“I thought you weren’t going to ask?”
He shrugs. “Call me a gentleman.”
And, just like that, I fall into his arms. My knees hit the pavement as I tumble into his embrace and kiss the man of my dreams with every bit of love in my body.
“Yes,” I whisper into him as he kisses me back, stealing my breath away. “Are you sure? This was very sudden.”
“Not for me. I’ve been dreaming about this my entire life.”
As the water trickles from the fountain behind us, we kiss for an eternity. He caresses my head and bends me back, his tongue stroking mine with an intensity that leaves me clinging to him.
“It won’t be easy,” he says with his hands on the sides of my face, holding me tight. “I won’t always be here—”
I grab his hands and kiss the lifeline on his palm. “Being a great surgeon is one of the things I love about you the most.”
My answer seems to please him immensely.
With a steady smile, he stands up, pulling me with him. “What else do you love about me?”
“That you’re my best friend.”
“Hate to break it to you, but we were never best friends.”
“What were we?”
“More.”
As he pulls me in and kisses my hair, I relax into his embrace and look back at the fountain. The one I cursed not too long ago.
My hand flies to my chest in a panic. “My necklace! I threw it into the fountain. I was angry because she didn’t give me my wish.”
Instead of being concerned, he pulls me in and laughs. “That’s okay. It’s served its purpose. I always hoped it would bring you to me in the future.” He takes the penny he proposed to me with and holds it out to me. “Do you want to make a wish?”
With the shake of my head, I say, “No. I don’t think I’ll be making any more wishes.”
“No?” He looks back at me, confused.
“My wish came true. I wished for you.”
“All these years?” he asks.
With a hand on his jaw, I tell him my secret. My one wish. “Every time. It was always you.”
He grips my waist and pulls me in. His head buried in my neck, he kisses along my collarbone and under my ear, and he lays the most tender of kisses on my jaw. With the penny in his hand, he holds it up to his lips and gives it a kiss, tossing it into the fountain.
I raise a brow at him in question.
He lays a protective hand on my belly and whispers, “I can’t tell you, or it won’t come true.”
My teeth skim my lip as I pull him toward me and the west side of town. “Let’s go home.”
“Not so fast.” He pulls me back, motioning back toward the hospital.
I grimace at him, wondering what he could possibly want to do instead of going home and celebrating the first day of the rest of our lives.
“You still have to get your mom John Frieda,” he says, and I fall into his chest in laughter.
And this is why Dr. Christian Gallagher has always been my wish.
Epilogue
“This is my cardio for the day,” I say as I bend my knees and get down into an Egyptian pose.
“This is your song. You should be kicking his butt!” Dylan says, disappointed in my low score.
“Don’t let Uncle Christian beat you again!” Aiden bellows form his spot next to me.
“It’s all in the hips,” Christian says as he twists his torso, following the avatars on the screen.
I sneak a glance at the way he gyrates his hips, and I momentarily lose my place in the dance moves.
“Eyes on the screen.” He winks with his focus turned to the television.
We’re in a one-on-one battle of Just Dance. The song: “Everybody” by the Backstreet Boys.
Never play a video game, any video game, against a surgeon. Their eye-hand coordination is impeccable.
Dylan shoots his theory down. “It actually doesn’t matter what you do with your hips because the remote in your hand is tallying the points.”
“It’s anatomy. Trust me, Dylan; you’ll learn soon enough that the hips and hands go hand in hand.”
I kick Christian in the shin. “He’s not even old enough to play Fortnite, let alone have an analogy from his uncle.”
“His favorite uncle,” he says with his hands in the air and body walking to the side.
I roll my eyes and move alongside him in unison. “His only uncle.”
“Nuance,” he teases, getting his fourth star and securing his win in the game.
I’m breathless as I hand the controller to Aiden and motion toward Christian, who didn’t break a sweat. “Think you can best him?”
