Work Text:
September 17, 2022
It’s Dodger jumping onto the bed that wakes Her, but before she even manages to get her eyes open, Chris is settling on the edge of the bed so that he’s on one side of her and Dodger is on the other. “Morning, Sunshine,” he says, grinning down at her as he curls a hand around her hip.
She manages an unintelligible groan, followed by a hoarse, “Uh uh, early. Still sleeping.”
Believe it or not, she actually is a morning person, roughly 50 weeks out of the year. But the first couple weekends into a school year? Well, she sleeps later on those days than she has since college. Between the week of teacher pre-service days before school starts, and the classroom preparation and lesson planning blitz in the week or so before that (and in the hours after the pre-service work days end), and then the long hours and adrenaline rush (and crash) of the actual first few weeks of school, she always feels like those first couple weekends aren’t good for anything other than catching up on much-needed rest. For so many years, she’d protected that time, preserved it. She was typically single, living alone, and it was easy. But when she did have a man in her life, she would make up excuses to avoid sleepovers or even late-night dates. Of course, this was somewhat complicated by the fact that her birthday always falls around this time, but she’s managed to make it work, typically by insisting that she has some lifelong tradition of ordering in pizza and watching a movie at home in her pajamas for her birthday.
Of course, at none of those points was she ever living with someone with whom she was in a real, deep, intimate relationship. (Sure, she’d had a roommate those first few years, but that doesn’t count.) Even though she was living here in Concord at this point last year and working at her current school, everything was a little different than it is now. For one thing, the school was still on a hybrid instructional model and the school year started out at a bit slower of a pace, just because everyone needed time to settle into the routine. But for another, she’d told herself that she was supposed to be a ‘grown up;’ she was living with a man - her fiancé - and she needed to suck it up and deal with having a career and a partner and not sleep the day away just because she went back to working full time.
This year … well. This year she’s been officially living here for over a year (almost long enough that she feels comfortable saying our house rather than Chris’s house) and they’ve been married for nine months, and she gave up on trying to be a mature, sophisticated, ‘put together’ adult about eight months ago, right around the time Chris looked at her and said, “Um, excuse me ma’am, but what did you do with my silly, happy, fun-loving girl?” He was teasing her about stressing over what she was going to wear to a dinner with his dad and his wife and some members of her family, the side of Chris’s family that she hasn’t spent nearly as much time with as she has with Lisa and the siblings and their families and significant others, but there was an obvious undercurrent of seriousness, even concern, under the question. At that moment she remembered that she’d always been unapologetically herself - silliness, occasional immaturity, insecurities and all - around him, and that was who Chris fell in love with, who he proposed to, who he married. So yeah, she continues to be aware of the fact that Chris has a very public-facing job and that the way she carries and presents herself will sometimes reflect on him and to make every effort to behave appropriately in those situations, but she is also aware that Chris knew her, the real her, well before they were married and that he loved her exactly as she has always been.
And who she’s always been is a woman who sleeps 10, 11, sometimes even 12 hours a night on the first couple weekends after school starts just to recover from the way she overworks herself in the weeks leading up to those days. But while Chris respected that last weekend, not only letting her sleep in, but also going out of his way to stay as quiet as possible while she was sleeping so as not to disturb her, he clearly intends to do no such thing today.
“No, no, Sleepyhead,” Chris chuckles as she pulls the covers up over her face. He grabs her hands where they’re wrapped around the top of the comforter and pulls her up to sit, scoffing and shaking his head when she falls forward so that he has to bear her weight and buries her face in his neck. “C’mon, it’s your birthday! ”
“And for my birthday I want to sleep,” she mumbles into his skin. She starts to slump back down into the mattress, but he wraps his arms around her and holds her to him.
“You’ll have a chance to nap, I promise. But I have plans for you. For us.”
She sighs. “Is there coffee?”
Chris chuckles. He knew this was where they’d end up. “There will be. And avocado toast,” he lowers his voice and turns until his lips move across the shell of her ear, “on the thick cut multigrain toast, with heirloom tomatoes.”
She shivers like he’s just said something irresistibly sexy. “You Door Dashed Haute?”
“Mm-hmm,” he hums, still right next to her ear. “And that’s why you need to get moving, so that your coffee will still be fresh and hot by the time you get to it.” He kisses her temple and pulls back to look at her, smirking as he does.
