by Ellie Wade
He smiles toward me. “I just wanted to say a few things, if I could. I know that you’ve been grown and independent for a while now, Amy. But, no matter how old you get or what you accomplish, you’ll always be my baby girl. And it’s an … interesting feeling when your baby girl gets married. On one hand, I’m so happy because you’ve found someone to spend your life with. Then, on the other, it’s a little sad because my heart knows that I’m no longer the most important man in your life.”
He swallows, and his eyes brim with tears. “Yet it’s been a privilege to raise you. I couldn’t be happier about the woman you’ve turned out to be. You’re kind and compassionate. You’re as beautiful on the inside as you are on the outside. You take in everything around you and appreciate it. I can’t tell you what a gift that mindset is. We’ve been lucky as a family, financially. But, truthfully, the items you own, your house, your material wealth—none of those things will ever make you happy. True joy comes from experiencing life with the ones we love. I have no greater wish for my girls than for you all to find the right person to share your life with.”
He looks to Landon and then to Jax and Lily and back to me. “I can honestly say that it’s a little bittersweet when your girls lose their last name for another. But the fact that you’re now a Porter and your sister will soon be one as well makes me happier than you can imagine. It’s so fitting really. It’s an honor to call you my son now, Landon. I’ve always seen you as family, and now, it’s official. We’re truly blessed.”
My dad lifts his wine glass. “So, I’d like to make a toast to Amy and Landon. May your life be filled with love, laughter, and happiness … always. Cheers.”
“Cheers.” We all clink our glasses together.
“Thank you, Dad. That was beautiful,” I tell him.
“Yeah, it was lovely,” Kiki agrees, her voice carrying an air of sarcasm. “So, the Porter boys are taken, and there’s no one else in sight. I’m feeling great about my prospects.” She huffs out a laugh. “I feel like there was an underlying message to that toast, Dad.”
Various laughter sounds from around the table, amusement toward Kiki and her silliness evident.
“You’ve got time,” my mom tells my sister. “You’re young.”
“You know they say that most people meet their spouse in college or at work. All of my coworkers are women. So, the pickings aren’t great.” She pouts her bottom lip out in an exaggerated fashion.
“There’s always online,” Jax suggests with a smirk.
Landon addresses Keeley, “Well, Kiki, the most important thing to remember is that today is about me. And Amy.” He throws my name in as an afterthought. “So, let’s focus on that, shall we?” he jokes, nudging his arm against hers.
We all laugh again, and it feels incredible. One of my favorite things about our families is the chemistry we share. Our time spent together is never boring. I always leave our gatherings feeling as if I just completed two hundred crunches. A good night is one where one’s stomach muscles and cheeks hurt from laughing so hard.
And, now, I know that I’ll always share this with Landon. He and I are in it for always, and that’s pretty amazing.
A barrage of clinking starts as everyone taps their silverware against their glasses, chanting, “Kiss. Kiss.”
I grin and look to Landon, and his gleaming smile meets mine.
Then, I kiss my husband.
And it’s perfect.
Landon
Five Years Later
Awesome new client.
Dad’s false alarm.
My beautiful wife.
My heartrate accelerates as I maneuver my truck down our lengthy driveway. The closer I get to the house, the more nervous I become.
Today is the day.
Amy and I purchased this beautiful home out in the county, a twenty-minute drive from the city of Ann Arbor, a few years ago. We wanted some acreage away from town, where we could raise our family in the type of surroundings we had grown up with—trees, cornfields, and peace. The only aspect of the property I wasn’t completely sold on was the unusually long drive to the house from the road. Yet I’ve grown to appreciate the winding half-mile journey after a long day. It provides me with a few minutes to switch off my thoughts of work and set my focus on my family—my stunning wife, Amy—well, her and the abundance of animals we’ve adopted since our marriage five years ago.
I park and step down from the truck where I’m greeted with three wagging tails. “Hey, guys,” I say to our three “fur babies,” as Amy calls them. I bend, giving each one some attention. “How’s Mommy today?” I whisper toward our mastiff mix, Blue, as I pet his massive head.
He responds by licking my cheek.
Tucker, our first pup, nuzzles into my leg, and I pat his side. Lifting my gaze, I catch Bo standing back, shivering, anxiously waiting for his turn.
“Come here, BoBo,” I softly tell him, and he approaches me for some love.
Bo, who is named after the greatest University of Michigan football coach to ever live, is our latest rescue. We think he’s some sort of pittie/hound mix, and he is quite possibly the sweetest dog in the world. He’s so timid though and scared of almost everything. It makes me sad, thinking of what he might have gone through before we found him.
I kiss Bo on the top of his head before turning my attention to the excessive quacking coming from the yard a few feet away. “I see you, Sunny girl,” I say to our rescue duck, who is trying to get my attention. “I’ll be back later. I need to go inside and see Mom.”
Yes, this is my life now. I speak to our animals as if they understand me.
I pull in some deep breaths and plaster on a cool smile as I close in on our front door. We’ve been waiting for this day for so long, and regardless of the result, I’ll be okay. I just worry about Amy. She’s been so strong up until this point, but I’ll never not worry about her.
