“Me too,” he murmured. I sighed as my fiancé kissed my nose and hugged me again.
Fiancé…
I grinned into his shoulder. Life had never felt so good.
Three years later…
I looked down at my newborn daughter, safe and secure in my arms, and I understood Kent in a way I never had before. I didn’t want to leave my daughter to go take a piss, let alone to leave the hospital and turn myself in to the police, not knowing when—or even if—I’d return.
I forgave him years ago. I said all the right things, and I accepted his apology, but I never truly understood. I now knew I never could have, not until I first heard the cries of my beautiful baby girl.
Iris and I married a year after I proposed. We ended up waiting another year to start our family once I realized how difficult it would be to get a new restaurant off the ground. Bacio del Sole opened a year ago, and we began trying shortly after.
Gazing over at my wife, her face red and splotchy, her brown hair stuck to her face with sweat, and her body limp with exhaustion, I fell in love all over again.
I remember as a kid my ma told me, One day you’ll fall in love, dear, and it’ll change you forever.
She was wrong. I didn’t just fall in love once, I fell in love hundreds of times. All with Iris. And every single time, it changed me for the better.
But this? Holding my daughter was all of that times a million.
Iris hadn’t been asleep long, and she made me promise to wake her up if she did drift off, saying she didn’t want to miss a moment. She’d kill me for letting her sleep, but I couldn’t bring myself to wake her. Not after she’d spent fourteen hours in labor.
I walked toward the window. It was a beautiful spring morning, but nature had nothing on my girl. I smiled down at her. She would be a daddy’s girl, just like I had been a mama’s boy.
“Hey, mister, you were supposed to wake me up.”
Grinning, I turned around and walked toward my wife. “My apologies.” I bent to kiss her forehead.
“Yeah, right.” Iris shimmied up the bed and scooted over, giving me room to sit. I angled our daughter her way. “Oh my God, she’s perfect,” she whispered, her eyes welling with tears, just like they had every time she looked at her in the last few hours.
“I know. Thank God she looks like you,” I said.
“She’s not even a day old. She looks like—”
“Don’t say it,” I interrupted. I would have silenced her with a hand over her mouth too, but I was afraid of only holding my daughter with one arm.
“A potato,” she finished with a wide grin.
“How can you say our daughter looks like a potato?” I shook my head, even though my lips tipped up.
“A cute potato,” she amended.
I laughed and pulled the blanket tighter around her.
“We still need a name,” Iris said softly.
“Actually… I’ve been thinking.” I gave her a sheepish grin.
“What?” She smiled, exhaustion pulling at her features, but she’d never looked more radiant. Unable to stop myself, I leaned forward and softly kissed her. When I pulled away she was still smiling and her eyes were closed. They slowly fluttered open.
“So what’s the name?”
I looked down at her, my little girl, my daughter, and felt overwhelmed all over again. “Florence,” I whispered, and just as I did, her little eyes opened and bright blue irises collided with mine. It felt like a sign.
Iris was quiet and I looked up to see her staring between the two of us.
“It’s okay if you don’t like it,” I rushed to assure her. “I was messing around on the computer and saw it. It seemed perfect for how your mom loves gardening and you love Italy—” She quickly leaned forward and placed a finger on my lips.
“It is perfect. I love it.” We both smiled down at the squirming baby in my arms. “Florence Grace Blake. Grace was the name I was playing with.”
I grinned. “Wow, I hope they’re all that easy.” I handed Florence to her mother. Iris carefully took her and held her as close as she could.
“It’s crazy,” I whispered.
“What is?”
“How I ever thought Kent made the wrong choice. It seems so simple now. I’d leave myself dying in a ditch if it meant our daughter was okay.”
Iris looked up. “I know what you mean. The world seems completely different now, doesn’t it? A little brighter.”
“A little scarier,” I countered.
She rolled her eyes. “Some things never change.”
“Thankfully the important stuff did.”
“Oh, yeah? Like what?”
“Like my faith in people.” I definitely wasn’t at Iris’s or my ma’s level, but I had gotten better at giving people the benefit of the doubt. “I’m still a little rusty though.” I was careful as I leaned over and kissed her forehead. When I pulled away, I said, “I hope she always sees the world like you do.”
“She will. We’ll make sure of it, Daddy.” She grinned and looked down at Florence. My eyes followed hers.
Yes. We will…
It was four months later, in the heart of June, and we were finally settling into a routine.
I put Florence down in her crib for her afternoon nap and walked to the kitchen. Stopping in the doorway, I studied the scene before me. Nick and Mirielle were “baking.” He stood at the counter and rolled a piece of dough. My niece, who’d just turned four, was standing on a step stool that Nick bought her for her birthday last month. It was painted with “Nick’s Favorite Assistant.” When Kent explained to her what that meant, I thought he was going to cry. Calla almost did too. I most definitely did.
The two of them were very close. Nick’s lap was the one she always climbed on when we were sitting on the couch. She hugged him the longest, and trailed after him when he left the room.
Mirielle loved her mother and father dearly, but every child needed that extra adult to make them feel special. Nick beat me by a long shot. I didn’t mind; their relationship was one of the most beautiful things I’d ever seen.
