It doesn’t even get ruined by one of his hands comically getting stuck in the mussed blanket, or by me hiccupping during one of our kisses. These things just make us laugh all over again and make our kisses sweet in a new way, which make our thrusts feel even better.
This bed is so soft, and I’m soft, and he’s hard, and breathing is hard, and we’re both bubbly from the bubbly, and I’m in love with all of it.
I’m in love with Beckett.
I’m in love with life.
After I’ve yet again known white-hot pleasure by his hips and hands, I get him flat on his back, get to be held against his chest, get to feel him come, too, with his moan on my lips and his rings on my finger.
“I love you,” I have to tell him out loud. “Baby, I love you.”
He can barely get his lungs to work, but he makes his voice do it: “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone.”
Air being so hard to come by doesn’t keep us out of a heated kiss.
And the peace of the afterglow that we drift into doesn’t keep us from thinking it’s funny when my innocent caresses of his skin accidentally tickle him.
“One hundred, Ellie,” he remarks with a squeeze of one of my bare hips.
I set my fingers to his slightly sweaty hair now.
“One hundred,” I agree wholeheartedly.
Everything right now is so one hundred that we don’t leave the bed for probably twenty minutes.
We lie here and relax and talk about the things we want to do on our short honeymoon. The zoo is a must, and the arboretum is supposed to be awesome, and the malls are much bigger than any shopping place back at home.
However, what we end up doing once we’re dressed again is settling into a game of Super Mario Party. Beckett had a quick and easy time connecting the Nintendo Switch to the hotel TV last night, and we’re excited to play for a while. We’ve had all this stuff for some months now, which means I’ve gotten to practice playing, and it has been looking like I’ve finally found a game I’m not bad at.
Some of the mini-games consistently kick my ass, though, so I’m not excited about that happening again. It’s always quick to annoy me because Beckett never has any damn trouble with anything to do with video games (or so it seems to me, despite his insistence that an older game called Battletoads gave him a hard time). Hopefully, today the digital gods will have at least a little bit of mercy on me.
It’s my honeymoon! I entreat them. Can I have an easier time than usual just this once? Pleeeease?
Well, four turns in, I seem to be on a lucky streak, but I sure don’t dare to get my hopes up. It doesn’t mean anything that fortuitous dice rolls and my favorite mini-games have earned me the first star on the board. It’s way too early to base a victory on that.
“Wow!” Beckett remarks proudly after several more minutes, when I’ve managed to snag an ally to help me for the rest of the game. “Look at you go! You gonna win this time?”
“Pff,” I reply. “Probably not.”
I do love the excitement with which he regards me, though…and it does kind of make me feel excited too.
And that feeling grows when, by utter chance, I soon end up with the most coins between my and Beckett’s team of two and the computer-played team we’re battling.
And the feeling grows even more when I turn out to not be last on the list of players with stars collected—Beckett is in first place like he always is, but he only has one more star than I have.
I don’t even know what to think when the various beneficial items I come to possess have me making great progress around the board and pretty well dusting everyone except Beckett.
By the time the very last round is wrapping up, I’m on my feet and bouncing up and down, my controller out of my hands so I can tap my thumbnails together. I’m eager to see if I’ve finally earned a victory at a video game after years of failing.
He’s standing with me, rubbing at my back, kissing my temple.
“Babe, I really think you might’ve done it,” he says. “You have good chances at bonus stars that could clinch this for you. You lucked into two allies, and I only have one, and the other team has zero. I haven’t kept track of how many coins you racked up over the course of the game, but I know you did really well. And I’m pretty sure you qualify for at least one other random bonus, so since you’re still only losing to me by one star, you have a chance of pulling ahead!”
“I hope so!” After a beat, I let out a laugh and turn to kiss his cheek. “I mean, I’m always happy for you when you win, but—”
“Hey, I’m tired of winning!”
Oh, I really laugh at that.
He tries not to join in, but he can’t help it.
“No, you’re not!” I say.
“Okay, no, but I would still be proud as hell if…. Oh, here we go!”
My heartbeat jumps with nervousness as the ending ceremony starts up. Bonus stars are about to be handed out.
That’s a dumb thing to be nervous about, isn’t it?
But no—no, hey, it’s not dumb to hope I’ve won. That’s why people play games: they want to have fun and potentially win.
“Oh, shit, Ellie, look!” Beckett exclaims. “You got a bonus star for stomping on other players more than anyone else did!”
I gasp and grab his hand. “Oh my gosh!”
That means I’m tied with him when it comes to star count, which means if I get another…if I get just one more….
I close my eyes and hope.
A second later, Beckett’s exultant shout hits the air.
Disappointment hits me.
“You did it!” he yells. He bands his arms around me and squeezes, nearly toppling me over. “That’s my girl!”
“I—what?” My eyes have flown back open and hurried to look at the TV, which says—
I shriek and jump up and down the best I can in Beckett’s arms.
“It’s Yoshi!” I explode. “That’s me! That’s Yo—I’m Yoshi! Oh my God, Beck!”
