One Year Later

“I thought we said we’d talk about getting a different mattress.” I shift my weight, groaning as I threw an arm over Samantha.

“Nope, this one is perfect. Pillowy softness.” She grins as she melts into me, kissing my stubbly morning cheek.

“It’s like laying on a bunch of pillows. A mattress should be firm, have a backbone like hardwood.” I grunt, thrusting my hips against her, my cock pressing to her thigh.

“Honey, what’s mine is yours, and marriage is all about compromise. Or at least, it will be starting today.”

“It’s wedding day!” Lennon ran into our room, launching herself at the bed and giggling as she snuggled herself between us. I scooted over, making sure to cover my nether regions with a pillow, even as I felt myself shrink. It was amazing what kids could do to the libido.

She ran her hands over Samantha’s face, mussing up her hair in a way that she must have thought looked pretty, but really made my fiancée look like a witch.

“Are you ready for your flower girl duties?” Samantha kissed Lennon’s cheek and wrestled her down, pinning her arms so she couldn’t mess up her long dark locks any more.

“I have my basket all ready. I practiced last night with Dad.”

My heart absolutely puddled at my feet. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was lying in a mushy pool on the floor at the edge of the bed. For the last six months, ever since Lennon had really grasped that we were all officially going to become a family, she’d been calling me Dad. Never Daddy, that was the name she used for Derek, but I was so honored to hold that title in her life.

“You’ll be so pretty.” I kiss her forehead as she snuggles between Samantha and me.

Over the past year, we’ve become even more of a family than I even knew was possible. Growing up in a family like mine, we weren’t necessarily close. Competition and business ruled the roost there, and they had ever since. But Samantha, Lennon and I … we did everything together. They supported me on late nights when the restaurant was crazy, and I’d drop from exhaustion the minute I got home. I picked up Lennon from daycare and made dinner, carried the laundry downstairs to the basement of the building when we needed to do it. Family movie nights on Friday were a thing of tradition now, and Samantha and I typically had date night once a week. On weekend mornings, Lennon came to the restaurant with me and brought customers in. She was probably single-handedly responsible for half the business that walked inside the place; her cute little diatribes near the front door always drew people in.

We burned dinner together, and then ordered pizza. We went on walks around the city blocks that made our feet tired and ended up with Lennon sleeping on my shoulder. Apartment hunting for a place that was big enough for three of us was a trip, with Samantha’s checklist and mine clashing so much that we ended up learning a lot about each other. Lennon begged us for a puppy every other week, and I think that my soon-to-be wife was starting to break. Each one of us fought for the last Magnum bar in the freezer … Samantha always won. We celebrated birthdays, slept in on the weekends when we could, and for the first time last year I’d had a real Christmas tree. Samantha had insisted, it wasn’t the holiday without one.

Our new place between my office building and Samantha’s was a two bedroom, with an extra bathroom than either of us had had before, and a larger kitchen. It also boasted a patio, which we made full use of almost year round … even when we had to throw gloves and coats on.

In our apartment, it was business as usual. I manned the scrambled eggs, Lennon helped with juice duty, and Samantha sat at the table reading The New York Times. We gave her weekend mornings off, calling our little breakfast act, “the toastsome twosome.” If it weren’t for the butterflies in my stomach, and the fluffy white dress hanging in the closet in our bedroom, you wouldn’t know that we were about to say some vows and exchange some rings today.

After she’s done eating, I look over to where Lennon is sitting on the living room floor, taking off her Barbie’s pants again.

“Lennon, leave those on.” What was with this little girl wanting her dolls to be nudists? “And yes, after the wedding I made you a special ice cream cake.”

It was my first foray into cakes, and I’d insisted on making our wedding cake. I pat myself on the back, because this cake was fucking gorgeous. I was going to have Alice post pictures of it on the company Instagram and see what response we got. We could make some big bucks if I started doing cakes to order.

“I can have three pieces!” She claps.

“Oh yeah, who said that?” Samantha makes a sarcastic, shocked expression at me.

“I did. Grandma said so too.”

“That Grandma spoils you, huh?” I finish my coffee and lace my fingers through Samantha’s. “You ready to get married to me?”

“That depends … do I get that foot rub I was promised?” She props her feet up on my lap, her toes a light pink.

Is it weird that even her feet are sexy to me? Because I swear, I’m sporting a semi.

“I think I’m like your foot rub slave for the rest of my life. Isn’t that what marriage means?”

She nodded, her face pointed toward the ceiling as I rubbed her insoles. “Pretty much.”

“Should we go become the Brady bunch?” It was time to get moving if we were going to make our own ceremony.

Samantha shudders. “Oh God, please don’t start that again.”

I start to hum the theme song to the popular TV show. I’d been joking about it since we’d gotten engaged, knowing that she hated when I called us that.

“I’m not walking down that aisle if you keep doing that.” She leaned over, slapping her hand over my mouth.

Little did she know that I’d already made it our official wedding hashtag and told the short number on the guest list about it.

Oh well, she’d have to live with it. She’d have to live with me. That was marriage. Taking the annoying with the amazing. And I was definitely getting the best of both worlds.

Sometimes I thought to myself, how did I get so lucky? But really, I think I’d charmed or tricked them into picking me. I was fine with that, as long as it meant I got to come home to those two at the end of the day.

Damn, my priorities had changed. What had once been one-night stands and a good bottle of red became romance and sippy cups.

Bring on the minivan.