Page 211 of Going Viral for Christmas
“Mom,” I mutter, “boundaries.”
“Wait until you see the outfit I got her for Christmas!” She continues, unbothered, possibly a little tipsy. “It saysI sleighed Santa’s heart.Isn’t that cute? With glitter!”
With a glittery witch hat jammed over the top of her head and a feather boa draped around her petite neck, G-Ma cackles from her perch on the leather recliner. She’s holding a skeleton glass full of spiked apple punch. “I like this baby. This one doesn’t cry when I talk. Unlike your cousin’s kid—what’s her name? Tractor?”
“Trinity.”
“Right. Little demon.”
My dad dressed up as Ghostface for reasons that remain unclear. He tries to hand me a mimosa, pauses when he realizes I’m still nursing, then panics, averts his eyes like my boob is a solar eclipse, stammering, “Oh—uh—okay. I’ll just, uh…” His eyes bounce to the ceiling, the floor, looking anywhere but my chest. Then he flees. Ghostface indeed.
Mom has since moved into the kitchen, where she’s now whipping up something pumpkin-spiced and questionably alcoholic, sporting devil horns and her vintage “Hot Mamas Club” apron.
“Baby’s first Halloween.” Soren crosses the room, kneels in front of me. He adjusts the blanket over Aisling. “She’s going to be a legend.”
“Please,” I say. “She slept through two costume contests, one fake séance, and an argument about the moon landing. She’s thriving.”
“She gets it from you.”
“The ability to nap through drama?”
“No.” He presses a kiss to the top of my head. “The ability to make everything around her better. Just by existing.”
I roll my eyes, but it’s mostly for show. Aisling shifts against my chest with a sleepy grunt, melting me into a caramel apple of emotion.
Right then, G-Ma shuffles up behind Soren. She gently pats his head like he’s a golden retriever who fetched the paper. “Well, Morticia’s boy toy,” she drawls with a wink. “You really put theboneinbona fide daddy material?”
“I—uh—” Soren stammers.
G-Ma beams, entirely unbothered. “You planted a phenomenal seed, Pembry. I knew those strong hips of yours would make good.”
“G-Ma!” I cough, mortified. “Oh my God—stop talking.”
Soren’s shoulders shake with silent laughter as he drifts closer to me, eyes sparkling with mischief and that devastating tenderness. “I love your family.”
“Good, cause you’re stuck with us.”
“I’m counting on it.”
Across the room, Emily sips from a wine glass. She tries very hard not to make eye contact with Fisher. He, in turn, isdefinitelyadjusting his vampire cape in a way that implies something happened upstairs that required… redressing.
“For science,” he tells me later when I corner him by the candy cauldron. “Also? Emily’s thighs?Spooky strong.”
“You’re going to hell.”
“Only if she lets me.”
Meanwhile, G-Ma has convinced Soren to judge a costume contest featuring the family dogs. Brinley’s chihuahua is dressed as a sexy nurse. Uncle Marty is trying to glue googly eyes to his cat. Soren has our baby strapped to his chest, a clipboard in hand.
And me? I haven’t slept in forty-eight hours. My boobs are sore. My stretch marks are visible. I feel like a cracked pumpkin—yet, I’ve neverfelt more full. I’m not talking about being full of stress, hormones, or even panic.
But of joy.
Of love.
OfAisling Elara Pembry, the softest, most ridiculous thing I’ve ever created.
Of Soren, the man I love, forever and ever.
