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“It’s 7:09 AM,” Chris murmurs, the rumble of his voice deep and hollow from where your head is on his chest. “He’s late.”
You chuckle, snuggling into his warm embrace and pulling your blanket higher over your shoulder. “Don’t jinx it. We haven’t slept in in six years.”
He nuzzles the top of your head with his chin. “Mhmm. Then, I guess we’ll just have to enjoy it as much as we can.”
Before you can answer, you hear pitter-pattering right outside your bedroom door and groan. “You did it. You jinxed us,” you tell him, rolling away from him before your tiniest bundle of joy can jump on top of you, a morning tradition since he could walk.
Chris is quick to catch the tiny body of your youngest and holds him high, his knees balancing your baby boy in the air—their infectious giggles and deep laugh a sweet harmony. “There you are, bud!”
You press the switch beside your bed, and the heavy cream curtains slide open. The morning sunlight spills in like eager eavesdroppers caught in the act.
“Papa, can I puh-leez wear my mermaid shirt to school?” Matthew asks, pulling out the heavy artillery, all big eyes and pouty lips, that innocent I’m-a-tiny-person-who-can-do-no-wrong-give-me-what-I-want expression.
You hide your smile behind a hand. He saw the shirt yesterday, while you were at the mall because Chris’ phone has been a little haywire over the last week. While he was in the Apple store, you distracted the kids with a smoothie and were on your way back to Chris when Eleanor spotted the shirt in a window display and Matthew insisted he had to have it for his growing mermaid collection.
Chris tucks him in the space between you, and you both roll to your sides. “I don’t know, Matty. Ask Mama.”
Matthew turns his eyes on you, and you tickle his tummy. His melodic laughter brings a smile to both your faces.
“It’s in the wash, but I tell you what: if you wake your sister and get ready while Papa makes breakfast, I’ll make sure you have it before we leave for school.”
His grin takes up half of his face, smooshing his little features together. “Yay! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” He scrambles to his feet to do little victory jumps, stepping on Chris in his excitement.
“Oft!” Chris wheezes out a laugh.
“Careful,” you say with a note of authority in your voice that sobers him.
He clasps his hands in front of him, a solemn pout twisting his little mouth. “Sorry, Papa.”
“Forgiven, hon.” Chris smiles. “I believe you have terms to fulfill?”
Matthew practically leaps off the bed, and your heart stops. That boy is going to give you a head-full of grey hair before he’s even a teenager.
“Nella!” he shouts, voice and stomps bouncing down the hallway. “Wake uuup!”
“He’s definitely got your vigor,” you tell Chris, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. “My mom says I was an angel, a true pacifier. You on the other hand, everyone says you were definitely the troublemaker.”
Chris follows suit, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. “Hey, I didn’t hear you complaining about my vigor last night.”
You pull a face as you slip on your robe. “You are too much, Evans.”
He chuckles and leans down to press a messy, wet kiss to your lips. “Love you too, Mrs Evans.”
Rolling your eyes good-naturedly, you follow him into the bathroom, and not even three minutes later, you hear the familiar footsteps of Matthew again, accompanied by Eleanor’s more subdued slow steps, the two barging into the bathroom with their own toothbrushes.
“Morning, Mommy,” Eleanor greets you, her voice soft and still sleep ridden, and stuffs her face into your clothed stomach.
You bend down to kiss the top of her head. “Morning, baby.”
Meanwhile, Chris is holding Matthew up to the sink to help him brush, leaning down to kiss Eleanor when she greets him too. Warmth spreads through your chest as you watch the three of them share the double sink, brushing their teeth. Matthew, with his foamy mouth makes loud monster “Rawr! Rawr!” sounds and Eleanor, more awake now, mimics him.
The bathroom fills up with their growling and roaring, and Chris’ laughter.
She brushes her teeth quickly to make more foam. “We need more laughter to power up the tanks, Matty! Gotta make Papa laugh louder!”
“I got this, Nella!”
Chris exaggerates his laugh, but it’s not much of an exaggeration, he really is enjoying this, just like you enjoy watching the three of them, even if they’re making a mess.
