Page 36 of Triplet Babies for Pucking Christmas

She chuckles. “Since when?”

“Since tonight. Can’t a guy get a little nostalgic?” I lean against the wall, running a hand through my hair. “Hey, I wanted to ask…did you ever regret it? Having a kid, I mean.”

Her laughter fades, and I can picture her, a thoughtful look on her face. “Oh, Jamie…that’s a loaded question.”

I wait, feeling the quiet settle over me, filling the space between her breaths and mine. Finally, she says, “It wasn’t easy, honey. Not one bit. I was twenty-four, barely making ends meet. I had to work two jobs to make sure you had food on the table. I saved for months for your Christmas gifts.”

I swallow hard, a lump forming in my throat as I listen. She rarely talks about those days, about what it was really like.

“But regret? Never,” she says firmly. “Jamie, you were the best thing that ever happened to me. Sure, there were days when I’d be so tired I’d cry myself to sleep. But you…you made it all worth it. And, for what it’s worth, I wouldn’t trade a second of it.”

I close my eyes, letting her words sink in, feeling my heart soften. “I guess you’re, like, proud of all that, huh?”

“Proud?” She laughs, the warmth back in her voice. “Honey, you’re my son. I’m so proud of you, I’m practically glowing every time I see you on the ice. I never miss a game, you know that.”

Her words feel like a hug, pulling me in, wrapping me up in a feeling I forgot I missed. It’s funny how I can be halfway across the country from her and still feel her support.

“You okay, Jamie?” she asks, her voice softer now.

I clear my throat, shaking off the lump that’s settled there. “Yeah, I’m good. Just…feeling a little nostalgic, I guess.”

“Hmm,” she says, drawing out the sound, and I can hear the smile in her voice. “You’re not still out there breaking half of Chicago’s hearts, are you?”

“Breaking hearts?” I ask.

“You know what I am saying, son.I read the tabloids. I know you are fuckinghalf of Chicago. They call you theIce-Heart-Breaker…”

“Mom…” I groan, unable to stop the laugh. “I’m just…having a good time. I’m happy, all right?”

She lets out a snort. “Oh, sure, honey. You’re a real heartbreaker, just like your dad was before I got him to settle down.” She sighs. “But you know, just because you had your heart broken once doesn’t mean you have to keep living like this forever.”

“All right,” I laugh, rolling my eyes. “Time for bed, huh?”

“You’re the one who called me, Jamie. But fine, be that way. Just remember, Loverboy, my door’s always open if you ever wanna come visit your old mother here in Denver.”

“Soon, Ma,” I promise her. “I’ll come visit soon.”

We say our goodbyes, and I hang up, still smiling, her words lingering in the air around me.

I look around my empty kitchen, stomach growling. I should’ve stayed at Troy’s place for dinner because now I’m starving. It’s late, and my kitchen looks exactly like I left it: spotless, everything in its place, but no food in sight.

The lights from the ceiling hang low over the marble countertops, reflecting off the shiny black cabinets. The whole place is pristine and…quiet. Too quiet.

I think of the whirlwind that is Savannah, with her Christmas sweaters, her mini skirts, and her making the kitchen a mess.

Suddenly, my tidy little world feels empty and hollow, like it’s missing something…a lot of things.

I move to the fridge, tugging it open. Nothing. A bottle of water, some leftover pizza that’s seen better days, and a half-empty jar of salsa. I let the door swing shut, sighing.

“Guess it’s takeout again,” I mutter, walking into the living room. The whole place is open concept, modern—everything’seither gray, white, or black. It looks sleek and minimalist, like something out of a catalog. It’s the kind of place people admire and tell me is “so you”, but right now, it just feels…empty.

I sink down onto the couch, scrolling through my phone, half-heartedly looking for some decent delivery options. But somehow, my finger drifts away from the food apps, and before I know it, I’m staring at a Google search page.

I type in “baby stuff”, and the screen fills with images—cribs, blankets, toys, bottles.

I click through a few pages, my heart weirdly tight as I stare at tiny hats, little socks, and onesies that look soft as clouds.

I’m scrolling, just staring at page after page of baby stores.

---