We’ve been trying to conceive since our wedding night. Amy was twenty-eight at the time and ready to get started on our family. Ironically enough, as easy as it was for her to get pregnant so many years ago when we weren’t trying, now that we are, it’s become an impossible task.
We’ve tried so many things—tests, special diets, procedures, and fertility medications. Every time I’ve made love to my wife over the past several years has ended with her lying on her back, holding her legs up in the air for at least thirty minutes, so she can “help the swimmers get to their destination.”
Trying to have a baby without success for so many years is rough—on Amy, me, our family, and our marriage. At the same time, we’ve never been stronger. For as much as infertility has tried to drown us in stress, our love for one another keeps pulling us up into the light where all we feel is eternal devotion and gratitude. If we’re meant to be on this journey, I can only be thankful that we’re on it together.
We both know that Amy’s need to rescue animals and adopt more of them than we probably should is filling a void in her heart where her affection for our own children should be. Though I don’t care if we house an entire zoo in our backyard as long as she’s happy. I would do anything for her.
The pups follow me into the house, and the screen door closes behind us.
“Ames,” I call out.
The smell of basil leads me to the kitchen. There’s a pot of soup simmering on the stove but no sign of my wife.
“Where’s Mama?” I ask my four-legged companions, who feel as if they need to follow me around the house at all times.
Their butts wiggle in response.
I take the ladle on the stove and scoop a spoonful of what I now see is my favorite pesto soup. It’s a recipe that Amy made up one day by throwing the ingredients we had into a pot, and it’s become one of our go-to meals.
I lift the big spoon to my lips and blow softly.
“You’re going to burn your lips. You know that.” Amy chuckles from the entryway to the kitchen.
“I blew on it to cool it off,” I respond, du
mping the ladle of soup back into the pot and setting it down.
“Not long enough.”
I circle my arms around her waist and lift her until her lips meet mine.
“It would’ve been fine,” I whisper against her lips.
“No, it wouldn’t have.” She giggles. “You burn yourself every time I make that soup and then spend the whole night complaining about your scorched lips.”
“I do not complain.” I throw her a mock scowl and lower her until her feet touch the ground.
“Okay, babe.” She presses her hands against my chest. She arches up and plants a chaste kiss on my lips. “My bad.” She shoots me a wink.
“How was your day?” I ask her.
She shrugs. “You know, just tried to keep busy.” She sighs.
“Yeah, well … are you ready?”
She shakes her head. “Not yet. We should do our board first.”
Taking my hand, she leads us to the far kitchen wall where the old-fashioned chalkboard resides, our three gratitudes from yesterday written in Amy’s writing across the dark surface.
“Don’t you want to do it after the test?” I ask.
She erases yesterday’s words with an old rag. “No, because, regardless of what that test says … we are lucky, Landon. We have a beautiful life, and if it doesn’t go the way we want today, we still need to remember that.”
Amy has kept up with her gratitude journal—now, a gratitude board—since her first semester in college fourteen years ago. She says focusing on the good in each day will forever keep her out of the darkness.
“Okay, you go first,” she tells me.
“Well, I landed a new client today, that big one I was telling you about,” I say.
“Landon, that’s amazing. I’m so proud of you.” She cradles my face with her hands and kisses me. “You are so good at what you do, babe.”
She turns and writes, Awesome new client, on the board and then continues with Dad’s false alarm.
“Really? You talked to your mom?”
“Yes.” She beams. “Guess what it was.”
“I don’t know. Indigestion?”
She giggles. “No. Anxiety. I think Lily’s twins pushed him over the edge. Mom said it makes sense. He was so worried that they were going to sneak off and fall in the pool or something. Mom spent most of her time indoors, baking with Ava, while Dad was outside with the boys. Apparently, he was on edge all day.”
Mr. Madison went to the hospital last night, complaining of chest pains after a day of babysitting Lily and Jax’s three kids. We were all worried that something might be wrong with his heart. He had countless tests, and after it was determined that he wasn’t having a heart attack, he was sent home. He had an appointment with his general doctor today to go over the tests.
“You would think retirement would decrease stress?”
“Yeah, but apparently, toddler boys increase it. Dad worked a lot when we were young. Mom did most of the worrying, you know? He wasn’t always there to see the day-to-day struggle of keeping little ones safe. It was definitely a wake-up call for him.” Amy laughs. “Doctor said his heart is completely healthy.”
“That’s so funny.” I chuckle. “Your dad can command a room of fifty hardheaded CEOs without missing a beat, but playing with two three-year-olds about does him in.”
“I know. We couldn’t stop laughing today on the phone. Mom said she should’ve known that’s what it was.”
“Well, I’m so glad his heart is fine. That’s definitely good news,” I say.
“It is,” she agrees. “You want to do the last one?”
“Yes.” I grip her waist and pull her toward me. “Today, I’m most thankful for my beautiful wife.”
“Nope.” She shakes her head. “I told you that you can only put me down once a week.”
Amy initiated that rule because I wanted to put her down every single day.
“It’s been a week,” I argue. “And you’re my final answer.”
Her bright browns peer up to me. She taps her index finger against my nose. “Fine, I’ll let it slide today,” she turns and writes, My beautiful wife.