You finish your morning routine, and shaking your head, you clap your hands. “Okay, you three, come on, rinse and get ready or else no mermaid shirt, you hear me?”
Matthew pouts, flashing his doe eyes. “Okay, Mama.”
“Ooh, you two got in trouble,” Chris teases them.
Eleanor giggles. “You got in trouble too, Papa!”
“I did, didn’t I? All right, come on you lil monsters, help me with breakfast before Mama kicks us out.” On their way out, Chris kisses you and grins.
“I want choco chip pancakes,” Matthew shouts.
“With strawberries and sprinkles!” Eleanor adds.
“Lots a’ lots o’ sprinkles!”
You grab Chris’ arm before he heads out. “Oh, hey, before I forget. Ellie’s dance class is cancelled tomorrow, and can you pick up some groceries? It’s on the fridge.”
“Already done. I ordered it online last night, should be here sometime today.”
You grimace. “We’re supposed to be supporting the local grocers, remember?”
“I know, but it’s a hectic day. I’ve got meetings all afternoon.”
“Fine.”
He raises his brows, a smile twitching the corners of his mouth. “Fine?” He boxes you in against the sink, and you chuckle nervously, placing your hands on his chest. “That’s no way to talk to your devoted husband and loving father of your children.”
You kiss the center of his collarbone and nudge him. “You better get out there before all hell breaks loose.”
And by the miracle of timing, Eleanor’s squeal echoes down the hall. “Ouch! Matty, stop that.”
“No pushing!”
“Mom, Matty’s hitting me!”
“Mom, Nella’s being a poopy head!”
Chris rolls his eyes with an amused scoff. “Now who jinxed us?” He pecks you on the lips and speeds out of the bathroom with a quick, “This isn’t over!”
Shaking your head, you wipe down the mess they’ve made and get ready for work.
You’re in a meeting with your team when your phone starts vibrating in your pocket. Clearing your throat, you shift in your seat and continue to listen to your coworker’s presentation on the company’s biggest demographics.
A knocking on the door shifts everyone’s attention to the newcomer. The secretary pokes her head in and excuses herself, her eyes landing on you near the head of the table. “Mrs Evans, I’m sorry, but you have a call from the school.”
Without questioning, you stand and pack up your things. “Please, excuse me.”
Your coworkers, including your boss dismiss you with a smile. Your work friend promises to send you an email with all the details and you thank her. After getting the secretary to transfer the phone call to your office, you answer it, only to once more leave in a hurry, worry pulling on your heartstrings.
Thankfully, traffic isn’t bad and you get to Matthew’s and Eleanor’s school fairly quick. You park haphazardly and hurry into the main office. You find Matthew slumped into a seat, his mermaid shirt ripped from the sleeve and pulled loosely from the neck, dirt and grime all over it and his body.
You kneel in front of him and cradle his cheek. His puffy, red eyes meet yours, tears stuck to his long lashes and your heart breaks to see his little lips quivering. “Matty, baby, you okay?”
He leaps into your arms and you hug him tightly, cooing and rubbing his back affectionately as he sobs into your arms.
“Mrs Evans?”
With Matthew still in your arms, you look over your shoulder to see the principal with Eleanor at his side, her clothes dirty and roughed up, and blue eyes burning fiercely.
“Oh, Ellie.” You pull to your feet, and Matthew wraps his limbs around you.
“Mrs Evans, if you’d please?” Principal Lobo holds out his hand into his office.
You run a gentle hand over the top of Eleanor’s head and urge her back inside the musty room.
As he takes his seat behind his large desk, he gestures for you to take one of the two on the opposite side.
Matthew barely moves as you settle him in your lap, and Eleanor refuses to sit, instead stands by your left and clings to your hand.
“What happened?” you ask softly.
“She pushed—” Lobo clears his throat at the sharp glance you send him.
“I was talking to my daughter.”
Eleanor glances up at Lobo hesitantly before returning her gaze to where she’s fiddling with your wedding band. “They were teasing him, Mama,” she whispers, so quiet you have to strain to hear her. “They didn’t like his shirt and tried to get it off him.”
Matthew whimpers, and you rub a soothing hand up and down his back.
