The Baby Race

by Tara Wylde

  This time, he leads me down by the stream, to the spot where we first found the fireflies. They’re just starting to come out for the night, winking into view between the leaves and over the water.

  I plop down on one of the picnic tables. “Kids are going to love this place.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’ll miss it....” I pull Nick down next to me. “I mean, it’s not like we’ll never watch another sunset from this table. But after this, it’ll be everybody’s sunset. This’ll be the last time it’s just you and me and the fireflies, nobody else for miles.”

  Nick nods. “It’s strange. I hated this place so much, but now I don’t want to leave.” He grins. “Maybe I’ll just make this my castle. Mine! All mine!”

  “Mm, but it’d be kind of weird for a thirty-year-old guy to hog a whole summer camp to himself.”

  “I don’t know! There’s—there’s....”

  “Yeah?”

  He throws up his hands in defeat. “You got me. Can’t think of a non-creepy example of an adult living in a playground.

  “We should come back at the end of the summer, though. Like, right before Labor Day, when everyone’s gone home. We can bring the kids. Have one last marshmallow roast, one last swim, one last pony ride—get all the summer crazies out of their systems, before school lets back in.”

  “And after that, we can get married.”

  It comes out so casually I’m not sure I heard him right.

  But...no. That’s not true. I know I did.

  In a way, we’ve been planning our future together for months. Ever since I moved in; ever since he set up his foundation and I came to work for him full-time, our lives have been twining themselves together. We back each other up, at work and with the kids. We’ve talked about more kids, and a house with a yard for them to play in. We’ve talked about college for Katie and Joey, trips we want to take, projects we want to fund. Even a dog—we’re surprising the kids with a trip to the shelter next weekend, so they can pick the best one. Getting an animal together, that’s real commitment.

  So I just lean into him fondly, and say, “What kind of wedding do you want?”

  “Mm...Elvis.”

  “Oh, very funny.”

  We playfight a while, a little pushy-pushy on the table, nudging each other back and forth till we’re both giggling like teens.

  At last, Nick gets himself under control. “Nah, I was thinking—remember that old mansion where we had the hospital fundraiser? Y’know, with the....” He makes an up-and-down gesture with his hands. “With the columns, and the double staircase, and the reflecting pool? I thought we could rent that out again, do it up with flowers and paper lanterns...like...over-the-top romantic.”

  I find myself liking that idea. It’s not the wedding I’d originally pictured for myself, but I kind of ruined that by planning it with Joe. This... This would be all me and Nick.

  “That was a great night,” I say. “Our first big fundraiser together. I was so nervous, with the dress, and the speech, and all those people....”

  “But then we snuck into that room with the four-poster bed....”

  “Those curtains were amazing—like making love under a veil of stars.”

  “I still think we should’ve stolen them.”

  I snort. Yeah, that wouldn’t have looked suspicious—the organizers of the event sneaking out the back, rumpled and flushed, trailing armfuls of silk and glittering crystals. I almost wouldn’t put it past Nick: our first overnight at a hotel, I caught him stuffing our suitcase with robes and towels. Said it wasn’t really theft, because the hotel bills you for what you take.

  I think in a way, he’s never quite got used to being rich. I like that about him: life’s stayed surprisingly down-to-earth since we got together. It’s good for the kids to keep their feet on the ground. And Nick seems happier now, putting his fortune to good use.

  He elbows me one more time. “So, is that a yes? To getting married?”

  I laugh. “You didn’t actually ask me.”

  “Yeah, I did!”

  “Nope: your exact words were, and after that, we can get married. A statement, not a question.”

  He doesn’t look in the least abashed. “We can, though, right?”

  I take my time kissing that smug look off his face. Let him sweat it, just for a second. I’m a little flushed when I tear myself away. “Of course we can.”

  Nick brightens. “Perfect! Then I can give you this, before I lose it.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a tiny silver box, ornate, clearly an antique. It’s exquisite, with tiny rosebuds and vines worked into the metal, and an elaborate clasp holding it shut. “You open it. That stupid hinge thing hates my giant gorilla hands.”

  I flip the box open. I already know what I’m going to see: diamonds and sapphires in a white-gold band, a classic design given a modern spin. We talked about this, too, sitting right about where we are now.

  Even knowing what’s coming, the reality takes my breath away. The ring is delicate, gorgeous, the main stone nestled in a sparkling nebula of sapphires and diamonds that trails off to each side, twinkling around the band. I hand it to Nick; he slips it onto my finger.

  “It’s lovely,” I tell him. “Just so you know, though, you could’ve given me an onion ring, and I’d still have said yes.”

  “Oh, now you tell me!" He cocks his head. “Let’s get onion rings on the way home. I’ve got a craving.”

  “Mm, at that place with the spicy mustard.”

  We wend our way back to the main campsite as night starts to fall. The fireflies are everywhere now, dancing on the archery range, over the pool, the firepit, the playgrounds. I can’t help but steal glances at the ring. The kids’ve been asking for a while now, when we’re going to get married. Guess we’ll have some big news for them tonight.

  It’s a nice night for the drive back to the city. I open the sunroof to let in the breeze. Nick chucks our lunchtime food wrappers into the back seat: that and his study are his two last bastions of slobbery. Anywhere else he puts something down, the housekeeper whisks it away before anything unsavory can coalesce. I was worried his junkrat tendencies might start to annoy me, with time, but nope: still totally cute. Plus, I still have some pretty hot memories of his disreputable back seat.

  Gives me a thrill to realize I’ll have a whole lifetime of memories to look forward to: hot ones, sweet ones, weird ones...the whole shebang. I never felt this kind of certainty with Joe. I didn’t know what it was, back then, but there was always something in the back of my head, a feeling of shakiness, something not right in the foundations. But this time, there’s not a ghost of a doubt.

  This is it: this is my life, and I couldn’t be more grateful for the way it turned out.