“You won!” Laughing, he lets go of me and seizes my face, and as we look at each other, I’m blasted by his elated grin and bright eyes. “I’m so proud of you!”
“I—thank you! But it was mostly luck, so I don’t—”
“Nope.” He takes my mouth with his, refusing my claim in action as well as that simple word.
Yeah, he’s right. I don’t want to tell myself I don’t deserve the win.
I played the game, and I won, and now I want to celebrate with Beckett kisses. So I do.
I guess I was wrong, though, all that time ago when I said I’d one day call myself Noelle Bright, Temporary Video Game Queen.
My video game victory will definitely be short-lived, but I am very joyfully Noelle Slater.
That’s a win that will last forever.
—
In a way, we wish our honeymoon could’ve lasted longer than just the weekend, but for the most part, we’re happy to get back home.
It fills my heart with a particular kind of elation to see Theodora in person rather than over FaceTime—all parents need adult time away from their kids, but not being with her also left something in me feeling empty. I know Beckett has had the same thing going on. The way she greets us when we arrive at my parents’ house fills those voids back in with grins and cheers and hugs and immediate chatter about the cake she and her Grammie have been baking, evidence of which is all over her clothes.
My parents want to hear about the fun places we visited on our trip, so we show some of our hundreds of pictures. The zoo was fun and the dine-in movie theater we went to had surprisingly good food, but the arboretum was one of our favorite experiences. It was vast and vivid, and there were lots of cool things to see besides flowers, and there were so many tulips…but what sent it over the top was a visitor who was admiring my favorite flowers next to us. She started talking about what the different colors of tulips symbolize, and it blew my and Beckett’s minds. Some online research confirmed she was right and that
all the tulips he has gifted me with in the last few years have meant even more than we realized.
Of course some colors indicate romantic love, adoration, passion, friendship, and appreciation. But others represent quieter things like condolences, hope, happiness…and even fresh beginnings.
What a thing to learn during the celebration of our marriage and the powerful bond it’s built on.
Needless to say, I now love tulips—and my husband—that much more.
We don’t tell my mom and dad that stuff right now, though. We wrap up the tale of our trip by gifting her with some fancy bath bombs and him a six-pack of craft beer, as thanks for babysitting for us.
Theo, of course, screams with glee when she sees the two stuffed animals we made for her at Build-A-Bear. And we are not shocked when she instantly names them.
“This is Sprinkles.” She holds up the colorful cat, then the princess bunny. “And this is…um…Cupcake!”
We adults get a good laugh out of that. Wonder where her inspiration came from!
Nevertheless, they’re cute names for cute stuffed animals.
But nothing and no one is cuter than their new mommy.
—
Everyday life picks back up for us without pause.
It’s April, which means the end of my second year back in dance is quickly approaching. Ceceli and I put the final touches on the jazz routine we choreographed together, which has been fun but a lot of work when you account for costumes and music cuts, in addition to learning steps—which has been quite an experience for me, since I’m not as sassy a dancer as she is. Theo gears up to finally perform with her beginner’s hip-hop class. It has entertained the daylights out of her, but the girl she was partnered with for one portion of the routine decided to quit dance altogether, so she has had to adjust to doing that part solo.
Beckett and I send thank-you notes to everyone who attended our wedding. Our pictures come in, so we print our favorites from the online folder and put them in a physical album Blaze and his wife personalized for us as a gift (as if him being Beckett’s only groomsman wasn’t a special gift on its own). One of them shows us holding an old framed shot we were in with Cliff, which we wanted nearby on the big day. Then we hang a couple of the favorites throughout the house. The ones of him and Blaze touch my heart just as much as the ones of me and Ceceli, who was my only bridesmaid, so those are musts. We have some good ones with my parents too. But a certain picture is highest up on the list, and it gets hung in the living room: Beckett cradling me in a dipping embrace while we kiss beneath our vibrant-tulip-laden arch, to one side of which Theo is mid-cheer.
It’s not long before he finishes a gorgeous woodworking project he has been enjoying with my dad for forever. They’ve both gotten pretty damn good at their hobby, and it shows in the new bookcase they made for Theodora. The wood is dark and sleek and sturdy, its beauty only heightened by floral etchings and her name across the thick middle shelf. She loves it so much that one would think they built her a castle.
And Beckett has been enjoying the pay raise and slight promotion he received at work a few months ago. He also comes to greatly enjoy the little party his office throws for him on the anniversary of him working there for five years. It’s a complete shock to him, but not to me—Blaze coordinated with me in secret about what kinds of food and treats Beckett loves most, and I even get to be part of the surprise gathering. Ugh, the way he smiles and blushes about this show of appreciation from his coworkers…it’s such a wonderful look on him. If you ask me, he deserves to have a party thrown in his honor every day.
On the subject of his favorite treats: my job at The Chocolate Shop has been great too. Ceceli’s parents have decided to open a second, smaller location in the mall closest to our town, so she and I will soon be earning overtime while we briefly train a handful of people for the place. It’s really exciting, and we can’t wait to see how it turns out—we exchange air high-fives every time we talk about it.