“Perfect. Now, that’s a good day.” I nod.
“It is.” She wraps her arm around my waist. The two of us peer at the board. “Well, you ready to see if it worked?”
I stare at the board a moment longer, basking in the goodness. “Yeah, let’s do this.”
I follow Amy upstairs to the bathroom off of our bedroom. She opens the cabinet to get out the pregnancy test.
“Give me a moment,” she says, and I leave her to do her thing while I nervously pace at the foot of our bed.
This is our first round of in vitro fertilization, and we’re fortunate enough to financially be able to do it again if this round doesn’t take. Yet it’s not the money I’m worried about. This is the last step we have available in Amy’s dream to carry her own child. It seems so final. If it doesn’t work—which, given our history, there’s a good chance it won’t—I’ll have to figure out another way to give my wife her dream of a family.
It will happen for us in some way—of that, I’m confident. I just pray it happens sooner than later.
Amy exits the bathroom, holding the white plastic wand in her hand. The indicator window faces the ground.
“Four minutes,” she tells me.
I look to the clock at the bedside table. “Four minutes,” I repeat.
We stand, facing each other.
“Remember, it might not work this time, and that’s okay,” she says, her eyes darting between me and the test in her hand.
“Right. We can try it again.” She nods with a bite of her quivering bottom lip.
“Come here,” I tell her, pulling her into a hug.
She circles her arms around me, and I hold her close for four whole minutes.
I kiss her head before releasing her. “So, what are we looking for?”
“Two lines is pregnant,” she tells me with a deep inhale.
“Two lines,” I repeat.
“You ready?”
“I am.”
She blows out a breath and then flips the test over. We both stare, unable to move for a few seconds.
“Landon, there are two lines,” she says in a whisper as involuntary tears stream down her face. “There are two lines!” Her words are a broken sob.
The blue lines become blurry from my own tears. I pick up Amy and spin her around, crying into the nape of her neck.
In my entire life, nothing has made me as happy as seeing this positive pregnancy test. Amy and I are going to have a baby. A wave of contentment unlike anything I’ve known comes over me, and I know that this is the way it was supposed to be. Every choice we’ve ever made has led us here, to this amazing life.
I grab Amy’s hand and pull her from the room. “Come on.”
“What?” She giggles through her tears.
I run down to the chalkboard on the kitchen wall, and underneath Amy’s writing from moments ago, I put …
TWO BLUE LINES.
Amy
Three Years Later
This life.
I stare at the large canvas on the wall, showcasing three bare butts hurriedly climbing up the stairs in retreat. Leaning my head back against the plush sofa, I have to work to keep my eyes open and focused on the canvas.
I remember the moment I snapped the picture a year ago. Seconds after taking it, I sent a prayer into the universe, pleading to always grant me the gift of the memory of that moment. Fifty years from now, I want to recall the giggles as my three precious boys hatched a coup against their sleep-deprived mother, escaping my attempt to diaper their bottoms. The sheer energy it took for my tired limbs to grab my phone and snap the picture was an accomplishment I want to cherish during a time when keeping my teeth brushed daily was quite the feat. Most of all, I want to remember the enormous gratitude I felt for all of it—the giggles, the mischievousness, their soft skin and chubby baby thighs, their smiles wh
en I greeted them in their cribs every morning, the weight of them against my chest in sleep, the crying, the first words, all the milestones, and especially the complete exhaustion I felt because it was, and still is, a tangible reminder that Landon and I’d gotten our miracles.
On our first and only attempt at in vitro fertilization, we had two embryos implanted. One didn’t survive, and the other—in something like one in a million odds—split into three, giving us our triplets. I know we had to wait as long as we did for a successful pregnancy because we were always meant to have our blond, hazel-eyed little cherubs. Colton, Camden, and Caden are tiny miniatures of their father, and I’m the lucky one who gets to live in a household surrounded by Porter boys.
“You awake?” Landon whispers before handing me a warm mug of herbal tea.
“Thank you.” I take the cup from him. “Barely.” I smile weakly as he sits at the end of the couch.
I turn to face him, leaning my back against the armrest. He pats his lap like he always does, and I lift my legs and set my feet in his lap.
“So, they went down okay?” I ask.
“Absolutely.” He grinds his thumbs into the arch of my foot, causing me to groan. “They’re out like a light. They must have had a busy day.”
“We played outside a lot. They ran their hearts out.”
Landon and I talk of our days. My husband regales me of a day in the life of a business executive while I delight him with the tales of keeping toddler boys alive and the monumental battle known as potty training. I love our nightly chats that almost always include a foot rub for me, which I appreciate because the truth is that Porter boys don’t make it easy on their mother. Susie, Landon’s mom, has been telling me this for years, but it wasn’t until my boys that I truly grasped what she meant. Yet I have no complaints because, although the Porter boys play hard, they love harder, and that’s a gift that brings me to my knees in gratitude daily.
“You want me to run you a bath?” Landon asks, taking the now-empty mug from me and returning it to the kitchen.
“No, I’ll fall asleep. Let’s just do a shower tonight,” I call over my shoulder.