“Okay, fine,” she answers. She’s still being petulant - he’d expect (or want) nothing less - but he can see the sparkle coming to life in her eyes.
He leans in and kisses her quickly on the lips. “That’s my girl. Now go shower and get dressed, and by the time you get out the food should be here, and then we need to get on the road.”
“Where are we going?” She tries to keep her voice neutral.
Chris just shakes his head, almost like he’s disappointed. “Nice try.”
“Oh come on,” she whines. “How am I supposed to know how to dress, or do my hair, if I don’t know where we’re going?”
He pats her hip and starts the process of extricating himself from her. “Dress comfortably. And put your hair up, or braid it.”
“That’s all you’re gonna give me, isn’t it?”
“Yup.” Chris stands and moves toward the door. He whistles once and calls, “C’mon Dodge, she’s got work to do, she doesn’t need you giving her a reason to snuggle back down into bed.” Dodger jumps down and trots to Chris’s side. “Alright girly, the clock’s ticking on that food and coffee delivery.” She groans again, but there’s no heart in it. He knows she’s tired, but he meant what he said about a nap. And besides that, he also knows that once she sees everything he has in store for the day, it’s not going to matter how tired she is. He cannot fucking wait.
Almost 30 minutes later, after an almost too-hot shower and braiding her hair into two French braids and pulling on a pair of workout leggings and a long-sleeved t-shirt (mostly out of spite - she fully expects him to say that’s not exactly what he meant when he told her to dress comfortably), she makes her way into the kitchen to find him transferring food from her favorite cafe’s takeout containers onto their own plates. “Coffee?” She asks, and before she finishes the word he’s turning toward her, a paper to-go cup in one hand and a too-sexy smirk on his lips.
She takes the coffee and he grins as she holds it under her nose in both hands and takes a long, deep inhale. He looks her up and down then says, “You look good.”
She takes a careful sip of the coffee - it’s still warm but not hot enough to burn - and raises her eyebrows. “I’m in workout clothes.”
Chris shrugs. “So? You still look good.”
“And this,” she gestures the length of her body with the hand not holding her coffee cup, “is appropriate? For what you have planned?”
Dropping both hands to his hips, Chris purses his lips and makes a sucking noise through his teeth. Finally, he says, his voice deadpan, “We’ve been over this.”
“What?” She makes her eyes wide and feigns innocence, taking another sip of her coffee as soon as the word is out of her mouth.
“I’m not telling you anything. That’s the whole point of a surprise. Now, sit down and eat, before your avocado toast gets …” he makes a face, like he hadn’t fully thought this through before he started and now isn’t sure what to say. He settles on, “Soggy,” but it’s clear from his tone that he’s not thrilled with it.
She shakes her head at him and he shrugs, then she makes her way to the opposite side of the table. “Seriously, though,” she starts as she sits and he pushes her plate across the table, “is this okay?”
Chris nods and pulls out his own chair, sitting across from her. “Yeah. It’s perfect, actually.”
She looks at him a little skeptically for a second then finally gives in, picking up a fork and knife and digging into her food, cutting off one corner of the toast. She really did think he was going to take one look at her, roll his eyes and call her a smart ass, then suggest that she put on something just a little less casual, at least something she would typically wear in public for any purpose other than working out. Since he actually seems pretty serious about her current outfit being good, she can’t help but wonder if they’re going on a hike somewhere, something like that. And she loves hiking, and just being outdoors in general, she especially loves doing it with him and Dodger, but she wouldn’t expect him to make such a big deal out of it.
When she takes her first bite - thick, toasted, almost nutty seven-grain bread, perfectly ripe, creamy avocado, and those tomatoes that, she hates to admit, are the best she’s ever had, all topped with a drizzle of oil and vinegar and just a light sprinkle of red pepper - her eyes fall closed and a moan works its way up from her chest and through her throat. Chris is just watching her when she opens her eyes again, his own fork poised in mid-air.
“Well,” he says. “I thought only I could get you to make that sound.”
She lifts one shoulder. “You’re okay too.”
“Brat,” he says, and kicks her under the table before they both dissolve into laughter.
Several minutes later, as she’s finishing up her last couple bites, Chris stands to take his own now-empty plate to the dishwasher. “So,” he starts, turning to look at her over his shoulder, “are you pretty much ready to go?”