“Mrs Evans,” Lobo says, “if I may. A couple of students didn’t find Matthew’s attire appropriate. I know you don’t condone violence in your home, and neither do we accept this type of behavior in our school. I understand you’re busy, but I suggest you monitor more closely your son in the morning and speak with your daughter about fighting, to avoid this happening again.”
Fury burns in the pit of your stomach, and opening your mouth, you’re almost surprised a blazing flame doesn’t shoot out across the desk and burn that mustache right off his face. “Am I hearing correctly”—You clench teeth to keep your voice steady and even because god forbid he suggest you were being ridiculous or emotional—“that you’re putting the blame on my children? That you’re denying my son the freedom of expression? Because, what, boys wearing anything considered effeminate are expected to fear ridicule or violence?
“Those students violated him when they touched him without his permission. Anything my daughter did after to protect her brother is justified. I sincerely hope you’re not trying to tell me how to parent my children, just like I’m not telling you how you should be punishing the students truly in the wrong in this situation.”
“I…” Lobo blinks. “I promise you, Mrs Evans, I will be contacting their parents and letting them know of their children’s involvement in the scuffle, and yes—I apologize—I am…” He laughs choppily. “I’m afraid my wording was misconstrued, forgive me. Of course, your son—your children are free to wear anything within the limits of the school’s dress code. You have my word, the students responsible will be held accountable for their actions.”
“I would hope so. If not, I’m sure the school board would love to get involved and handle this personally,” you say, staring him down and Lobo blanches in response.
“I—I assure you, there will be no need.”
“And I believe you owe my children an apology.” He stares at you stupefied, you only raise an eyebrow and keep your voice from quivering from anger. “For leading them to believe they were at fault.”
“Right, yes, of course.” His apology slips from his tongue loosely, barely even glancing at each. He doesn’t mean it, you know that much, but the slight squeeze of your finger from Eleanor reassures you that it’s enough. For now.
You stand, and he scrambles up to open the door. “I’d like to be kept in the loop.”
“Of course, Mrs Evans.”
You spare him a glance as you walk past him.
Before you exit the main office, he calls out, “Have a good day! I mean, travel safely.”
The drive home is quiet, morose even. The kids are teary-eyed in the backseat, and even the Disney soundtrack you put on doesn’t lift their spirits. As soon as you park the car in the garage and help them out of their seats, they stick to you. You’re trying to figure out how to open the door into the house when it opens to Chris’ surprised face, which morphs into one of concern at the look of the three of you.
He opens his mouth, but before he can ask, you shake your head. Later.
The four of you head upstairs to their shared bathroom, and while Chris draws a bath, you inspect Matthew’s ruined shirt.
“I don’t think we can fix this, baby,” you say. “Maybe we can get you a new one?”
“I don’t want it anymore,” he mutters and promptly bursts into tears.
You quickly cocoon him in your arms, pressing kisses to his head repeatedly. Matthew pushes you away and starts clawing at his shirt, his sobs turning into desperate screams—they tug at your heart, tears pooling in your eyes at feeling so helpless. You don’t know what to do! You’ve never seen your baby so broken before.
Chris is quick to lift Matthew into his arms, holding him firm and still. “Hey, hey, buddy, come ’ere. I’ll help you out of the shirt, okay?”
Chris meets your eyes and you can see the worried curve to his brows. A whimper from behind you pulls you away from your locked gaze. Eleanor has her arms wrapped around her, baby blue eyes drawn to the tiled flooring of their colorful bathroom decorated with fish, dolphins and starfish.
You kneel in front of her, rubbing at her arms. “Ellie, honey, did they hurt you?”
She shakes her head.
“Are you sure?”
She nods again and you caress her blotchy cheeks.
“Listen to me, Eleanor. You did what you thought was right, okay? You protected your baby brother—“
“But I didn’t,” she whispers, the pain in her voice cuts through you, her eyes lifting to look at Matthew in Chris’ arms. “He still got hurt, Mama.”
“Oh, sweetie,” you pull her into a hug, trying to keep your tears at bay. “Let’s get you out of those clothes and into the bath. Is that okay?”
