Headstrong Like Us

by Krista Ritchie

  Arkham bounds out of the opened front door and vaults off the wooden porch. Tail wagging spastically, he circles my feet.

  “Watch it, furball.” I pop a bubblegum bubble.

  He barks and hops in zigzagging lines. Cute puppy. Needs more training. Will work on it.

  A cardinal hops across the yard, and Arkham scuttles backwards, letting out a meek bark. I’ve never seen a dog who’s more afraid of water and birds than this brown teddy bear.

  I grin, continuing my trek.

  And a six-foot-two force of nature emerges from the lake house. Dark-brown hair thick and disheveled, sharp jaw clean-shaven, and eyes as tough and green as the surrounding trees, Maximoff has an unbending stride.

  And he’s smiling.

  Empty-handed, he hikes down the porch stairs to unpack more shit from the car. We come closer, and I give my husband a blatant once-over.

  Maximoff pretends not to notice or care, but his smile grows.

  We pass each other, and I tell him, “Nice ass.”

  “I know.” His voice is pure confidence.

  I let out a laugh and glance back at him. “Still cocky.”

  He looks over his shoulder at me. And he must have a retort, but his eyes fall to the cases of water in my arms. “You need help?”

  Still precious. I’m not even breaking a sweat. Something burrows in my heart, and fuck, I live for these moments with him. I laugh into a wider smile.

  Maximoff promptly gives me a middle finger. “I retract my offer, by the way.”

  I raise my brows. “But my offer for you stands if you need help with the big ones.”

  Two middle fingers.

  I’m doing things right this morning. We walk further apart, and I climb the short stairs to the porch.

  “Da-da, da-da!” Ripley calls out, watching us unpack. We made him a comfortable spot on the porch in a rainforest-themed activity chair. And he can finally hold and drink out of a sippy cup without assistance. He shows off his yellow cup like he’s a big boy.

  I stop for a second, my lips rising. “Is that your cup, little man?”

  Ripley laughs and kicks his soft legs. He hoists the cup, mimicking how we’ve been carrying shit into the house.

  My eyes burn. Yeah, that gets to me. It’s one of the most adorable fucking things in the world, and I don’t just wonder about the future. I do the torturous, yearning thing and picture Ripley trying to imitate us, looking up to his two dads. Growing older.

  We’ll take him to swim meets or possibly baseball practice. Karate, football, or soccer. Hell, maybe he’ll be into music or art.

  His best friend will most likely be this “scaredy bear” dog, who Ripley makes grabby-hands at, and when he cries about the monsters under his bed, we’ll ease his fears and stay until he falls asleep.

  It’s bittersweet longing.

  After I drop the cases of water in the kitchen, I come back outside and squat down to our son. “Look how far you and I have come,” I smile and brush a caring finger across his soft cheek.

  He smiles back, two new teeth peeking from his gums.

  Maximoff is still at the car, unloading our stuff.

  I whisper to Ripley, “Just between us, I’m okay with you taking his side for the rest of our lives. I would too if I were you. He’s just that good.”

  Ripley giggles and sips his drink.

  I kiss his head, then rise again. Maximoff still wants more kids one day, and I do too. After a huge discussion with Jane and Thatcher, we all decided that it’s more likely we’ll have babies around the same time. So Jane wouldn’t be able to be our surrogate, but she’d give us her eggs.

  I’m grateful as hell, and I can imagine a time not too far away where our biological kids exist. It goes without saying, but for Maximoff, we’ll have to choose an egg donor, and we’ll still need to find a surrogate. But those details just fill me with want and desire for the future. Growing a family with the guy I love, there’s only happiness in that.

  I trek casually back to the car.

  We have the entire lake house to ourselves right now, but on our way here, we stopped at a grocery store. We packed our car to fucking capacity, and we weren’t shopping just for us.

  At the end of the week, most of the families are spending the tail-end of summer here. So we’re helping stock the house before everyone arrives.

  I lean on the trunk and watch him stack seven cases of Fizz Life in his arms. “You didn’t have to wait to carry shit just so I can see you,” I tease.

