Five years later

“Is anybody planning on picking up this mess?” I yell from the living room.

Maggie tears through the Lego mess on the floor in her slippers, laughing wildly with Malory right on her heels.

“I’m serious, girls, this isn’t funny. Get in here and put these away.”

“Dad, she won’t give me my pink marker and I need it for my homework!” Malory stomps back into the room, throwing her hands in the air.

“Magnolia Marie Steele, report to the living room, now!”

Maggie peeks her little curly head around the corner, flashing me her sea foam green eyes. She’s holding back her laughter, nearly bursting at the seams, but it doesn’t last long.

Malory lunges toward her and Maggie shrieks. She’s gone, Malory is gone, and the mess is still here.

I slide my hands through my hair on both sides of my head and count to ten. I’ve come a long way in five years, but I will not tolerate messes or disobedience.

“Hey there, Marine, you doin’ all right?”

Violet. Thank you, merciful God, for sending her home from work early.

“No. Your children are not listening, and I’m about to lose my shit with all these Legos on the floor.”

“Aw, poor baby.” She sets her purse on the chair positioned precisely where she used to drop it on the floor when she would come home from work. I like her purse off the floor. Purses carry millions of germs, and nobody is allowed to sit in that chair.

She sashays across the room in her tank top and baggy linen pants that hang low on her curvy hips. When she reaches me, she lifts my shirt up and kisses each muscle in my eight pack. She stops when she reaches my sternum to look up at me through her long, black lashes.

“I like this view, but can you do me a favor and move south about twelve inches?”

She laughs and drops my shirt just in time for the girls to make another pass through the room at warp speed.

“Hey, hey now! Stop,” she yells, grabbing each one by part of their shirt and effectively stopping them.

“What did Daddy just tell you to do?”

“Pick up Legos,” Maggie says, rolling her eyes. Four and a half, and she’s totally mastered the eye roll already.

“Malory?”

“Pick up the Legos and don’t run in the house. But, Mom, she won’t give me—”

“Don’t wanna hear it. You give the marker back, and both of you clean up this mess.” She points at Maggie, who is clutching the pink marker in question and then waves her hands in a circle, gesturing at the the Lego mess.

“And listen to your daddy.”

“Daddy? Can I see you upstairs for a minute? I’m going to take care of that thing you were asking about, you know, the one . . .” She mouths the words, ‘twelve inches south’ and points down. The mess and the marker and the screaming running kids are forgotten, and I’m pushing Violet toward the stairs. I look back and see both girls on their knees, tossing the tiny little torture devices into the bucket labeled Legos. Malory has the pink marker, and it’s sticking out of the back pocket of her jeans.

I prop my chin on Violet’s shoulder on the way up the stairs and reach around to feel her flat belly.

“Why do they listen to you and not me most of the time?” I ask.

“Why are they my kids when they’re driving you crazy?” she says.

“Why do you always answer my questions with a question?”

“Why not?”

She bursts out laughing, and I shove her into our bedroom and lock the door.

“You’re gonna get it now, Mrs. Steele.”

“I thought you were gonna get it, Major Steele?” She says, cocking her head to the side, pretending to be confused.

“Okay, truce. Let’s both get it,” I say.

“Deal,” she says, reaching out to shake my hand. I take her hand and lead her to the bed.

She lifts her arms and I peel her tank top off and unclasp her bra. She gently tugs the drawstring on her pants and they pool on the floor around her feet. I’ll fold those in a little while.

She strips my shirt over my head, standing on her tiptoes, and tosses it in the growing pile of clothes before she sits down on the edge of the bed to unbutton my jeans.

She looks up at me again the same way she did downstairs, only this time, exactly twelve inches south. Her hands slide around to my ass and she pushes my jeans and boxers down freeing my hard length. The exact moment she touches her gifted tongue to the tip of my cock there’s a knock on the door.

“Mommy, Malory locked me out of her room,” Maggie wails.

I look down at Violet, and she flops onto her back on the mattress.

I’ve always said kids have shitty timing, but this is ridiculous.

“This is going to have to wait, isn’t it?” I ask.

“I guess so.” She sighs.

“Like for ten years, until she’s a teenager and Malory is in college?” I say, pulling up my jeans.

“Um, no, try fifteen or twenty.”

“Are you counting on Maggie flunking a few years of school?”

“No, I’m counting the years until the new baby is a teenager,” she says, hopping up. She pecks me on the lips and bends down to grab her clothes.

“I’m pregnant,” she announces with wild, crazy eyes, pulling on her clothes.

Maggie knocks again. “Mommy.”

“Duty calls.” She flutters her fingers in a playful wave goodbye and slips out the door.

Groaning, I smooth out the comforter where she was laying and turn around and sit on the edge of the bed.

Another baby? Can I do this again?

I hear music blasting down the hall . . . Malory. I get up and open the bedroom door and follow the sound to her room. When I reach the threshold of her open door, I stop and watch my wife and two daughters dance like maniacs to the latest number one hit on the pop charts. Maggie is jumping on Malory’s bed, making a colossal disaster of her blankets and pillows. Malory and Violet are flipping their hair all over the place, jamming out. I lean against the doorframe with my hands in my pockets and smile. This is my never ending story.