She nods and doesn’t fight you when you help her out of them like she usually does, claiming she’s a ‘big girl and can undress herself’. Matthew is already in the bath by the time Eleanor slips in and the bath time that is usually full of noise and laughter has been reduced to sniffles and worried stares.
He refuses to touch any of the mermaid toys he plays with during bath time, pushing them aside or throwing them out of the tub.
“Matthew,” Chris warns him a couple of times, but Matthew doesn’t apologize, he just sits there and lets Chris finish scrubbing him up.
While you’re shampooing Eleanor’s hair, Chris wraps a towel around him and carries him out after a quick pat dry. You make eye contact briefly as they leave, blue eyes desperately searching for the reason why he’s acting out—it’s frustrating him not knowing what’s happening.
“Is he gonna be okay, Mama?” she asks you, breaking the silence.
You bite your lip. “Of course, baby. He has us to cheer him up, isn’t that right?”
“Yeah, because we’re ohana.”
“Because we’re ohana,” you reaffirm, washing the suds out of her hair.
Helping her out of the tub and after a quick dry, you lead her out of the bathroom when you hear Chris’ soft crooning, your baby and him appearing at his bedroom door wearing the cowboy pajamas he’d refused to wear in favor of his Little Mermaid ones.
Eleanor scurries into her own room to change, and you lean against the doorway to watch your two boys and wait for her. His bedroom is just like any other six-year-old boys’; there’s a mess of toys and colors splashed across the floors and walls. The desk set up beside his bookshelf in the corner is cluttered with color pencils and drawings. Three guesses what they’re of.
She comes back out wearing mismatched pajamas of her favorite Disney characters again—never seemingly able to make up her mind as to who her number one is, unlike her brother. This time around she’s wearing her red and green Buzz Lightyear pajama bottoms and a purple Eeyore pajama top. She looks absolutely ridiculous, but completely adorable.
Chris is still talking to Matthew, who just stares at him, when she strides over to them and offers her little brother her hand. He takes it and follows her down the stairs, you and Chris following closely behind.
Eleanor takes him out into the backyard, where Dodger is lounging. It’s almost 1 PM, so you move to the kitchen and fix some sandwiches for the four of you, keeping an eye out. The old dog gets up as the kids approach, tail wagging sluggishly.
Chris has taken a seat at the island counter, fingers tapping away on the marble surface as you spread the peanut butter on the kids’ bread. “You’re killing me here.”
You tighten your grip on the knife. “Kids are dicks.”
He frowns. “Explain?”
“They atta…” You lose your breath as your nose pricks. “They attacked him because of his shirt. Ellie was there, but—God, you should’ve heard fucking Lobo. He blamed our kids, can you believe that?”
Chris rounds the counter and takes the knife out of your death grip before pulling you into a hug.
“These toxic gender rules,” you say into his shirt and pull away. “It’s these parents, teaching their kids to be afraid and small-minded.”
He soothes a hand down the side of your face. “My heart breaks for them, but there’s nothing we can do for those kids. What’s important is what we do with ours.”
You nod, frowning at the tattoo peaking out of the collar of his shirt.
“What happened with Lobo?”
You glare through him. “I set him straight.”
“I bet you did.” He grins lopsidedly.
Eleanor bursts through the doors. “Mama, Dodger needs a walk.”
Dodger hasn’t needed a walk in a few years, but glancing out at Matthew giggling in the grass with Dodger licking his face, you agree anyway. “After lunch, okay? Call Matty in.”
Chris helps you make the sandwiches, and you set them on the dining table in front of the folding glass door. After the exhausting day they’ve had, you hope they’re too full and tired to follow through with that walk, but Eleanor insists, dragging Dodger’s leash from the entry nook’s key hook.
When you were looking for a home for your family to settle in, Chris was adamant on finding one close to where he grew up so your kids could hang out in his favorite places. It took months, but you found a gorgeous craftsman bungalow in a Sudbury neighborhood where the houses are fenceless and the front lawns are a rainbow of gardens, toys and swingsets.
It’s a picturesque scene for your walk, and Eleanor leads you with her skips down the clean, smooth pavement with Dodger trotting along side Matthew not far behind. You and Chris bring up the rear, your arm looped through his.