“Um,” she swallows and wipes her mouth with her napkin then takes the last drink of her coffee. She stands to bring her plate to him, but he turns when her chair scrapes across the floor and rushes to take the dishes from her before she can stand. He winks and bends to kiss her on the head, and she rolls her eyes even as she blushes and grins. “Yeah, I think so.” She sits back against the backrest of the chair. “Do I need to take anything other than my purse?”
“Nope.”
“Then yeah. I just need to grab my purse and put on my shoes and I’m good to go. Well,” she pauses, “I should probably pee first.”
Chris laughs. “You should definitely pee. You have a bladder the size of a walnut and you just downed that coffee.” She sticks her tongue out at him as she stands, and he returns the gesture before putting detergent into the dishwasher and closing it.
Chris and Dodger are waiting for her at the front door when she comes out of the restroom. She doesn’t say anything about it, because she adores Dodger and his company can only improve pretty much any outing, but the fact that Chris has him leashed up and ready to tag along really only supports her earlier thoughts about the whole surprise being a hiking trip. It still doesn’t quite make sense to her, since hiking isn’t exactly a ‘special occasion’ for them, but at this point neither does anything else. She’s just going to have to trust that he knows what he’s doing and that there’s a reason for all the secrecy.
“Alright,” she says as she slips her feet into her favorite walking sneakers and grabs her purse, “let’s do this.”
He grins and nods once, as if to say That’s the spirit and turns to pull the door open, holding it and sweeping his other arm to wave her through. “After you, Birthday Girl.” She pauses just long enough to push up onto her toes and press a quick kiss to his lips, then makes her way to the car with Chris and Dodger close behind.
They’ve barely been in the car for 10 minutes when they turn onto a road in Bedford that she knows doesn’t lead to any hiking trails, or any other outdoor recreation that she knows of. In fact, the only thing she does know out this way is -
“Chris, this is the road to the airport.”
“Huh,” he says, his eyes fixed resolutely on the road in front of them. “Imagine that.”
“What are we doing, Chris?”
He doesn’t take his eyes off the road, but he smirks. “You tell me, since you’re so smart. I mean, you seem to have things all figured out.”
It’s not like she actually expected him to fess up to anything, but still. She had to try. She crosses her arms over her chest and watches the scenery pass by until they pull into the small airport’s parking lot. Even though she already knew there was really nowhere else out this way that they would be going, she’s still somehow a bit surprised when the car rolls to a stop and he turns off the engine.
Chris turns to grin at her, wiggling his eyebrows, then gets out of the car without a word. He lets Dodger out of the back and makes his way around to stand behind the car. By the time she joins him, her purse slung over her shoulder and across her chest, he’s pulling two bags out of the trunk.
“Is that my overnight bag?”
“Yup,” he answers as he shuts the lid. Her face must broadcast her worries, because he slings her bag onto his shoulder then reaches to squeeze her hand. “We’ll be back tomorrow afternoon, I promise.” She doesn’t want to be a party pooper or spoil his surprise, but the idea of going somewhere overnight on a school weekend without having planned for it in advance makes her more than a little anxious. She just really likes her routine, likes being able to go through her Sundays, in particular, in a certain way to ensure she’s prepared and not too tired when Monday rolls around. And it’s still early enough in the school year that she’s not drowning in at-home work like she will be when the end of the quarter arrives, so that’s a plus, but it still makes her antsy to think of missing her Sunday rituals. Chris can obviously tell that she’s not totally sold, because he uses his hold on her hand to pull her closer until he can drop his forehead to hers. “You trust me, yeah?” he asks. She nods. “Then believe me when I say that we’ll be home at a more than decent time tomorrow, and there won’t be anything you need to do other than settle in and enjoy a nice afternoon and evening at home with me. You said you finished your grading last night.” It’s not a question, but he pauses, so she nods anyway. “Okay. And I’ve got dinner and the household stuff covered. So you’re good. Just enjoy this. Please.”
She tilts her chin up so that she can kiss him, chaste but lingering, then takes half a step back. “Okay. Let’s do it.”
Chris smiles and leads her and Dodger, his hand still wrapped securely around hers, into the airport. She’d never been in this kind of airport before she and Chris got together - one with no gates or terminals, just a single counter with one employee behind a computer, one with almost no commercial jets, just a handful of private ones and several even smaller prop planes. This isn’t what they do every time they travel, but it’s what they’d done during most of the pandemic quarantine time, to protect both themselves and others by avoiding commercial flights. That’s not so much of an issue anymore, but she guesses he has his own reasons for taking the private route this time, probably all centered in some way on the fact that it’s her birthday.
