Page 137 of Masks and Mishaps

Over on the couch, Everett snickers. “You think they imagined Dalton would be the only one of us with a job, and that we’d all be married to camgirls?”

“Or do you think our dads ever imagined our lives would be so unbelievably happy,” Dalton replies in a rare moment of complete seriousness. “Jesus, I’m so happy.”

Lander tilts his head in Dalton’s direction while he rethreads his needle. “Yeah, that one. I don’t think they factored happiness in—ever.”

“I bet,” Dalton says, reaching over and looping his finger around a lock of my hair, “they’re probably horrified—and jealous.” His hand drifts to my neck, collaring it without squeezing. He smiles at me. The message is tacit and eternal:You’re mine.I smile back.

“I think you’re right, Dalt,” Everett says. “There’s no way they were ever this happy.”

“Do you ever wonder what our kids are going to say about us when they’re our age?” Valeria asks. She’s on the couch behind Lander, relaxing against a cushion with her wine glass. “What are they going to think of their parents?”

“To be clear, your kids are going to talk about how energetic and hot Everett and I still are, even when we’re sixty,” Cora replies from her spot on the floor. She raises her hand over her shoulder, and Everett fist bumps it.

“Obviously,” Valeria agrees. She ruffles Lander’s hair. “But our kids. What will they say about us?”

Lander exhales slowly. “Hm,” he murmurs. “Well, I hope they talk about how we never pushed them to be somebody they’re not. Anything they want to do—whether they want to go to law school or get into camming—I support them.”

“No, don’t let them get into politics,” Everett warns. “But anything else.”

“Yeah, I second that.” Valeria faces Dalton and me. “What about you two?”

“Us?” Dalton clarifies. “Well, for one, I know Lissie’s going to say her mother is the kindest but most unwaveringly ruthless woman we know. Also unbelievably cute.” He winks at me, and I still get butterflies after all these years. “And I hope she knows we love her. Every flaw—”

“She’s eight months old,” I remind him.

“—and she already has an attitude,” he says, but he’s grinning. Lissie and I are his entire world. “I want her to know she’s everything I wished for in a daughter. Full stop.”

“And I hope she knows we did our best,” I say before pausing—and the pause lasts longer than I expected. I swallow. “You know, it’s hard. I think about how the kids at school are going to treat her one day, and I wonder what she’ll think of how we made our money.” I swallow again. “Maybe this isn’t the way most people would choose to live their lives, but we did our best, and we—”

I don’t get a chance to finish because Cora basically leaps over the coffee table to hug me as Valeria slides over on the couch and wraps me in her arms. Then I’m sandwiched between my two best friends—the two women whose friendships have given me so much more than sisterhood over the years. “She will,” Valeria promises, speaking into my cheek. “She absolutely will.”

“She’s going to be so thankful for you—and you,” Cora adds, looking at Dalton. “Like we all are.”

“Yeah, thanks, Mom and Dad,” Everett says while patting Dalton on the arm, and he’s kidding in that snarky Everett Logan way, but he’s also dead serious—and Dalton knows it. Dalton tugs him into a hug before he pulls Lander up too.

And before I know it, the six of us are hugging in our living room, laughing and sort of crying, but mostly enjoying each other’s company the way we have for the last eight years—and the way we will for the years to come.

Like I said, it’s a normal Monday.

***

In the early hours of the morning, I awaken to a masked man with his hand over my mouth.

His eyes lock on mine, focused as he works his hand under the oversized t-shirt I wore to bed. “Wet as usual. Are you ready to get fucked open, Mama?” he murmurs before he drags me off the bed, hoists me over his shoulder, and muffles my scream with his big hand.

…He also grabs the baby monitor off the nightstand and makes sure our angel is still fast asleep before he heads to the backyard with me slung over him.

Last year, we transported Dalton’s treehouse to our backyard—a mind-bogglingly expensive feat. The wood is still streaked with snow stains and the tiny carvings Dalton made when he was a boy. And yes—with the money we spent, we could have designed and built a treehouse that would have landed us inArchitectural Digest, but this is the only one we wanted. We couldn’t imagine it anywhere except in the backyard we share with our friends.

Now, my husband fucks me in it while he films us. He keeps his mask on at first, but he pulls it off halfway through like he always does. My hands claw his skin, which hosts more tattoos now—our daughter’s birthday on his forearm and a band around his ring finger. The sex is messy and rough—like it always will be—and I know I prefer it that way.

Because in any mess, there’s an aftermath, and the aftermath is where we’ve learned to care for each other—to love each other.

Yes, Daddy. I can take it. Please don’t ever stop.

When we’re done, we lay side by side against the wooden floor, catching our breath and watching the baby monitor in the same spot where we made love without masks, without hiding, for the first time. The days Dalton once spent hiding in this treehouse have been replaced with better memories—of making love to me, of laughing with our friends until tears roll down our cheeks, of holding our daughter and looking out at the city we love and the life we’ve built.

“I’m so in love with you, Essie,” he says, repeating words he’s said countless times over the years. “I don’t know where this feeling ends. Maybe it doesn’t. Maybe this is it.”

Smiling, I put my hand on his cheek, draw him close, and kiss him.

For most of my life, forever was a tenuous concept. Now, it’s my reality. It’s a forever of laughing so hard I cry; of the comforting embrace of the big, chaotic man I call my husband; the security of a company we built in an industry that made me; and sisters—a family.

Dalton and I have all the money in the world, but the richest thing about us is love: for our family, for our friends, and for our daughter. And over the years, I’ve learned he’s right—this feeling doesn’t end.

Eternity looks good on us, I think.

And as I stare into Dalton’s pride-filled eyes, basking in his beaming smile, I know I couldn’t have asked for a better forever.

The end

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