They look adorable in their mismatch of pajamas, baseball caps and sneakers. Matthew tries to skip like his older sister, no doubt a concentrated frown on his face with his tongue poking out. As Eleanor does a sloppy pirouette, Matthew copies with clumsy stomps of his feet, tangling himself up the leash and knocking into Dodger.
He looks up at you with uncertainty, and you and Chris laugh. As Chris jogs ahead to help him out of the predicament, you keep on eye on Eleanor, who’s stopped at the edge of the footpath. By the time you reach her, she claims its her turn to hold the leash.
“Look both sides,” Chris says. “Left, right, and left.” They follow his direction, and after his okay, you all cross.
“I give it six more houses until one of them gets tired,” you murmur.
Chris chuckles. “After the day they’ve had? Four.”
A rush of wind hits Matthew, and his cowboy pajamas ripple along his frame. Your heart sinks. “He’s not wearing his mermaid pajamas.” For almost a year, he’s refused to wear anything else to bed as he curls up with Ari, the crochet mermaid doll that Chris found in the UK when Eleanor was a year old.
“I’m sure it’s fine,” Chris says. “Kids bounce back quickly. Besides, you’ll finally have a chance to wash it without all that whining.”
It’s when you’re circling back to your house that Matthew holds his arms up and asks Chris to carry him.
Later that night, you and Chris tag team the bedtime routine. While he’s saying goodnight to Eleanor, you’re doing the same with Matthew. Ari is cast to the side, tucked between the edge of the bed and the wall. You pick her up and set her against the headboard so she can watch over him.
He blinks sleepily up at you. “Mama, why can’t boys like mermaids?”
You smooth out his hair. “Boys can like mermaids, Matthew. Look at your Papa, he loves the Little Mermaid and so does your Uncle Scott.”
He sniffles. “But—but the boys at school said mermaids are for girls only.”
“Those boys don’t know what they’re talking about, baby. Everyone is allowed to like whatever they want, nothing—no matter what any other person says—is gender specific,” you assure him tapping his nose. “Besides, there are all types of them! And they are so cool! They can swim pretty fast and their tails are super strong,” you lean closer to him as if you’re about to whisper a secret and rub his tummy, making him giggle, “and some even have magic, can you believe it?”
“Mermaids are pretty cool,” he whispers back, a sparkle appearing in his eyes. “I want to swim as fast as a mermaid, Mama!”
“Well, what do you say to visiting grandma this weekend and we train in her pool, then? All of us? Together?”
“Yeah!”
“Yeah?”
He cheers excitedly and you laugh, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Can I wear my mermaid pajamas tomorrow?”
“Of course, honey. You can wear whatever you want.”
He reaches up, trying to take hold of Ari and you help him, handing it to him. He snuggles against her and closes his eyes. “Thank you, Mama. Love you.”
“Love you too, baby.”
You turn on his nightlight, his own little Flounder, and carefully slip out of his bedroom, leaving a sliver of the door open just in case. Chris is resting on your still made bed when you enter your bedroom. Even though there is still a lot to do around the house, you slip into his arms when he spreads them wide for you, wrapping your own around his waist.
“How was Matty?”
“Better, I think. He’s sleeping with Ari and he even asked if he could wear his pajamas tomorrow.”
He rubs your arm soothingly. “Told you he’d bounce back.”
You rest your cheek against his chest, squeezing him. “Yeah. But what if it happens again, Chris?”
“We’ll be right there to pick up the pieces again, babe. He’s not alone, he’s got us and Cinderellie looking out for him.” You hum absentmindedly, smiling. “Did you get a look at the other kids?”
“No, I didn’t see them at all.”
He groans. “Wish you had! Would’ve loved to know if our baby gave them all a black eye or a couple of bruises.”
You slap his chest and he laughs as he presses you tighter against him. “You’re impossible! But yeah, that would’ve been nice to see.”
“Hey,” he starts gently, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, “don’t worry about picking up the kids tomorrow, I’ll do it by myself.”
You bite your lip. “You sure? I know you were already picking them up, but—”
“Do what you have to do at work. I won’t let anything happen to them and I’ll follow up with Principal Lobo.”
