I say.
The elevator doors open and Holly darts inside, Finn in tow. On the far side of the huge space, in front of floor-to-ceiling windows that look out on the sunny afternoon, Alistair is on the phone. In suit pants and a white shirt, gray beard and hair neat as always, he notices us and grins, hanging up immediately before swinging Holly into his arms.
“How’s my little hacker?”
Denver glares at me.