Mirielle was obsessed with the kitchen, and everything in it. Whether that was innate and the reason she loved Nick, or Nick inspired her love for cooking, I wasn’t sure. But I loved watching them together.
Right now, my niece didn’t look too happy. Her lips were downturned as she pounded on the dough.
“Miri,” my husband said, using her special nickname. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She pouted and hit the counter again. With a small grin, Nick put his hands under her armpits and lifted her up before setting her on the counter. Mirielle immediately crossed her arms and started swinging her legs. He brought his hands to her knees, squeezing gently until she stopped kicking.
“What’s gonna happen to me?” she muttered.
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“When Fourence becomes your favorite assissant, what about me?” I barely suppressed a giggle at her butchering of our daughter’s name.
“Why do you think that would happen?”
“She’s your baby, you’re gonna love her more.”
Nick scoffed. “Impossible. I love you both the same.”
Mirielle stayed silent, clearly disagreeing.
“You know when we have tea parties?” Yes, Nick had tea parties with her. I just about died every single time, too.
“Yeah?” She perked up a little at the memories.
“What if I told you you could only bring Bubu or Fuzzy Butt?” he asked, using her names for her stuffed hippo and panda.
She groaned, long and loud. “That’s stupid. I can’t pick.”
“Exactly.” Nick grinned. “You can love more than one person, or stuffed animal.”
Her face bunched up in adorable confusion. “You can?”
“Of course. I love you, and I love Florence. Maybe she’ll be your assistant.”
Mirielle sat up straighter, her smile wide. “Really? D
addy says only impotant people have assissants.”
Nick smiled, but didn’t correct any of her words. “That must mean you’re important.”
My niece started kicking her legs again, this time with excitement. Her arms extended toward him and he easily wrapped her in a hug. “I love you, Uncle Nicky,” I barely heard her whisper.
“I love you, too.”
His eyes met mine as I stepped into the kitchen. “Hey, guys.”
Mirielle spun toward me and shouted, “Aunt Iri!” She was smiling as I helped her down and onto her step stool again.
“What are you guys making?”
“Cookies!” she yelled again.
“Shhh… Florence is asleep, and she needs all her rest if she’s going to be your assistant.”
Her smile got even bigger. “Okay,” she whispered. “Where’s Grandma Cat?”
She was talking about Nick’s mom. She and Trevor, her husband of a year and a half, were over here frequently. Our families became close, and now instead of a two-person Sunday dinner, Nick was making Sunday dinners for nine, now ten with Florence. And sometimes thirteen when Lindsay, Kevin, and their two-year-old son, Samuel, came over.
“She’s on her way,” Nick said. He stopped me before I could walk by him. With a grin, he crooked his finger in a come here motion. My smile melted as I moved forward and our lips met.
“Just like sunshine,” he whispered when we broke away. With a soft grin, I leaned my head against his shoulder and watched Mirielle run around the kitchen until she stopped by the tea table we had set up in the corner. She always had a short attention span. More often than not, all she and Nick did were a few prep steps before Nick finished up the rest.
“C’mon,” she whisper-yelled. With his arm wrapped around my shoulders, we walked over and sat down on her tiny chairs. I always chuckled as I watched Nick squeeze into them.
This time I didn’t. I just stared, picturing this table filled with all our children.
It was the greatest future I could ever imagine.
I stood in the doorway of the closet and took in the state of it. It was bursting with bright-colored clothes and stuffed animals. My smile widened as a pair of arms wound around my stomach.
“Hey,” my husband whispered in my ear.
“Hi.” I turned around in his arms and placed my palms on his chest. Trevor looked down at me, smiling from ear to ear.
“About done, love?”
“Never. It’s a grandma’s job to spoil her grandchildren.”
Gazing behind me, his smile somehow widened. “I think Florence is set, and it’s only her first birthday after all. You need to leave room for all the others.”
My lips playfully dipped down for a second before rising into a full grin.
“Ma?” Nick called.
“C’mon.” Trevor weaved our fingers together and walked us downstairs. We passed by the master bedroom and I saw Iris putting on her earrings.
“Yes, dear?” I asked when we walked into the kitchen where my son was feeding Florence.
“How crazy did you go?” Nick questioned. Trevor brought a hand up to cover his smile as he squeezed my hand. “That bad, huh?”
“Not bad,” I insisted. It was Florence’s first birthday party, but Iris suggested I only wrap one gift and leave the rest in my granddaughter’s bedroom.
“I heard you make four trips upstairs.”
Shrugging, I reached forward and pushed a wisp of my granddaughter’s hair behind her ear. “Do you think it’s too much, sweetheart?” I asked. She giggled and started babbling. With a smile, I leaned back. “That’s an affirmative if I’ve ever heard one.”
I caught the end of Nick’s eye roll. “I’d give up if I were you,” Iris said as she walked into the room, pausing to kiss me on the cheek before moving toward her husband and daughter.
“She’s not dressed yet?” she asked Nick as he wiped Florence’s dirty hands clean. “People will be arriving soon.”