“All right, just call me if something comes up and I’ll be there.”
He kisses your hair again. “I will.”
After a long day at work and going over what you missed yesterday, you finally get home two hours after the kids have been let out of school. Loud chatter pulls you towards the lively kitchen to find Matthew wearing a brand new mermaid shirt, Chris and Eleanor wearing identical ones. All three of them making a mess of the kitchen as they make dinner.
“What’s this?”
Matthew hops off his stool, running straight for you. “Mommy!”
You pick him up and he wraps his legs around your waist and arms around your neck, pressing a sloppy kiss to your cheek. “Hiya, Matty, loving your new shirt! Where’d you get it from?”
Eleanor wraps her arms around your waist and grins up at you. “Papa got them for us!”
You affectionately ruffle her hair and meet Chris’s proud graze. “Did he now?”
“Yeah, and I got one for you too.”
“Really? Then I should go change into it right now!” You let Matthew down, and he returns to the island beside Chris, climbing the stool to stand atop it.
Chris hooks a protective arm around him without looking up from stirring the pot on the stove.
Eleanor follows you upstairs toward the master bedroom.
“How was school, kiddo?”
“We learned about shapes today.” She climbs onto the bed and kneels on the edge. “I know squares and circles and”—her face pinches—“try-agles.”
“Triangles,” you say, changing out of your work clothes. “How fun!” You pull on a pair of sweatpants and the shirt; it’s deep purple with Ariel dabbing between the text ‘Mermaid Squad’. Chris must’ve washed it because it smells like laundry detergent.
“And then Papa came to my class!”
Your brows raise. “Oh?”
“Yeah, he was in the Captain America costume, and he said that mermaids are cool and people who pick on you because you like something they don’t are mean and he gave all of us a shirt—even Mr Collins.”
“That so?” you croak.
She giggles, bracing her hands on her knees as she leans forward. “And then Papa tried to put on the shirt, but it was too small and he looked really funny and everyone was laughing, but Papa wasn’t mad because he was laughing too. And then at lunch time, all the kids in Matty’s class was wearing it too, even the boys who was mean to him!”
“Wow.” You cup her little face in your hands and kiss her forehead. “Let’s go help the boys with dinner.”
“Koala?” After visiting the Hemsworths in Australia and visiting the Koalas in the zoo, they’ve taken to calling piggyback rides “Koalas.”
You turn and she latches herself to your back before you traverse back down to where the smell of dinner permeates the air. You instruct the kids to set the table, and while they go off to wash up, you wrap your arms around Chris from behind. “Busy day?”
He leans back into you. “You could say that.”
“You can take the superhero out of his costume, but you can’t stop him from digging it out to teach some kids a lesson.”
He chuckles. “Is that how the saying goes?”
You pat his abdomen, a little softer since having the kids. “It’s exactly how it is.” He turns in your arms, and you smile at him. “I thought you said there’s nothing we could do for those kids.”
“Nothing for little ol’ me or you. Had to call in the big guns.”
“Ah.” You squeeze his biceps and he laughs. “The big guns.”
A loud gasp from the bathroom interrupts, and you turn toward the sound.
“What’s going on in there?” Chris calls.
“Matty dropped the soap in the potty!” Eleanor says in her tattle voice.
Chris pinches his face, looking so much like Eleanor did earlier.
“It looks like a big poo!” she adds with Matty’s giggle following.
You laugh. “Good luck with that.”
With a sigh, he squeezes you and heads toward the bathroom. “Nobody touch it! I don’t know what you’ve been eating, Cinderellie, but that’s not what poop looks like.”
Their laughter and banter spill out, and you smile as you dish out dinner.
The meal is filled with ravenous and chatty mouths as Matty recalls his own experience with Captain America. There’s awe in his voice the way only Captain America can bring out—since the kids weren’t alive during the time Chris was filming, they’re more impressed by his ‘alter ego’ than the other casts members’ older kids who’ve been there, done that and bought the t-shirt.
With the dishes empty and stomachs full, the kids pitch in with the clean up, and Chris rewards them with some TV time.
