Page 54 of P.S. I Dare You

“Then I’m all yours. You’ve got me, Calder.” She whispers the sweetest words I’ve ever heard from the sweetest lips I’ve ever tasted.

Five Years Later

“DID YOU KNOW THEY have soccer for three-year-olds?” I ask my wife as she slices strawberries and bananas for our toddler son, Holden.

She shoots me a wink. “I did. Did you know that our son doesn’t turn three until next spring?”

“That’s crazy you should say that because I’m actually well aware of the fact that our son turns three on April third of next year,” I say, keeping my tone light.

Strutting toward the kitchen table, a plate of sliced fruit in one hand, she gives my shoulder a playful swat before bending to kiss the top of my head.

Our son—who happens to be the spitting image of myself at his age with a mop full of dark hair and a hint of mischief in his honey-brown irises—flails his arms before grabbing a fistful of banana and cramming it into his mouth like it’s his last meal on earth.

Didn’t learn that from me. I’ll give Uncle Rush the credit for that.

“All I’m saying is let’s let him be two for a hot minute, babe.” My wife chuckles, but I don’t ask what she finds so funny. I already know. She thinks I’m a Helicopter Super Dad, but in the best of ways.

I never knew how badly I wanted to be a father until she woke me up one Sunday morning with the most terrified look on her face, tears in her eyes, and a little white stick clutched in her hand. I was disoriented at first, half thinking I was dreaming and half wondering what she was freaking out about, and then she said the words that forever changed the trajectory of our lives. “Calder, I’m pregnant.”

We hadn’t been trying. We’d been talking about trying. Big difference.

Turns out that morning she realized she was a couple weeks late and grabbed a test at the grocery store while she left me fast asleep in bed.

I pulled her into my arms, inhaled the sweet scent of her Daisy perfume as it radiated off her warm skin, and felt her shudder against me. Just a week ago, we decided we most definitely wanted a family—a large family—but we were going to wait two more years. She was still growing her business and had just hired four new employees, and I was starting my foundation, The Gwyneth Connection, which aims to help those and their families who’d been affected by faulty medical equipment.

“Why are you crying?” I whispered into her ear as I hugged her tight. “This is great news.”

She peeled herself away, dabbing her eyes with the back of her hand. “Really? You’re not disappointed?”

I laughed through my nose, brushing a dark wave away from her eyes. “Why would I be disappointed, Aer? You’ve just given me the best gift anyone could’ve even given me. Are you? Are you disappointed?”

“God, no.” She shook her head before splaying her palm across her belly. “Terrified, yes. Thinking of how this is going to impact my two-year plan, yes. Wondering how we’re going to decide on a name since we have different taste in pretty much everything, absolutely. Disappointed? Never.”

I cupped her cheek in my hand before stealing the sweetest kiss I’d ever known from the lips of a woman I was privileged to exchange vows with only a year before.

Seven months to that day, we welcomed an eight-pound baby boy, Holden James Welles. We opted to break the Calder Welles chain and not to name him after anyone. It was important to us that he’s able to be his own person and not grow up living in the shadow of the namesakes that lived before him.

“What are you thinking about?” Aerin takes a seat across from her two guys, cupping her face on the top of her hand.

I pop a sliced strawberry between my lips and smile. “You.”

She rolls her eyes, fighting a grin. “One of these days you’re going to surprise me and give me an answer like … Buddhism … or George Clooney.”

“Never,” I say. When I’m not thinking of her, I’m thinking of Holden. And when I’m not thinking of either of them, let’s be real: I’m probably sleeping. “What’s the plan for today?”

Aerin’s face is lit as she watches our son. I catch her doing that sometimes, just staring at him like he’s the most wonderful thing she’s ever seen in her entire life. I catch myself doing it sometimes too. It still blows my mind that we made something so perfect.

“Rush is in town,” she reminds me. “Mom and Dad are having a cookout at two. Thought we could do the zoo for a few hours this morning, let him catch a nap, then head over?”

“Perfect.” I stand, clearing our breakfast dishes off the table and carrying them to the sink, where I begin to rinse them off before loading the dishwasher. Glancing out the window before me, I spot our rescue mutt, Barnaby, chasing a bird in the backyard before sneaking a quick drink of water from the pool.

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