Sunday, May 26
Four years later
(Franco)
"Daddy, is Mamá Maria making tamales for my party?" Rebel asks me while I'm brushing my teeth.
I nod at her in the mirror.
She smiles wide, it's Gemma's toothy grin on the face of a four-year-old. Our little girl also has her mom's big sapphire blue eyes, kind heart, and ability to befriend anyone. She holds something up in her hand above her head so I can see it. "I'm bringing this for Gus. Revenge will be mine." She follows up the vengeful announcement with a fit of giggles. Did I mention she has my sense of humor?
I hold my hand up as I spit out toothpaste in the sink and she high fives me. "Right on, Rebel. I'll distract him, and you can put operation whoopee cushion into motion."
She squeezes it enthusiastically, and it farts loudly. We both laugh. She's definitely mine.
"Hop up here, birthday girl. Let me do your hair while your mom's finishing up your nasty mushy peas," I say the last part extra loud for Gem's benefit.
"I heard that," Gem yells from the kitchen. Her cooking is the best, but I've never been able to stomach a bowl of peas. Rebel and Gem can't get enough of them, so I give them a hard time.
"Mommy's mushy peas with loads of salt and vinegar are the best thing ever!" Rebel declares as I help her crawl up onto the bathroom counter. She sits with her legs folded under her and her back to me.
Her long, dark brown curls are wild from a night of sleep. As I tame them with a brush, I ask, "I thought your guitar was the best thing ever?"
She nods at me in the mirror, her expression serious. And then she reconsiders her stance. "Mushy peas are the best food." She hesitates. "And Mamá Maria's tamales. And Nana Audrey's cupcakes." Rebel adopted Gus's mom as a second grandma. "And Auntie Scout's double chocolate chip cookies." Gus and Scout are her godparents, but she calls them Auntie Scout and Uncle Gus sometimes. "My guitar is the best instrument." Her guitar is half-scale for her tiny hands.
As I start braiding her hair, I taunt her playfully, "I thought drums were the best?"
"Drums are best for you and Kate. Guitars are best for me and Gus." Gus and Scout's little girl, Kate, is only four months younger than Rebel and they're inseparable. They've spent hours and hours at band rehearsals and seen us play live a dozen times in their four action-packed years of life. Rebel's always wanted to play guitar like Gus and Kate's always wanted to play drums like me. We joke that our kids got mixed along the way, but I love that they both have their own likes and personalities. Their little boy is almost three and Gracen isn't interested in music, but you can't get the kid out of the water. He'll be out there riding a board with us in the next few years. He's athletic as all hell for a little dude.
"True enough, the world needs guitar players and drummers. Who's going to play bass?"
"Kate and Gracen's new baby sister will be our bass player." Scout's due in three months. It's a girl. Rebel could be right.
I fasten her braid with a hair tie. "That's a strong possibility, dude."
She spins on her knees to face me. "And Stella can sing. She has a pretty voice." Stella is Gus's step-niece. She's several years older than Rebel and Kate, and they idolize her. She's such a great kid.
"She does. What are you gonna call your band?"
She's holding my right hand, tracing the letters of her name tattooed across my knuckles. Gemma's name is on my left hand. "Bigger Than Crimbo," she says without a second thought.
I laugh because it's a saying Gem says sometimes when something is massively impressive. "Perfect. It's subtle and screams humility. I like it." Our little girl will never lack confidence.
She nods, pounds knuckles, and hops down. "Gracias, Daddy."
"No problem, mija."
I walk to our kitchen where Gem is, indeed, mashing nasty peas. Her hair is pulled up on top of her head in a messy bun. She's been cooking all morning for Rebel's birthday party today. I wrap my arms around her middle and kiss the back of her neck, because I can't resist and whisper in her ear, "We made an incredible little human."
"We did," she agrees. I can hear the smile in her voice. This woman is the best mom and wife. "Can you believe she's four?"
"Nope. We need to figure out how to slow this train down or she'll be graduating and out on tour with Bigger Than Crimbo next year."
"Bigger Than Crimbo?" she laughs. "Dare I ask?"
"Her future band with Kate, Stella, and baby Hawthorne," I inform her as straight-faced as I can, because in all honesty, nothing would make me happier than to see it come to life. "Julian's tattooing it on her for her birthday."
"Please tell me he's working it into the pony full back piece?" Rebel is obsessed with tattoos and started asking for one of her own when she was two. Her ideas change frequently, but she's currently in love with the idea of covering her back with pastel colored ponies. My brother, Julian, drew her a design last week as an early birthday present to hang on her wall instead.
"Bigger Than Crimbo arched in Old English script across her shoulders with the ponies below would be epic," I encourage.
She sets her spoon down in the bowl and turns in my arms to face me. "Epic," she agrees with a smile.
I kiss her, and when I pull away, I know exactly what she's thinking because it's written all over her face. We say it at the same time. "God bless the wankers."
It's our ode to the first time we met and to fate or destiny, or whatever fucking awesome magical force brought us together. If her blind date at the Y-Not wouldn't have been such a douche, we would've never happened. So every time we need to give thanks for our family and us, we say it. Because it all comes full circle.
God bless the wankers.