Three Years Later
Laken
As the last coat of Blue Mermaid Shimmer #9 dries on Sophie’s fingers, I help her into her silver sequined spaghetti strapped dress and pull her long dark hair into a stylish loose bun on top of her head.
“This is my favorite color,” she says, holding her hand out and fanning it in the air. “I used to paint my own nails this same shade when I was a little girl.”
I can’t help but chuckle. “You’re only eleven, Soph. You’re still little.” She looks at our reflections in the mirror and simply raises an eyebrow at me, the rebellious girl she once was still floating underneath the surface of tulle and lace. “There.” Clipping the last of the crystals in her hair, I stand up and hand her a mirror so she can see my handiwork. “All done.”
Sophie turns around and inspects the back of her hair and nods in approval. “It’s nice to have someone fix my hair the right way for a change. Dad used to make me look like I needed medication.” Popping up from the chair, she gives me a quick peck on the cheek. “Thanks, Mom.”
Mom.
It still slams my heart every time she says it.
Bounding out of the room, she almost makes it to the door when she’s blocked by a six-foot-two powerhouse of a man dressed in a black suit jacket, white dress shirt, and baby blue tie that matches Sophie’s nails exactly. He looks every bit the corporate executive, and anyone just glancing at him would mistake him for the corporate executive he’d become.
Then the image is ruined by his dusty beard and unkempt “don’t care” hair. The strands stand every which way as if he’d run his hands through it and paced the floor in preparation for tonight. But the part that has me almost doubled over in laughter?
The Scottish kilt he wears in place of pants.
Taking a few steps backward, Sophie’s eyes widen in horror. “Dad! Oh my God, no! Just no. You cannot wear that thing to the Father-Daughter dance at my school.”
Chuckling, Niall feigns ignorance and tilts his head as he runs a finger down his tie. “And why not? Does something not match?”
“Yeah, your skirt. Dad, you’re wearing a skirt! Where are your pants?”
“Soph, it’s called a kilt. It’s Scottish.”
“But you’re Irish.”
“Aye, but your great-grandmother isn’t. She’s full-blooded Scottish, and I thought this would be a great opportunity to show off your heritage to your friends at school.”
Sophie turns to me in a panic, her arms waving frantically. “Mom! Do something!”
I shrugged. “I kind of like it.” Pinching his side, I lower my voice. “Leave it on for later.”
“I just love feckin’ with her,” he whispers with a low laugh. Then, winking, Niall’s eyes heat as he rakes them down my body. “You didn’t get enough of it last night?”
Sophie makes a face and walks away grumbling. “Gross.”
“Hey, I’m seven months pregnant, buddy.” I gesture to my round frame. “I take easy access where I can get it.”
“You’re insatiable, Mrs. Mackay.” A concerned look crosses his face as he wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me to him. “Did you tell Vince you’re quitting at the end of the week?”
“Um…”
“Laken,” he groans impatiently. “We talked about this. You need to take some time off before the baby comes. You’ve been pushing yourself too hard since your promotion and Lollie can handle shite until you come back.”
Logically, I know he’s right. In the last year, Vince Tribiotti had been promoted to a senior account executive, and I’d acquired his job as project manager. In the interim somehow, I’d finagled Lollie an interview as my assistant and she’d blown the interview out of the water. Honestly, she even exceeded all my expectations. I had no idea the woman possessed such a killer business instinct. However, with the way she’d trapped Gloria with the security tapes without batting an eye, I shouldn’t have been shocked. Still, even a couple months away from giving birth, I’m hesitant to give up my position…even if it is just for a few months of maternity leave.
Niall runs a hand across my stomach. “Have you called Preston to tell him yet?”
“No, I thought we could do it together when we take him and Sophie ice skating this weekend.”
“What do you think of your name, Miss Presley Paige Mackay? Think your namesake will share it with you?” Our daughter rewards him with a strong kick against his hand.
“So, my friends and I want to go to a diner after the dance,” Sophie interrupts, wedging her way between us. “You guys don’t have a problem with that, do you?”
Niall’s mouth tightens into a hard line. “Sophie, you’re only eleven. This is New York City. You can’t just run around unsupervised.”
Thinking back to a warm spring day three years ago, I can’t help but grin conspiratorially. “Hmmm, that sounds a little familiar. Do you have that on an index card of go-to comebacks?”
“Watch it,” he says, jabbing a finger my way before pulling me even closer.
Weaving an arm around his neck, I straighten his already impeccably straight tie with the other. “If she wasn’t unsupervised, we would’ve never met.”
“Are you trying to say we’re married because of my shite parenting skills?”
I shrug. “If the father figure fits…”
Wrapping his hand around me, he pulls me in close and brushes his lips over mine. With a few more insistent yet tasteful kisses, he leans back and stares at me, the corners of his eyes lighting up as he brushes his thumbs across my cheeks.
“Gross,” Sophie repeats while tapping her brand-new heels at the door.
Giving her a side-eye glance, Niall laughs and returns his smile toward me, tapping a finger against the tip of my nose. “I guess I finally made an honest woman out of you.”
I say nothing, only raise an eyebrow at him and wait for the punchline.
Running a hand over my swollen belly again, he whispers in my ear. “After everything, I made you a mom after all.”
“No,” I say, stealing a look at my impatient, beautiful daughter as Niall reaches for his camera to immortalize the moment. “You made me a family.”
“If you two are finished kissing, can we go to my dance, please, Dad?” Opening the door to our new apartment, Sophie stands out in the hallway as Niall kisses me one last time and reaches behind the cushion of the couch, pulling out a canvas bag full of DVDs.
Curious, I dive through the contents. “Pretty in Pink? 27 Dresses, How to Lose A Guy In Ten Days? What is this, some kind of trick?”
“What’s this?” Niall’s eyes widen and he shakes his head. “Woman, what kind of rom com enthusiast are you? They’re all the movies on your must-see list. I thought, since Soph and I are leaving you alone for the night, you could pick two or three of your choice and I promise to watch them without argument.” With a grin, my husband turns and escorts his daughter to her first dance.
As the door closes behind, I flip through the movies one more time, then dump the entire contents in the trashcan and close the lid.
Here’s the thing about rom coms. They’re the adult version of fairytales, feeding our ideals that we all have that one soulmate out there. And even though they all take on different versions, the ugly truth is, we all buy into it. We watch them, even though there’s that little piece inside of us that knows there’s almost no chance of us ever finding a love like the ones we see in the movies. What guy in their right mind would be willing to wait years for us like Noah in The Notebook? So why even try? What makes us continue to believe that men like that really exist?
I’ll tell you why…because they do.
I found my Noah. And my Jack. And my Edward. And my Michael. And my William. And my Mr. Coulson. He kissed me in the rain. He went down with the ship for me. He got me the job and the apartment. He sang to me. He asked me to love him. And he forgave me for pretending to be someone I wasn’t.
Rom coms? They’re a dime a dozen. Two hours of your life, and they’re over. But Niall Mackay? Niall Mackay is one in a million.
And my story? It’s not a fairytale.
It’s forever.