“Hey there Mr. Evans,” the older woman behind the counter says kindly.
“Hey back, gorgeous.” He winks at the attendant and she blushes, even though she’s probably closer to Lisa’s age than to theirs.
“Always the flirt,” she teases, waving him off. “Your pilot is expecting you, you can go on through.”
“Thank you, Evelyn.” He gives her his sweetest smile. “You have a great day, and give that new pup an extra treat tonight from Dodge and me.”
“You know I will, honey. Oh,” she adds as they pass the counter, “happy birthday, Mrs. Evans.”
“Oh. Thank you, ma’am.”
“Now sweetheart, I’m gonna let that one pass, since I know you’re from the south, but you call me ma’am again and we’ll have problems. Understood?”
She giggles and nods just once. “One-hundred percent.”
“Good. Now you three get out of here.”
They make their way across the open building and out the back doors so that they’re standing on the asphalt looking out across the small tarmac and runway. There are a few planes off to one side, unattended, but there’s one almost cartoonishly small jet nearly directly in front of them, the door on the side opened downward so that the stairs on the inside of it lead up into the interior of the plane. The pilot stands a yard or so from the stairs, smiling at them with his hands behind his back.
“Mr. Evans,” he calls, “I was so glad to hear from you again!”
“Hey man, what can I say? I’m a loyal guy! You keep showin’ up for me and I’ll keep calling.” Chris reaches out to grab the pilot’s hand and pulls him into a one-armed hug, clapping him a few times on the back of the shoulder.
She’s met the pilot a couple times, on flights they’ve taken together - like the one Chris arranged to get her to Massachusetts when Covid first hit - but really they haven’t flown together all that much, it’s been more of one of them going to meet the other (aside from their honeymoon, which had been too far for a plane like this and had therefore been a commercial flight).
As the two men separate, the pilot turns to her and gives her a smile and a small bow. “Ma’am. Happy birthday.”
“Thank you,” she says, returning his smile.
He just nods as if to say No thanks necessary then steps aside and turns a little, gesturing with one arm toward the steps of the plane. “Well, if the three of you are ready, I am.”
“I think we’re good,” Chris answers for them.
“Alright then, let’s do it.”
They board the plane via the lowered steps, Dodger leading the way, and make themselves comfortable in the plush leather seats as the pilot closes the door. There are quiet noises - a few clicks and pops, the sound of another door opening and closing on the opposite side of the plane, then a speaker crackles to life over their heads. “I’ve already done all my pre-flight procedures,” the pilot’s voice informs them, “so we’re ready to roll. If you guys will just buckle in for me, we’ll take off, and I’ll let you know when you’re good to move around again, help yourselves to some refreshments, all that. It’ll take us about 20 minutes to hit our cruising altitude, and the whole flight should take between an hour and a half and two hours, depending on what kind of headwinds we hit. Until then, make yourselves comfortable.” The speaker crackles again and he’s gone.
All the seats on the plane are singles (and there are only eight of them) and she and Chris sit facing each other with a table between them that Dodger has curled up under, his chin resting on Her feet. She rests her forearms on the table and leans forward a bit, tilting her head to one side and raising her eyebrows. “Refreshments?”
Chris grins. He reaches to the wall beside them and opens a lid that she didn’t realize was there. She has to lean over a bit to see the bottle of champagne, the smaller bottle of orange juice, and the bowl of halved strawberries. “And the one on your side has the glasses.”
“Chris,” she sighs, a lump forming in her throat. “I don’t … this is … you’re too much.”
“How can you say that when you don’t even know where we’re going?” And of course, cheeky bastard that he is, he smirks.
“That’s part of my point! All of this, the flight, the champagne, the surprise, I don’t even have words.”
“Good. Just sit there and enjoy it, and the second he gives us the all clear you grab those glasses and I’ll pour us a couple drinks - only one for me, though, I’ve got some driving to do once we land - and I promise I’ll only ask you about upgrading our mile-high-club membership once. Maybe three times.”
Her face instantly feels like it’s on fire, even though there’s no one else who could have heard him. She would kick him under the table if her feet weren’t weighted down by 50 pounds of dog. She settles for rolling her eyes and shaking her head before turning to look out the window.