“Bridge to Terabithia,” Eleanor announces, handing her dishware and utensils to Chris to place in the dishwasher.
“No, it’s scary,” Matthew says, pulling his face out of your grip as you try wipe the food stains with a damp dishtowel.
“It’s only scary for a little bit. Don’t worry, Papa will protect us.”
“I wanna watch Little Mermaid.”
Eleanor practically groans. “Again? No. Fox and Hound.”
“But Papa always cries.”
Chris sputters. “It’s sad!”
“All right.” You intervene with a chuckle. “What about High School Musical?”
It’s a crowd favorite, and everyone agrees.
“Mama, I want Ari.”
“All right,” you say on a sigh. You go up to retrieve the doll, and by the time you come back down, the opening scene is paused on the TV and they’re spread along the L-shaped couch in the living room.
You pause on the threshold, under the large archway.
It’s your favorite place in the whole house because it tells the story of your lives together through the pictures littered on the walls and in the giant bookcase. A picture of the first time Eleanor’s baby tooth fell out, the day you brought Matthew home, the yearly Disneyland trips, an adorable candid photo you took of Chris cradling Eleanor when she got a fever that kept you up all night. There are even a few older photos of you and Chris with the families you grew up with. A room full of memories, of both significant and cherished events in your lives.
Like today.
You hug the doll to your abdomen as Chris glances at you.
“You okay?” he asks.
You shake your head. “Today goes on the wall.”
Chris smiles.
You all squish together to get in view of his phone.
It’s not long before he’s posting the picture online for all of Twitter to see, and you receive the notification. With a fond smile, you look at it; Matthew is laying out on the shortest end of the couch, his head resting by Eleanor’s and in his arms is little Ari—Dodger laying faithfully at his feet. He’s pulling on the front of his shirt to show it off, a wide smile on his face, eyes looking away for that split second.
Eleanor has her right leg kicked in the air—practically smacked you in the face when Chris took the picture—while her other leg is spread on your lap, her foot resting on Chris’. She’s wearing a big grin that resembles her dad’s—all teeth and dopey, but absolutely adorable, and is shooting a peace sign at the camera.
You and Chris are huddled together, your head barely peeking out of Chris’ shoulder, you’re leaning against it, pressing your chin to give you more leverage to be seen over his wide frame, eyes crinkling at the edges. Chris is the same, but he’s wearing that same smile your little girl is.
Your shirts are all semi visible, theirs more than yours, and Matthew’s being the true star, but just in case Chris’ twitter audience didn’t know what was written on the shirts, he has captioned it with “Repping the #MermaidSquad! Teach your kids it’s okay to love what they love, and accept them for who they are!”
“This is cute,” you whisper to him, trying not to distract the kids from their movie. “We’ve done good, babe. You’ve done good.”
He chuckles, wrapping his arm around your shoulder—thumb grazing your forearm. “It’s a tag team effort, baby.”
“Yeah, maybe, but I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
He leans down and presses his lips against yours for a chaste kiss. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
Eleanor nudges your stomach with her toes, her pretty features distorted. “Ew! So gross!”
With a sneaky smile, you claw your hands and slowly creep them in her direction. “I’ll show you gross!” She squeals, kicking her feet to get closer to the end of the couch, but you follow and as soon as you’re close enough, you launch an all tickle attack and kisses that has her squirming.
“Help!” she yells between squeals and laughter.
Matthew, without wasting any time, jumps on your back and wraps his tiny arms around you as best as he can and yells, “I’ll save you, Nella! Papa, help!”
“I dunno, hon, I think Mama has the upper hand and winning is always a lot of fun.”
Before Matthew can scoot away from you and Chris, his dad has already trapped him in his arms, pressing kisses on his face and rubbing his beard all over. “No! Papa, no!”
Laughter fills the room and overpowers the movie long since forgotten. And it’s moments like this, where the four of you can laugh and talk so freely and genuinely, that you know your little family can get through anything. You’re aware that this won’t be the last time one of your kids get hurt for something they like or for being “different,” but they’re not alone—they have each other and you and Chris to be there and remind them of how special and amazing they are. This is the family you and Chris built together, afterall, and you’d be damned if you didn’t protect it.