“I’m only eight, and he’s a hundred. Of course I can kick his butt.” My nephew is smug as he takes a spot in front of the television and looks for a hip-hop song. He knows it’s Christian’s least favorite, and therefore, it’s Aiden’s best shot of winning.
Footsteps on the stairwell have me looking in that direction as Beth comes down with a baby monitor in her hand. She shakes her head as she sees the four of us in the basement, playing games, as usual.
Looking at the screen, she sees Christian won the game. “You could let her win every once in a while.”
His full lips creep into a wicked smile. “And miss out on this pout?” He grabs my chin and pulls me in for a kiss.
Dylan and Aiden let out noises of disgust, making me smile into his kiss.
“Never.”
Beth holds up her cashmere-clad arm and gives Christian the baby monitor. “Enjoy your sweet moment because your daughter is up.”
“Which one?” we ask in unison and then look at each other with a laugh.
We still can’t believe we have twin girls.
“Lucy,” she says.
Christian looks at the monitor and hits the button to look into the other crib. His face lights up with a gleaming smile. “Looks like her sister is up, too.”
“Let’s go get our girls,” I say.
Christian and I walk upstairs to the second floor of Beth and Brian’s house.
When my brother finally convinced his wife not to have a third child, Christian and I had just found out we were expecting two of our own. Beth immediately turned her fourth bedroom into a nursery for her nieces, ensuring Christian and me that the girls would have a place to feel at home.
“Hey, sweet girl,” I say as I pick up little Lucy from where she’s lying in her crib, babbling at her mobile of stars.
She has blue eyes and the tiniest smattering of blonde hair. When I pick her up, her head falls to my shoulder, and she starts sucking on my neck.
“Someone’s hungry.”
“I think this little bean is, too.” Christian is holding Abigail with his pinkie against her lips as she sucks sweetly. Like her sister, she has blue eyes, but she has a full head of brown hair.
Our fraternal miracles came to us just four months ago, and they’ve been an absolute blessing.
After a few months of trying on our own, Christian and I had a visit with Dr. Abbot. Turns out, Christian has decreased sperm mobility, and his boys needed a little help. He’s not embarrassed, as I would have thought he’d be. In fact, my lover-of-all-things-medical husband was fascinated by the process and even asked if he could watch the embryo transfer. He was there for every sonogram and appointment, even delivering the girls himself in the hospital room—with the assistant of an actual OB, of course.
Baby A was born at seven fifty-two in the morning. Five pounds, five ounces and eighteen inches long. Lucy Beth Gallagher is named after Christian’s mom, Lucille, with a nod to my sister-in-law. She looks like me with light eyes and her daddy’s dimples.
Baby B came three minutes later and two ounces less. Abigail Duvane Gallagher is named after my mom. She gives me grief about not naming her Gail, but I liked Abigail so much more. She looks like me, too, without the dimples and has her dad’s hair. A lot of it, too.
“I’ll nurse Lucy, and you can giv
e Abigail a bottle.” I kiss my husband.
Then, I sit in the rocker with my baby girl in my arms and nurse her. I wanted to exclusively breastfeed my girls for the first year, but I found it wasn’t the right fit for our family.
I was relieved when Christian asked me last month why I wasn’t using formula. He had walked in at four in the morning after coming home from an emergency call to the hospital. I was in our room with both girls and a mess of tears. I was tired and felt like a total failure because I just wanted to sleep, and Lucy was hungry.
He suggested alternating between breast and formula, and it was like a weight was lifted off my shoulders. I’ve enjoyed the small bit of freedom, and he’s been loving the one-on-one time when he gets to feed them.
I rock Lucy and look at the room Beth decorated in light pink walls and weathered gray mini cribs. Next to the changing table is a photo of me and Christian on our wedding day. Our smiles are big as we look at the camera. He looks debonair in my most favorite look on him—a tuxedo—and underneath my white lace dress are the most gorgeous pair of silver sparkle Yves Saint Laurent shoes that Beth bought me as a wedding gift.