True to his word, the pilot sets them down after almost exactly 90 minutes in the air. Unfortunately for her, Chris had reached over after about the first 45 to close the shade on their window (which was when she noticed that all the others had been closed the whole time) and gave her a look that said I dare you to try opening it, so she still has no idea where they are until they step off the plane.
Chris has a conversation with the pilot that she guesses covers things like plans for their return trip, payment, other logistical topics, but she hears none of it because she’s staring at the words on the building in front of her and trying not to cry. She doesn’t even realize the men have stopped talking until Chris’s hand comes to rest softly on her lower back and he leans to whisper in her ear, “Surprise,” before kissing her temple.
“Chris,” she manages. Then, “Why are we here?” It’s not a complaint, and she knows he’ll know that. But she also knows he didn’t bring her back to Virginia just to take her to an old favorite restaurant or brewery. There’s something more going on here. Instead of telling her what that is, though, he wiggles his eyebrows. “Chris,” she whines.
“Come on,” he says, pressing a wet kiss to her cheek and dropping an arm over her shoulder. “We’ve got a car waiting for us.” He leads Her (who leads Dodger while he carries her overnight bag in his other hand) toward and then through the small airport building, not unlike the one they left behind in Bedford. And sure enough, when they come out on the other side, there’s a dark Ford-something in a parking spot right up front with a piece of paper taped to the windshield that reads, simply, ‘Evans,’ and the keys in the console.
She wonders to herself, just for a split second, how she’ll ever repay him for the things he does - things like this, like his ridiculously perfect proposal, like bringing her up to stay with him during the beginning months of the pandemic, and the countless Valentine’s-Christmas-birthday-just because surprises in between. But almost as soon as the thought forms, it’s chased away by another, one that reminds her that he doesn’t want to be repaid. This is the way he loves, and he simply wants her to love him back. With equal force, of course, and fierceness, and loyalty, but in the way she loves, not trying to mimic the way he does. And she loves with gentle words and soothing gestures after a long day and the little things that say I see you and that just make life a little bit more pleasant, things like picking up a six-pack of his favorite beer when she knows he’s having a bad day, or week, things like saving a new show that she knows he’ll love on their Netflix or Hulu or Apple account so that it’s the first thing he sees when he logs in while she’s at work, or when she goes to bed earlier than him. She loves by loving his family, and Dodger, just as much as if they’d always been her own. They love differently, but with the same level of devotion, and passion, and sometimes reckless attraction and desire.
Once he has the key in the ignition but before he’s turned it, as Dodger’s still spinning in circles and pawing at the backseat to make himself comfortable, she twists in the passenger seat to face him and reaches with both hands to cup his cheeks between her palms. It only takes a gentle tug before he leans in, meeting her over the console. She sighs into the kiss as their lips meet and his hands find her ribs. It’s one of those kisses that builds - that starts sweet, a Thank you, I love you without words, then slowly becomes tongues sliding over one another and teeth nipping at lips and pulling and fingers curling into hair and around fabric. It’s a kiss that might turn into more if they were somewhere different. Or maybe not. Sometimes, they just kiss, and it’s no less satisfying than if it were to lead to more. Finally, Dodger huffs in the back seat and they pull apart slowly, with a series of quick, soft kisses, each lighter and more chaste than the last, until finally there’s space between them - a hair’s breadth, really, but space nonetheless - and he brushes the tip of his nose along hers before pulling back the rest of the way.
“That was nice,” he says, and she nods, slipping her hand out of his hair and back onto his jaw so that her thumb can drift softly over his lips.
“Thank you,” she whispers. And she’s not even fully sure of what she’s thanking him for yet, but she knows there’s going to be plenty.
He holds her hand on top of the console as he drives, and they sing along far too loudly - and off-key - to the radio as they speed down the interstate with the windows down. Honestly, if this was all they were doing, here or back home, she would have no complaints. She’s never felt as comfortable just being with anyone as she does with him, or so fully free to be her whole self. She throws her head back as she laughs when he lifts their hands to sing into them like a microphone and he hoots at her when she shimmies in her seat. It’s silly and immature and totally free. It’s possible she’s never been happier - until tomorrow, when, if history serves, she’ll be just a little bit happier than she is now. She’s not sure how long they can keep up this trend, but she’s going to take every day for the blessing that it is while she can.
