Page 21 of The Autumn We Fell in Love

I close my eyes and let her words wash over me. I’ve read all her work, of course, many times, and sometimes I help with the editing process.

But tonight, I get to experience something new — my wife, offering her work to the world using her voice.

It’s fucking beautiful. Just like her.

Her time at the mic flies by far too quickly, and before I’m ready for it, the reading is over. Glancing at the triplets, I’m warmed by the sight of all three of them blinking at me with wide eyes, looking genuinely not-bored in the least.

“Whoa,” Barrett says, more to himself than to me and his siblings.

“Mom’s really good, isn’t she?” says Will.

I nod. “She is.”

Elizabeth looks thoughtful. “I liked the poems about being a mom. If I’d thought about it ahead of time, I would’ve expected to not like those. You know, since I’m her kid and stuff. But those were my favorite.” She scowls at me. “Is that weird?”

“No, hon,” I say, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “I think it’s really cool, actually.”

Barrett jumps to his feet, reverie ended. “Snack time,” he announces and heads for the refreshment table. Elizabeth and William follow his lead.

I hang back and find a spot along the bookshelves lining the walls where I can watch the people lining up to have Hollis sign one of her books for them. She spends a few minutes chatting with each one, smiling and laughing and making each person into something of a friend. It’s a special talent she has, and probably why so many people love taking her class.

Hollis is fifty-two years old and is, on top of being a mom, finding impressive success in a new career at a time in life that most folks write off for lost.

She’s an inspiration.

Hell, she’s inspired me ever since that first time we met outside my poetry class. But now she’s inspired others too.

Maybe even her own kids, judging from the triplets’ reactions tonight. She’s going to be so excited — if I know my wife, she’ll see that as her crowning achievement.

By the time the last book is signed, there are shadows of fatigue beneath Hollis’s eyes — but she’s still glowing. She sets her pen down and, massaging her writing hand, leaves the signing table and walks straight into my arms.

“Hello, revered poet and love of my life,” I say, kissing the top of her head. “I’m so proud of you.”

She lifts her face to mine. “Yeah?”

I smile wide. “Yeah.”

“My biggest fan,” she murmurs, standing on tiptoes to give me a kiss. Then she sags against me. “That was fun. But I’m exhausted.”

“The trials of being an esteemed artist,” I answer in sage voice.

She pokes me in the ribs. “How’d the kids do?”

“I think they loved it, actually.”

Her brows shoot straight up. “Seriously?”

“I know, I was surprised too.” I shrug. “It’s nice that they’ve gotten a glimpse of how badass their mom is. Want to go revel in their fleeting adoration?” I nod toward the refreshment table, where the triplets are lolling in the chairs they pulled up.

“Uh, definitely,” she says and bustles over to them.

I watch as the kids jump up from their chairs and crowd around their mother with the kind of enthusiasm that they don’t normally aim at Hollis and I. She gets a hug from each one, and her face lights up when Elizabeth shares her feelings on the poems about being a mother.

My heart feels too big for my chest as I watch my family. I’m so lucky to have Hollis and these kids.

We’re not exactly a traditional family, but a family that’s so damn full of all kinds of love — the kind of love that lasts forever.

His Flirty Fondue

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