We married the September after he proposed with a penny. The ceremony and reception were at The Loeb Boathouse in Central Park, overlooking my fountain … our fountain. Our moms planned the entire affair. Beth served as my matron of honor, and Christian asked his father. The band played an entire hour of boy band music.
I wear his grandmother’s rings and feel a tinge of amazement every time I think of my life. I married the man I’d wished for and have the family I dreamed about.
Lucy has fallen asleep in my arms, so I adjust my top and change my girl. This nursery is similar to the one we have at home, except the girls have their names on the wall over their cribs and a mural of hearts and stars painted on the ceiling.
Before the wedding, Christian moved in with me, only to find out we were pregnant with twins, and our home was suddenly too small for the four of us. I hated the idea of leaving. I was quite close to Sal and couldn’t part with my lovable doorman. We sold the apartment and bought a new one two floors up. It’s three bedrooms with the same open kitchen, and it has the same view of Central Park but even better.
With my little lady changed, I walk her downstairs. The house is empty, and it seems everyone is on the back deck. It’s a beautiful spring day with a sunny sky and the fresh scent of daffodils and cut grass.
Today is my thirty-fifth birthday. Two years ago, I was looking out this door, dreading walking outside to the party that awaited. It was full of people I really didn’t want to see and advice I didn’t want to receive.
Instead of wanting to turn around and run away from everyone, I’m excited to see my family, the people I love the most.
As warm as it is, I take a baby blanket from my diaper bag and lay it over Lucy. When I walk through the French doors, my mother rises from the patio table with her arms wide open.
“There’s my girl!” She’s not talking to me. She’s talking to the baby. “Come to Grandma.”
My mom takes Lucy from my arms and saunters over to the table where she takes a seat next to Thomas, who has Abigail in his arms as he feeds her a bottle.
Christian walks up to me and slides an arm around my shoulders. He kisses my hair. “The old man stole her from me as soon as I came downstairs.”
Thomas grins at his son. “Not too long ago, I didn’t know if I’d ever have grandchildren. Sue me for wanting to enjoy every minute of this!”
My dad nods in agreement. “You know what you two need?” He points his Tom Collins in my and Christian’s direction. “A weekend away. Let the grandparents watch the kids.”
I shake my head. “We’re not ready to leave the girls.”
“Maybe in another two months,” Christian says.
I shoot a look back at him.
He raises a shoulder. “I’d like to take you away for a weekend before you go back to work. The girls will be six months, and we have a village to take care of them. Literally.”
I look back at our family, all corralled around the table. Our moms have done nothing but spoil our little girls, as has Beth, who already got the girls little Stuart Weitzman shoes for their christening. Dad and Thomas are the doting grandfathers. Even my nephews are helpful with the girls even if they do find this baby stage pretty boring.
“We have the nursery set up. The girls can stay with us,” Brian offers as he walks over with his hands full of drinks and places them on the table in front of Thomas, Beth, and Lucille. “They’re good for us. Seeing how much work they are reminds Beth why we shouldn’t have any more kids.”
Beth crumples a napkin and tosses it at him. “Speak for yourself. I am having way too much fun shopping for them.”
Brian shakes his head in dismay. “Exactly. You should see the bill from Bloomingdale’s. Now, I know why God didn’t bless us with daughters. I’d be in the poorhouse.”
I laugh, thinking that, while Brian’s exaggerating, he does have a point. Beth has been nonstop, buying girlie things. Their closet at home is packed with things I am scrambling to dress them in before they grow out of it all.
“I’m coming over this week. Meadow, I booked you an appointment at the salon. You’re getting dead ends, and you could really use a facial. These first few months are hard on a new mother’s complexion,” my mother states.
I don’t even take offense. I haven’t had a haircut in months, and a little pampering sounds nice.
“I’ll ask Angela if she wants to join me. She’s been nagging for me to do something with her.”
