Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 115706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
I laugh. “Tomorrow is our engagement party, remember? Not our wedding. But, yes, I agree we should do it, as soon as we can arrange it.”
“Or we could turn our engagement party into a wedding.”
I laugh, thinking Caleb is joking. And when he doesn’t laugh, I shrug my shoulders and say, “Okay, fuck it. Why not? Let’s do it.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
He whoops.
Granted, I could spend lots of time picking out the perfect dress and flowers and the rest. But as long as my parents and Raine are there—and Caleb’s sister and closest friends—the details really don’t matter to me. We can throw a big party to celebrate in LA later, whenever we return there for a visit. For now, the most important thing, above everything else, is I’ll get to call Caleb Baumgarten my husband, as soon as possible.
We kiss to seal the deal.
“God, I love you, A-Bomb.”
“I love you, too, Caleb.”
“And I promise I always will.”
Epilogue
AUBREY
Music is blaring. It’s my playlist, this time. As the czar of our seventh annual Fourth of July party, I always get to pick the music, along with planning the food and everybody’s accommodations. Caleb and all the other rock lovers in attendance needn’t worry, though: I always make sure there’s something for everyone on my party playlist, given the wide age ranges and musical preferences of those in attendance every year.
There’s a whole lot of star power at this party, as usual, but someone passing by on a boat wouldn’t realize that, thanks to the downhome, family-friendly vibe. Also, thanks to the gaggle of kids splashing around in the lake and running around on our extra-long stretch of shoreline.
Thanks to Caleb buying the house next door three years ago, our shoreline feels like a private beach club these days. I thought it was excessive when Caleb bought the adjacent house for family and friends to have an easy, convenient to place to stay while visiting. But I must admit, the idea turned out to be a great one. In fact, between our visiting friends, family, and my parents, the guest house, as we now call it, is rarely empty.
“A-Bomb!” Caleb calls out from the lake. My husband is standing in waist-deep water with our two-year-old son, Bonham, in one arm, while our four-year-old daughter, Page, uses Caleb’s body as her own personal jungle gym. Somehow, even in the midst of the chaos wrought by the children clinging to him, Caleb is managing to calmly chat with the two men standing near him in the lake: Dax Morgan and Reed Rivers.
“Babe!” Caleb calls to me again. “Bonzo’s had a huge blowout in his swim diaper, and Page the Maniac won’t let me leave to change it!”
“A likely story,” I call to him, and Caleb laughs. He’s changed more than his fair share of diapers over the years, first with Raine back in the day, and then with Page and Bonham in rapid succession. But that doesn’t mean my husband likes to do it, especially when he’s happily catching up with close friends.
I motion to Caleb that I’m coming and then strip off my cover-up and wade toward him through the water in my bikini. “You owe me one,” I tease, when I reach Caleb. By now, it’s a running gag between us: taking on the task of changing a diaper and then claiming to be “owed one,” even though neither of us ever collects on the purported debt. As we’ve come to learn, our imaginary balance sheet always corrects itself, without either of us ever needing to keep score in earnest.
“How can I owe you ‘one,’ when I already owe you everything?” Caleb quips, as I take our poopie son from him with rigid arms and a scrunched nose.
“Oh, I’ll find a way to let you pay me back,” I tease. To Bonham, I mutter, “Come on, Bonzo. Let’s get you all cleaned up.” I can already tell it’s going to be a bad one—a blowout that went everywhere. “Bio-hazard coming through!” I call out, as I make my way toward the house, and all our friends part like the Red Sea.
Inside, I find Reed Rivers’ wife, Georgina, changing their infant son’s diaper on the living room floor. So, I grab a nearby changing pad and throw it down next to Georgina. As we’re both chatting and working on our similar tasks, my sister-in-law, Miranda waltzes through the front door of the house and makes a silly “pee-yew” sound at the sight of Georgina and me surrounded by dirty diapers on the floor.
“How delightful,” Miranda deadpans. “I’m loving this for you ladies.”
“Yep, we’re living the dream,” I reply, and Georgina chuckles. In Georgie’s case, she really is living the dream, though. I mean, so am I. But I’ve managed to get pregnant easily, every time we’ve tried. From what I understand, Georgina and Reed had to work pretty hard to make their baby dreams a reality, so I’m quite certain she’s savoring every moment of this journey, even changing poopie diapers.