“In case you’ve never noticed, our daughter prefers to wear her food. I thought it wise to wait.”
“Which is why I told you to start feeding her forty-five minutes ago.”
Stepping forward, I lifted Florence from her seat, careful of the food splattering her shirt. “I’ll dress her.”
“Thanks, Catherine.” Iris smiled warmly before turning back toward Nick. I left the chattering behind as I climbed the stairs and brought her to her room.
There were a few times over the years when I considered the idea of bringing another child into our family. Not naturally, of course—I was almost fifty. But the idea of adoption floated around in late-night conversations between Trevor and me. Ultimately we decided against it. Between Mirielle and Florence, plus Lindsay and Kevin’s now two sons, plus knowing that Calla and Kent were in the process of adopting another child and that Nick and Iris would have more someday, it just made sense. It was a wise decision—we always seemed to have one of the children at least one day during the weekend.
Looking down into my granddaughter’s laughing face, it was hard to remember that I’d once been lonely. It was hard to imagine a time when Nick’s world seemed completely destroyed.
“Gahaha!” Florence giggled, like an exclamation point on my thoughts about the transformation of her father’s life. I finished dressing her and lifted her to my hip with a wide grin on my face. She played with the buttons on my blouse as I walked downstairs with her.
I paused at the bottom when I found my grown son running around the kitchen island, chasing his wife. They were both laughing wildly. Trevor lightly grazed my arm as he came to stand next to me.
I smiled up at my husband and he gave me a soft kiss on the corner of my mouth. My lips inched higher as I thought about my life—the good and the bad. When Nick’s father left all those years ago, I didn’t see it for the blessing it was. Even though it hurt him at the time, it would have caused Nick far more pain had Tyson stayed.
Not everyone was meant to be in our lives. Some by choice, like Nick’s father. Some against our will, like Iris’s birth parents. But standing here right now, I truly believed we all ended up where we needed to be, standing next to the person we were meant to be with.
We always think we want life to go a certain way. That we’d be happier if this or that hadn’t happened. But we knew so little about what was in store for us.
I was glad I didn’t have the power over my life that others scrambled for. Because this life was greater than anything I could have imagined.
“What’s going on?” I finally asked.
“I have no idea.” Trevor wrapped his arm around my shoulders. “One minute they were arguing and the next…” My husband shrugged just as Nick caught Iris. Nick wrapped his arms around his wife’s waist and pulled her against his chest. Her laugh echoed around the kitchen when he began whispering in her ear.
Florence started clapping and kicking her chubby little legs. Nick and Iris spun around and looked at their daughter with huge smiles. We all cringed as her giggles reached a shrieking level. Though, it was hard to be annoyed when she was so happy.
“Thanks for getting her dressed,” Iris said as they walked over. Nick’s arm was wrapped around her waist and he was smiling, like he didn’t have a care in the world.
“It’s no problem,” I assured them.
“Dada.” We all froze and slowly looked down. “Dada,” she repeated. Florence had talked before, she’d even said “dada,” but we all knew she hadn’t connected the word to Nick yet. She had just been babbling.
Until now.
This was different. This was done with intent. Her arms were outstretched toward Nick, and her legs were kicking with even more excitement.
Nick was still frozen, seemingly unsure this was really happening. And while some mothers might begrudge the fact that “dada” was her baby’s first word, Iris was grinning wide.
“Did she…?” my son asked.
“DADA!” Florence wailed, frustrated tears welli
ng in her eyes as she tried to wiggle out of my arms. Nick snapped out of his haze, rushing forward almost comically to lift his daughter into his arms. And when he did, her expression broke into one of pure joy.
“Dada!” she happily screamed while slapping his face. It didn’t faze him, he was too choked up.
“I… I love you, sweet girl,” he whispered, like they were in their own world. Because they were. Nick may not have had a father growing up, but he knew exactly what he was doing. Florence would never wonder where her father was, or if he loved her. Nick would give her the childhood that every kid should have.
One with joy.
One with trust.
And one with so much love, she would have no choice but to see the world with bright eyes and a trusting heart.
Ten years.
It was almost surreal. Nick and I had been married for ten years, and yet every single day felt like the beginning of our story.
Today Nick and I were renewing our vows at Bacio del Sole. It was just a small party, like our wedding had been, consisting of only our families and close friends.
“Mama.” Looking down, I saw my daughter, Caterina, staring up at me with wide, terrified eyes. I was currently in Nick’s office getting ready, where I had changed into a simple, white summer dress that stopped right above the knees.
“What’s wrong, honey?”
“I’m scared,” she whispered.
“Why don’t you practice?” I suggested. She nodded, eyes on the ground, and grabbed her basket of flowers.
“Wooohoooo…” Now my eyes were drawn to my other daughter, Liliana, who was sitting upside down on the couch, her dress bunched up around her waist and the tips of her hair touching the ground.
They were complete opposites, which was ironic since they were identical twins. Nick and I had the girls a few years after Florence, and we named our almost four-year-olds after Nick’s mother and my sister.
Today they were our two flower girls, while Florence was my maid of honor.
I’d just put my second earring on when Caterina tripped and fell to her knees, smashing her basket.
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