Page 156 of Triple Play
“After five years?” Jordie’s right behind Wyatt. “Yeah. Very presumptuous.”
We make it to the bedroom, and I’m already reaching for my zipper when Jordie speaks.
“So. Baby number four.”
I freeze. “What?”
“Hear me out—”
“No.”
“You didn’t even let me finish.”
“Because I know where this is going.” I turn to face all three of them. “And the answer is no.”
“But Charlie’s nine months,” Jordie continues like I didn’t just shut him down. “Perfect spacing. And Wyatt hasn’t gotten a turn yet.”
Wyatt’s staring at him. “Did you seriously just say that?”
“What? I’m just saying—”
“Stop talking.”
Grant’s watching this unfold with barely concealed amusement.
I point at him. “Don’t encourage him.”
“I’m not encouraging anyone.”
“You’re smirking.”
“I’m not—” He stops. “Okay, I’m smirking a little.”
“No one,” I say very clearly, “is putting any more babies in me until Charlie is at least two. Minimum.”
“But—”
“No buts, Jordie. I love our kids. All three of them. So much it physically hurts sometimes. But I’m running on four hours of sleep. My body is still recovering from nine months of breastfeeding. Yesterday, Mason asked me why dinosaurs don’t live in our backyard and I had to explain extinction while Mia was using my leg as a jungle gym and Charlie was screaming because he dropped his pacifier.”
Grant’s trying not to laugh now. Failing.
“So no,” I continue. “No more babies. Not for a long while. Are we clear?”
“Crystal,” Wyatt says. He shoots Jordie a look. “Read the room.”
But Grant’s watching me with something soft in his expression. Something that makes my chest feel too tight.
“What?”
“Nothing. Just—” He crosses to me. Cups my face. “You’re a good mom.”
“I’m a tired mom.”
“You’re both.” His thumb traces my cheekbone. “You’re amazing with them. I know it’s not—I know we’re a lot.”
“You are a lot.”
“But you still love us.”