  Maximoff blinks hard into a glare. “For a second there, I forgot why I married you.”

  “You remember?” I chew my gum into a spreading smile.

  “Yeah.” He adjusts the soda cases for a better grip. “My brain rebelled against me and decided it sort of likes your irritating jokes.”

  “Sort of likes,” I say with a short laugh. “Where do you want to put that gold star for understating your love for me?”

  “In the trash.”

  I let out a long whistle.

  Maximoff struggles to leave the car and go to the house. Wanting this to last one more second longer.

  I know the feeling.

  My smile softens. “I’m not disappearing, wolf scout.” I lift my left hand, knuckles facing him. “I’m pretty much bound to you.”

  He eyes the black tungsten ring on my finger. His lips hike up in an overwhelmed, love-struck smile that skips my pulse.

  His Adam’s apple bobs. “Had no idea.” He exhales a breath, still smiling, and I stand off the car. Closing the distance, I run my fingers across his cheek to the back of his head.

  I kiss him lightly, teasingly. My smile against his mouth as he growls out, wanting more.

  His arms are full, and he can’t lead that into something rougher and longer.

  “See you in two minutes.”

  “I might be gone for a decade, man,” Maximoff says as he heads to the house with the soda. “I could fall into a portal or walk into a fucking wardrobe and discover Narnia.”

  I shake my head and chew gum. Such a dork. I return to the trunk. He unloaded our suitcases, and they rest against the tires.

  Before I reach for a bag of groceries, my ears pick up crackling gravel. Sounds like tires slowly crawling on a road. Coming closer.

  I stand straight and back up to see. My pulse speeds, and I train my eyes on the rustling trees and deserted gravel road.

  No one should be coming here. Not family, not security, and definitely not any fucking stranger. The location of the lake house is a mystery to the public. It’s been a secret for decades.

  I detach the radio on my waistband and unspool the mic cord. I fit the earpiece in and switch on comms. “Farrow to Thatcher.” I speak into the mic, radioing the Omega lead since he’s in charge of the positions of the men. Yeah, I read that fucking doorstopper rulebook front to back. “Is anyone making a pit stop at the lake house?”

  Comms crackle.

  And his strict voice fills the line. “Negative.”

  I move into action. “Maximoff!” I yell and sprint towards the house. Arkham jumps after me and barks little high-pitched puppy barks.

  Maximoff fills the doorway, scanning the empty road, then me. “What’s wrong?”

  “Get Ripley.” I run up the porch stairs. “Stay inside.”

  He’s already picking Ripley out of the chair. Not arguing about ensuring the safety of our son. He just does it.

  Right as Maximoff hoists our baby against his chest, a black SUV rolls along the gravel road.

  I block Maximoff.

  “Isn’t that…?” he trails off.

  My muscles loosen. “That’s a security vehicle.” I click my mic. “Farrow to Thatcher, are you sure security isn’t coming here?”

  His voice is in my ear. “Unless someone is lying, no one should be at the lake house but your family.”

  I hawk-eye the SUV, the vehicle crawling up beside our parked Audi. The ignition cuts off.

  “Who do you t
hink it is?” Maximoff asks under his breath.

  I shake my head, unsure.

  We don’t have long to speculate. The door swings open, and a pair of black boots touch the gravel. I skim the ripped jeans and an old Van Halen shirt and chestnut brown hair.

  That blue-eyed shameless motherfucker.

  I head down the porch. “Donnelly? What are you doing here?”

  He shuts the car door and stuffs his hands in his jeans. “I was in the neighborhood.”

  The lake house isn’t a place you leisurely drive by, so he’s full of shit.

  Maximoff still holds Ripley and follows me off the porch. “Everything okay, man?”

  “Yeah.” Donnelly watches Arkham chase his own tail. He looks up at me. “I think your mini-horse is broken.”

  I’d laugh, but I’m still confused as fuck. “You need a place to crash?”

  “Nah, I’m just stopping by.” He gestures to my chest. “Hey, you see the news lately?” His mouth lifts in a smirk.