My dear friend has been texting me like crazy, asking when I’m coming back to work because she’s bored. Apparently, watching Christian and I dance around our attraction was the highlight of her workday.
“How is Angela?” Beth asks.
“Crazy as ever. Apparently, without Meadow, she’s resorted to telling me her drama. She’s currently scheming ways to get Denny to propose,” Christian says with a grin. “I told her to ask Gail.”
My mom looks pleased with the comment and then looks at Lucy and Abigail with a proud gleam. “I won’t take all the credit for you two getting together, but I will acknowledge the push.”
That’s right. My mom did own up to the fact that she had hoped that suggesting I freeze my eggs would lead to Christian doing this with me. When she heard of the idea, she thought it would be a great way to push me out of the funk I seemed to be in. It wasn’t until she ran into Thomas at the club and heard him talking about how he wished Christian would settle down and have children that her wheels started to turn. Knowing our friendship and Christian’s qualities as a man, she was banking on him not wanting me to go it alone and do it with me. I give the woman credit. She’s good.
“Do you know who’s having a baby?” Mom says from the end of the table. “Frank Romano. He married this darling girl named Vicki.” She turns to Lucille and shakes her head. “Wasn’t that a horrible wedding? The food was terrible, which is surprising for the Romanos. They love to eat.”
Dad laughs it off. “It wasn’t so bad. Garret Kent caught the garter and had to put it up Sally Romano’s leg. He went a little too far, if you know what I mean, and she punched him in the nose right on the dance floor.”
“What about the Vaduccis’ boy? Isn’t he getting married?” Thomas asks, moving Abigail to his shoulder so he can burp her.
“Yes. He’s getting married in Aruba next year to a lovely dermatologist from Greenwich. George and I are going. We’re extending it a week and taking a vacation for our anniversary.” Mom runs her fingers through Lucy’s hair. “Maybe my daughter and son-in-law will come and bring these little beauties with them. Won’t that be wonderful?”
Lucille claps her hands in glee. “We’ll come, too. We’ll make it a family vacation.”
“Can we go?” Dylan is on his dad like white on rice. “My friend from school goes to this hotel in Aruba that has waterslides and a pirate ship. Ple
ase, Dad, please!”
Aiden jumps up and grabs Brian. “That would be so cool. Please, Dad.”
Beth laughs into her wine spritzer. “You’re losing this one, three to one.”
Brian gives me a look of grief, which is really unfair because I didn’t start this vacation nonsense.
I just shrug at him and give a closed-mouth smile. “Looks like we’re going on vacation.”
He grimaces as his boys do a dance, and my mother beams as she somehow just managed to get everyone to agree to go away for her anniversary.
Beth rises from the table and pulls the boys by the shoulders. “Come on, guys. I have a job for you.”
As they go inside, Christian pulls on my hand and walks me away from our family, down the steps of the deck, and onto the grass. We stroll to the back of the yard where Beth’s garden is coming into bloom. The roses have just blossomed and look radiant with the man standing among them.
He laces his hands with mine and pulls our hands up and me against his chest. Our lips collide, and I melt into him. Like teenagers sneaking away for a make-out session, I let Christian cop a feel, and I do my own grab of his desirable backside.
“Happy birthday, Mrs. Gallagher,” he mutters against my lips.
I weave my fingers through his hair and give it a tug as his mouth moves to my jaw and nibbles lightly.
“Are you going to be okay with me being gone for a few days?”
I sigh into him. He’s leaving on his first symposium since the girls were born.
“I’ll miss you, but that’s why Beth and Brian made the nursery. The girls and I will be in great company.”
“Good, because I’m gonna be a mess without you.”
“It’s only three days.”
“Three days without my three favorite girls.”
With my hands wrapped around his neck, I look at my beautiful husband and the love reflected in his eyes. I told him when he proposed that his ability to heal was one of the things I loved about him. I meant it. I never want him to give up an ounce of his passion. I support him a thousand percent, and so does our family. Our village.
A Really Bad Idea Page 29