When Chris begins to shift the borrowed car across the lanes toward an exit she recognizes all too well, she’s pretty sure she knows where they’re headed. Still, she doesn’t comment on it until another five minutes or so have passed and they’re pulling into a gravel parking lot. “You’re a sap, you know that?” she says, shaking her head fondly and not bothering to hide her grin. He’s brought her back to the beach they visited the first time he ever came to see her in Virginia, where they ate fantastic seafood and walked barefoot on the warm sand sharing bits and pieces of themselves with one another.
“And that’s why you love me,” he answers, then turns to open the car door and slide out. By the time she’s caught up to him he already has Dodger out of the back seat and is letting him sniff the gravel around them. They meet at the back of the car and he slides his arm around her back, his hand curled around her hip. “Can you believe it’s been three years?” he asks, referring to the first time they were here together.
She shakes her head before dropping her temple to his shoulder. “I know. Sometimes it feels like I was just in Boston with the kids, meeting you for the first time as just a starstruck fan, and other times it feels like you’ve always been a part of my life.” He just hums and turns to press a kiss to the top of her head as they make their way up the steps that lead to the sea wall. “You’re the best part of it,” she adds, so quietly that she would believe him if he said he didn’t hear her. The way he squeezes her hip tells her he did, though.
They walk a slightly meandering path down the sea wall, letting Dodger’s nose lead the way, until Chris stops them without warning. She looks up at him and he’s looking out over the beach, grinning. “What?” She asks, then turns her attention in the same direction. When she sees what he’s looking at, she gasps.
There’s a folding table, its legs driven down into the sand, covered with food, paper and plastic dishes and cutlery, and a large white box that is almost certainly from a bakery, a Happy Birthday banner hung over the whole thing by two small wooden posts stuck into the sand at either end of the table. But more importantly, behind the table, their faces just visible below the banner, stand Abby, Lana, Jade, Braylen, and Wayne.
“Chris,” she whispers, her voice shuddering and tears threatening to spill over her lashes.
He pulls her a little closer and ducks to whisper against her temple, “They missed you.” She looks up at him with wide, wet eyes and he winks. “Well,” he says after a couple seconds, “go on.” He nudges her forward with the hand on her hip. “It’s not like they’re here to see me.”
And that’s what breaks her out of her minor stupor, because they absolutely are there to see him, at least somewhat. And she can’t even be mad about it. She turns and presses up onto her toes to kiss him before spinning and taking off, jogging, toward her kids. They scramble out from behind the table so that by the time she gets there, they’re ready to close her into the middle of one big group hug.
“Oh my god, I’ve missed you all so much!” She tells them as they all finally start to break apart.
“Well that’s because you abandoned us,” Wayne says, rolling his eyes up to the sky as he turns and grabs a chip out of a bowl on the table then pops it into his mouth.
She plants both hands on her hips and raises her eyebrows. “Excuse me, every one of you left this town before I did, so I don’t want to hear it.” Wayne only shrugs and continues chewing.
“Anyway,” Jade says, then throws her hands up into the air, “happy birthday!”
“Thank you.” She smiles warmly and squeezes the two hands that have slipped into hers, not even 100% sure whose they are (except that they are definitely not Wayne’s, since his are both occupied with the food, or Jade’s, still thrown over her head).
Braylen moves to gesture toward the table. “We’ve got drinks, and snacks, and over there,” she points a little farther down the sand, “we have a blanket and towels and a couple frisbees. And,” she draws the word out, turning toward the table then back to the group, a couple of whom are now holding the large box, “birthday cake!” Abby opens the lid to reveal a simple but beautiful cake, round with pink and lavender flowers around the edge and cascading down the sides, the words Happy Birthday Mom! written across the top in a cornflower blue. There’s something about the style of it, and even the texture of the frosting, that looks familiar.
“Is this -”
“Yep,” Abby answers. “Hayden’s mom.”
Hayden had been another student, a couple years older than the group here with her now. Still, even with the slight age gap, they’d all been in the theatre program together for a time. And during that time, Hayden’s mom had been working incredibly hard to start a small baking business - something they all benefited from regularly as her ever so willing taste testers. From the beginning, her cakes and cupcakes had been some of the best She’d ever eaten, and they only got better and more beautiful over time. The fact that the kids got her one of those cakes, rather than just going to a store, adds just one more special touch to an already incredible surprise.