  “I haven’t looked up anything.” I pry my earpiece out and wind the cord back around the radio.

  Maximoff stands more rigid. “What happened?”

  “Docuseries aired the car crash episode,” Donnelly explains to him. “Social media is obsessed with Farrow now. They’re saying you and him are a power couple, and Farrow cares about you in a selfless way. Which is what I’ve been trying to tell everyone.”

  I know Donnelly has been in a few Twitter fights with trolls who called me a controlling fame whore. To the point where Akara told Donnelly to suspend his Twitter account.

  The docuseries helped, and I didn’t really expect the show to sway even a fourth of naysayers. I did the docuseries to be closer to Maximoff and to share my perspective of our lives. It’s possible one day public opinion will spin in a worse direction. And I’ll have to be okay with that, and I know I will be.

  Because right now, I would’ve held my own even if the response was indifference or even more hate. But I can’t lie: knowing I’ll have a reprieve from the onslaught of comments like “you’ve ruined Maximoff” and “he should divorce you” does feel good.

  Maximoff is smiling.

  I inhale. “Damn.” I smile more too, clipping the radio back on my waistband, but confusion still knots my brows as I face Donnelly. “You drove all the way to the Smoky Mountains just to tell us that?”

  “Nah.” His eyes are trained on mine; a lot is in them. Years, an entire decade.

  Something happened.

  Is he in trouble? “Can I do anything for you?” I wonder.

  Donnelly shakes his head. “It’s time I do something for you.” He digs in his back pocket and slips out a folded stack of stapled papers. He hangs onto them for another minute. “You’re gonna ask what I did to make this happen, and before I give you this, I want to tell you that I’m alright. That’s all you need to know.”

  “Donnelly—”

  “That’s all you need to know,” he repeats with emphasis.

  My eyes sear and they roll halfway around the yard. I care about him, and I don’t love the idea that he did something stupid for me. But we’re also not the kind of friends who nag the hell out of each other. I reach for the papers. “Give them over.”

  “It’s just a copy.” Donnelly hands the stapled stack to me. “The lawyers have the real thing.”

  Ripley sips on juice while Maximoff sidles close to me, peering at the papers as I unfold them.

  My breath snags, caught on the words: Consent to Adopt. “I don’t understand.” I flip another page.

  Maximoff’s jaw falls slowly. “Is that Scottie’s signature?”

  I see the scribbled penmanship over the dotted line.

  “Yeah,” Donnelly nods. “The way the lawyers put it, he voluntarily terminated his parental rights over to the adults intending to adopt…which is you two.”

  It slams into me. An overpowering feeling surges and I can’t speak for a second. Maximoff shakes his head stiffly in disbelief.

  “How?” I choke out to Donnelly.

  “I visited Scottie a lot in prison since the guardianship.” He shrugs. “You know he never let you see him ‘cause my dad always talked you up and made you seem too smart. He wasn’t scared of me like that. After a while, he agreed to let you two adopt Ripley.”

  My eyes are on fire. I so fucking badly want to ask, what the fuck did you do to make this happen? And I know he’ll remind me that he’s alright.

  So I nod, gratitude pouring out of my eyes.

  He nods back, a smile rising, and we hug each other and hold on for a beat. A tear rolls down my jaw, and I whisper, “Whatever you did…you know I’m here.”

  “I’ll be alright.” Donnelly sniffs as we part, and he rubs the corners of his eyes. He’s grinning though.

  “Thank you,” Maximoff says so deeply that his sincerity actually causes Donnelly to take a staggered breath.

  “Glad I could do something,” Donnelly says into another grin and watches Ripley babble to himself. “He’s gonna have the best life with you two.”

  Maximoff says the unbelievable words, “We’re adopting Ripley.”

  I almost laugh into a fucking smile and then into tears. Looking at Maximoff, he smiles into that same shortened breath. What the hell, I’ve rarely felt this rushing elation, relief, and pure happiness all at once, and to share the same intense emotion with my husband is euphoric and flying me to the bright blue mountain sky.

  Maximoff curves his strong arm around my shoulders, and I cup the back of his head. And we look to Ripley and his baby-toothed smile.