Late in the month, Beckett and I celebrate the two-year-and-two-month anniversary of our beginning.
Yep, we count the months as well as the years.
Each and every milestone we reach together matters to us.
—
In the first week of May, Beckett learns of his mother’s passing.
“Relieved with sadness underneath,” he divulges quietly as we sit on the couch together. “That’s how I feel. Because even though I don’t have to worry about her showing up to harm me or us somehow, I….”
He frowns at his hands in his lap.
I give him the time he needs to figure out what else to say.
It ends up being an unsteady, “She can’t change after all now. She can’t wanna be better to me if she’s gone.”
I feel the weight of that by extension because of how much I feel for him.
He can’t help a sense of lightness, of freedom; we hadn’t had any more trouble from his mom since the day she came to his old apartment, but I know he really did hold on to a sliver of dread about the possibility. He doesn’t have to do that anymore, so now he can rest. But as all wounded souls do, he always wished she would be a better mom to him, and a subconscious part of him must’ve thought it could happen once his dad was out of the picture. Now her death has destroyed even the slimmest chance of it ever happening.
It hurt me to suspect it never would’ve happened anyway.
I pull him into my arms and hold him while he spends a minute sniffling about it.
“It’s such a stupid feeling,” he says. “So stupid to wish she loved me when the fact that she didn’t ultimately led me to where I am. I don’t know how I can resent her and wanna forgive her at the same time.”
I sniffle, too, before kissing his forehead. “No, it’s not stupid. It’s just complicated. You’ve been through a lot in your life—so much more than was fair, Beckett. Everyone wants their parents to love them. You’re not stupid. Trust me.”
He doesn’t have to say out loud that does—that he believes me. It’s in the way he breathes more steadily and hugs me tighter.
“You’re okay,” I tell him softly.
He nods and says now, “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”
Love that.
Cliff would love it too, I think warmly.
These things remind me that Cliff’s parents still haven’t reached out to us either. Not after the time at the funeral home that Beckett told me about. Not once over all these years. I know why, and I can’t say I’m upset about it. I kind of feel about them the way Beckett felt about his mom—part of me wishes Theo’s paternal grandparents could crop up and prove they’ve changed and be kind to her—but the rest of me knows better and can accept that fact. When I remember how they treated Cliff plus how they reacted to the news of him being a father…well, I know I don’t want any of us to have anything to do with them at all.
Theo already has wonderful grandparents anyway.
And in them, Beckett already has a loving mom and dad.
I’ll never judge or criticize him for however his past makes him feel, and I’ll always help him not do either of those things to himself. But yes, he’s right: everything he suffered put him on the path to the happiness he deserved.
It really is a complicated feeling to hate how much he hurt but love how he turned out because of it.
Another part of life we’re not supposed to be able to understand, I guess.
—
A month into married life, Beckett and I get to watch Theo graduate from the first grade.
Every student receives a certificate for finishing the year, but there are additional accolades that can be earned, and our girl has earned two. The vice principal calls out her name and her achievements of high overall marks and of earning outstanding points for reading at home. Then Theodora Cavill-Slater prances across the stage of the same auditorium the dance recital will take place in next week.
Beckett, my parents, Ceceli, and I all clap for her and yell her name and snap pictures. S
he’s a thousand percent Theo up there in the plastic tiara and silver shoes and Frozen 2-themed dress my mom bought her. Her attention darts between us and the photographer by the stage as she poses with the principal as well as Mrs. Montgomery, whose sweet nature has made her the perfect teacher for Theo. Then she starts walking away, blowing wild kisses to us.
As she goes, I swear I hear her call out, “Catch, Daddy!” She and Beckett have started doing that when either of them blows the other a kiss.
Yep, he’s jumping up and down to catch the invisible gestures of love and happiness in his hands, like they’re flying all over the place.
My heart is so full I can’t stand it.
Those in our group who are still on our feet sit back down. Theo exits the stage to stand with her classmates. I wipe at my eyes, and Beckett pulls me into a side hug that is fervent even with us being seated.
I turn my gaze to him, and we exchange a damp-eyed look.
“I’m so proud of her,” he says beneath the ongoing noise.
I nod my hearty agreement. “She’s so smart.”
“Yeah, and man, she loves reading. She’s gonna excel at that in particular.”
Smiling, I tell him, “We can thank your bedtime stories for that, I think.”
His smile glows.
He thumbs tenderly at my chin.
“If Cliff can see her,” he says, “he’s so proud too. I know that.”
My eyes well up a little more.
I nod again and clasp his hand in mine.
“I know that too,” I whisper.
Our smiles wobble now. He slants in and presses a kiss to my cheek, and I promptly reciprocate it.
These days, we’re more often found thinking of Cliff with steady fondness than thinking of him and crying. His memory has come to feel more like a warm companion than a source of jagged pain. There are definitely exceptions to that, like when Theo learned about graveyards and wanted to know where her ‘first daddy’ was buried; we took her to the lake, and it was really emotional for the two of us. She didn’t tear up like we did, just said it was nice out there, and we told her Cliff thought so too.
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