“This is amazing. All of it. Chris,” she turns to call for him over her shoulder, but somehow without her realizing it, he and Dodger have made their way down the beach. Chris is almost right behind her with Dodger investigating the sand around his feet.
“Yeeees? ” he drawls, smirking. She swats his stomach with the back of her hand then curls the fabric of his shirt into her palm to pull him close. He settles at her side with his hand resting at the small of her back.
“Look at this cake.”
“It’s beautiful.” His palm smooths up and down her spine.
“And just wait until you taste it. Even her icing is perfect.” That’s the highest of compliments, coming from her, since she’s typically one to scrape all the buttercream off a piece of cake and eat it plain. This woman’s cakes, though, there’s just something about them. The icing is creamy, and smooth, and not too sweet - it really is perfect.
Chris raises his eyebrows and nods, like he understands what a big statement that is. “Well in that case, I can’t wait.” He gets as far as kissing the side of her head before the kids can no longer contain themselves and begin peppering him with questions, attacking Dodger with pets and kisses, and rushing to fill Her in on every minute detail of their lives that she may have missed since the last time they all talked (which was only a few weeks ago, just before Her school started).
They spend the whole afternoon that way - laughing, eating, throwing a frisbee down the beach (and once accidentally into the water) to watch Dodger chase after it. It’s the best day she could have imagined. She can count on one hand the number of times she’s had Chris and her kids with her at the same time, and it’s … it’s everything. It’s love, and joy, and family. And she knows her ‘kids’ are growing up and this might be one of the last times they’re all together like this and that it won’t be long before they stop thinking of her as their second mom and start remembering her instead as ‘just’ a teacher and mentor. And the thought makes her a little sad, of course, but it also makes her proud of their growth and accomplishments, proud to see them becoming more and more independent, and she knows this is just the way life goes, the way it should go. She also knows that she and Chris will start working on kids of their own before too long, that their world will begin to revolve around the babies they make. And that’s a wonderful, beautiful thought. But for now, this is the family she has, the family she’s chosen, and to spend her birthday with all of them is the best gift she could ask for.
By about 5:30, Chris, Dodger, Abby, and Jade are still going strong, but Braylen and Wayne are lounging on a towel, soaking up the late afternoon sun as it lowers behind them, and She’s settled comfortably in a low chair next to Lana. “How are you feeling about going into your junior year?” She asks the younger woman.
Lana takes a sip from her water bottle and nods. “Good. All my classes this semester are major-related, so I’m pretty excited about that. It’s cool to have all my gen-ed out of the way and get to focus on what I actually want to do.”
“Oh yeah, the actual school part of college is definitely a lot more fun once you get to that point.” They both laugh. “And how’s your mom?”
“She’s good.” Lana’s always bright smile grows even wider. “She’s getting married in a couple months. I’m so excited for them.”
“That’s awesome!” For the first two years that Lana had been in her theatre program in high school, She’d assumed her mom was married. Lana had even called her mom’s then-boyfriend her step-dad, and always spoke highly of him. She was surprised to find out that they weren’t actually married, or even engaged, at the time, but She learned long ago that families come in all different shapes and sizes and that all that really matters is love and respect, and both of those things very obviously existed between all three members of that family. Still, Lana’s clearly happy about the upcoming marriage, which means her mom and step-dad must also be happy about it, so she’s happy for them.
“It really is. And I mean, she and Adam have always been happy together, and I know they don’t need to get married or whatever, but, I don’t know …,” she trails off and shrugs.
“Hey,” She reaches across the small gap between their chairs and rests her hand on top of Lana’s where it sits on the armrest, “there’s nothing wrong with not getting married. But there’s also nothing wrong with wanting to get married, or with being happy when people do.” She squeezes the younger woman’s hand, and Lana turns hers over to squeeze back.
Without letting go of Her hand, Lana goes on. “Well, I am happy for them, just like I was for you. And I’m happy for me too, because both of my moms are in awesome relationships with two of the best men in the world and seeing both of you in such a good place just brings me so much joy, and hope.”
“Oh sweetie -”
“You are happy, right?”
She actually coughs out a laugh at the question. “Are you kidding me? Look at him.” She nods down the beach toward where Chris holds the frisbee high above his head while Dodger jumps around his feet, laughing at something Abby’s just said and calling for Jade so he can throw the disc to her.