  “He’s our son,” Maximoff says aloud.

  “And that’s never changing,” I tell him.

  Our eyes crash together, feeling the permanence. What we’ve hoped and desired and would’ve fought years for.

  It’s met us suddenly, quietly, and powerfully.

  We’re smiling and breathing. Existing together in this enormous world, and everything stills in a moment, in a second, at complete balance and harmony with him and me and our beautiful son.

  And this is it. This is our life. Absent of nothing and full of love, of that great, overwhelming something.

  49

  MAXIMOFF HALE

  I hike one of my favorite mountain trails with Farrow. Still on our honeymoon week. Summer wind breezes through the fir and maple trees, sunlight beating on the grassy slope, and I’ve done this hike near the lake house a gazillion times. More, even. And every damn time Farrow joins me, I’m highly distracted.

  Only today is different.

  Pieces of his jet-black hair caress his lashes, before he pushes the strands back—but it’s not just the hair. Or how he keeps my lengthy stride.

  Step for step up the incline.

  Straps are buckled across his chest, across mine too. But my backpack is just a normal backpack. A baby is seated in Farrow’s backpack-carrier contraption, and Ripley loves every second. He laughs as he bounces with the movement as we hike.

  I have trouble tearing my gaze away from Farrow and our son and the puppy that suddenly hops further ahead and out of sight.

  Farrow whistles and our dog runs back to us.

  I think a lot.

  I think about how today is my twenty-fourth birthday.

  I think about how I fear a life where I don’t grow old, more than I fear getting older. And more than anything, I want to grow old with him.

  With my husband.

  And our son.

  I think about them.

  I have a family. I have a family when I didn’t even think I’d fall in love. And we’re all together on a simple, beautiful day.

  My pulse is on an exultant ascent, bliss pouring through my veins as we reach the clearing on the ridge. We meet expansive views of the mountain range and bright blue July sky.

  A hawk slices through the air. “You see that bird, Rip?” I point.

  He gapes up at the world.

  You know Ripley Keene Hale as the seven-month-old ba
by to me and Farrow, my bodyguard-turned-husband. You’ve seen Ripley become attached to a yellow pirate parrot and be a little trooper in front of the media, and you love when all three of us are together. You’ve created Tumblr pages and fan accounts dedicated to our family.

  I know him as my son. He cries when both of his dads leave the room. He hates vegetables but loves most fruit, especially applesauce. When he’s sad, he likes when I rock him to sleep in my arms, and he acts like Farrow isn’t his favorite—but I know he loves him, like epic kind of love.

  Fair Warning: if you fuck with our son, we’ll wipe you from the face of existence.

  It takes me a second to look away from Ripley. But I sweep the sky one more time, breathing in the crisp air.

  And Farrow smiles over at me, a drop dead gorgeous one.

  My heart is so damn full. “You think Ripley will be more like you or me?”

  “Both.” He bites on a camelbak spout, lips quirked. “I have a feeling he’ll be headstrong like us.”

  “Yeah.” I smile. “I think he’s already there.” I eye Farrow more. My husband. Christ—my brain is never going to get over that. “Need a break?” I ask him and gesture to our baby on his back.

  “Not yet, wolf scout.” He’s still smiling. “I’m waiting for you to point something else out to our son.”

  I near him. “There’s the sky.”

  “Wrong thing.” He catches my hand, our fingers instinctively threading.

  I feign confusion. “Has to be the trees, then.”

  “Not your little trees.”

  I gesture to his chest. “Then it’s you. The guy who loves to irritate the fuck out of me.”

  “He already knows me, but good air-ball. Throw again.” His eyes stroke mine in loving affection.

  I know exactly what to point out. The significance of this place.

  And maybe I should say the words to Ripley, but in this moment, I can’t look away from my husband, our eyes already welling. “This is where we said I love you for the first time.”

  His smile stretches from cheek-to-cheek, and he holds my face with two hands. Breathing life into my lungs. I clutch the crook of his neck as Farrow whispers into a kiss, “And I’ll always love you, wolf scout.”