“Umm,” Lana splutters, and when She looks over at her, her cheeks are pink in a way that She’s pretty sure has nothing to do with the sun.
“Oh sweetheart.” She laughs and lets her chin fall to her chest. “That’s not what I meant. I just mean … how could I not be happy with someone so incredibly good, someone who makes such a point to prioritize the things and the people that are important to me? I don’t know what all you guys did behind the scenes to make this day happen, and I’m not sure I want to. I’ll just feel guilty. But what I do know is that he has no reason to be here,” she spreads her arms wide, indicating that she means ‘here’ in the larger sense, not just this stretch of beach, “other than because being with you all makes me happy. Please, don’t ever worry about me. I’ve found my joy, you just focus on yours, in whatever way it comes every day.” Lana squeezes her hand again and inches her chair closer until she can drop her head to Her shoulder.
Over the next hour or so, the kids all start to trickle off, citing promises of dinners with family and friends, or the need to do laundry tonight before having to get up and head back to school in the morning. Once they’ve waved the last of them off to their cars and they’ve disappeared over the sea wall, Chris drops onto the sand, on the blanket the kids left behind. He sits on his butt and opens his legs, digging his heels into the sand and bending his legs up at the knees. “C’mere,” he says, patting the blanket between his legs.
She lowers herself to the ground - much more gently than he had - and leans carefully back against his chest. She doesn’t want to put all her weight on him, but she does want the connection between their bodies. Chris reaches for her hands where she rests them on his knees and she lets him lift them, his thumbs running over her knuckles while his fingers slot between hers, then trace her palms, then run up and down each of her fingers individually. Her head falls back onto his collarbone and her eyes drift closed.
“Have you had a good day?” he asks, his voice low and smooth right in her ear. Eyes still closed, she smiles and nods. “Good enough to make it worth having to get out of bed?” She chuckles under her breath and nods again. “Good.” He turns to kiss her temple. “Happy birthday, sweet girl.”
“Thank you,” she says. “For everything.” She tilts her head as far back as she can and turns until she can press her lips to the soft skin at the side of his neck.
“You ready for dinner?” he asks, his lips moving over her hair, then he laughs when Dodger’s head shoots up. He shakes his head at the dog, who blinks back at him for a few seconds before giving up with a huff and inching closer to rest his chin on his lady-human’s leg where it’s stretched long in front of her.
She smiles softly when she feels the weight of Dodger’s head on her shin. “Did you make reservations somewhere?” There are very few places around here that require reservations, but there are some that accept them, especially on a Saturday night.
“Uh,” Chris chuckles a little self-deprecatingly. “Not exactly. The kids mentioned a seafood place around here everyone loves that only does take-out? Apparently they’re really popular at some festival that’s big here?” Her eyes stay closed but she smiles a little as she nods, and he breathes a sigh of relief. “I was thinking we’d go pick something up and take it back to our Airbnb, if that’s okay. Or even one of the breweries around here you like.”
She hums. “That’s perfect. But in that case, can we maybe hang out here a little longer?” Finally, she opens her eyes and shifts until her head is barely at the edge of his shoulder and she can look over at him.
Chris releases her hand and reaches up to brush a few strands of hair behind her ear where the ocean breeze has blown them across her face. “You’re the birthday girl, we can do whatever you want.”
After blinking up at him for a second, she smirks and lifts her now-free hand to beckon him closer with one finger. He lifts an eyebrow, like he’s skeptical, or doesn’t understand what she wants, but he can’t keep a straight face for long and after only a couple seconds he tilts his head down to give her the kiss she’s asking for. Without consciously deciding to do so, she lifts her hand to rest on his jaw, her thumb drifting over his cheek as his lips move over hers. For his part, Chris moves his own hand from where he’d rested it on his knee when she slipped hers free from it and winds his arm around her waist to hold her close as he pulls gently at her bottom lip with both of his own.
When they finally part after what could be a few seconds or several minutes, the lapping of the waves on the shore and Dodger’s rhythmic breathing doing nothing to help mark the passage of time, Chris presses his forehead to hers, smiling, and whispers into the small space between them, “Happy birthday, sweetheart. I’m so fucking glad you were born.”
“Thank you,” she answers quietly, “for today, and just for … for being the culmination of every birthday wish I’ve ever made.”