Page 21 of It All Began at Dixieland

“Yes, Monsignor Alvarez, quick question. Do you have time next Saturday for a weddinganda funeral?”

Efa 19.

6 months later

“Efa. Baby?”

“In here.” I call out from the nursery where I’m hovering over Javier’s crib. Our little man came out of my vagina right on time. Foster lost his bet to his sister and had to dress up like Captain America and visit the children’s ward of the hospital, however, neither one of us lost control of our bowels during the delivery, so we consider it an all-around success.

“Last box is officially unpacked, everything has been put away, and I still can’t find the damn fileting knife from the block. How did we manage to lose it?”

“Another of life’s mysteries.” I answer, keeping my head down to hide my grin. 6 months he’s been searching for that knife. I know where it is, I’ve always known where it is, but telling him would cause him to run away screaming from me and my family. So, I’ve kept it to myself. I’m wondering, though, now that Javier is here, and we’ve moved into our new home, if I need to worry whether he’s a flight risk.

He’s gotten to know my parents quite well. My dad, some of Foster’s army buddies, and my husband have been working hard to renovate the historic four-bedroom house we bought for a steal on foreclosure in Oxford, Ohio. Hell, he even led the campaign to convince my parents to move into the guest house in the back.

Foster could have saved his breath and poster board. All it took was one look at the sonogram picture of their first grandchild for dad to announce his retirement, for them to put my childhood home on the market and start packing up. I was a little sad to say goodbye to all my cherished memories growing up, but Foster assures me we’ll make even better ones here for our children. And my parents will be right there with us every step of the way.

Foster and his sister Emery are repurposing the poster board in an attempt to convince their parents to move from Missouri to Indiana or Ohio. Emery is less than 3 hours from us. Talking with his mom, I know they’ve already taken the steps to start the process, but they enjoy seeing what each sibling comes up with to top the other in their bid to win their parent’s love. It’s entertaining…and expensive. We’re winning because of squishy little baby man.

So much has changed in the last six months and yet it feels like everything is falling into place. After our short and sweet wedding ceremony, it seemed like everything started moving at warp speed. Foster’s constant presence and open heart made it easy. Well, easier than if I’d been on my own. And a lot more fun. He loves me with everything he’s got and to him I’m perfect. I think we’re perfect for each other.

With that in mind, I take a deep breath, turn from our sleeping boy, and face my husband. “You should check mom’s purse.”

“What?” He snorts, thinking I’m joking. Naïve Foster. Have you learned anything from your time with the Martinez-Blevins? “Why?”

“Because it’s in her purse.”

“Ok.” He leans against the door jamb, crossing his ankles and arms. “Why would it be in her purse?”

“Remember Namegate 2023?”

He rolls his eyes, “We are not calling it that. It was nothing. I made a joke; it ruffled a few feathers. Your mom and I are cool. She loves me.”

“She does.” I concede. “When you suggested we name our child after her demented cousin, she went into the kitchen, and I went after her.”

“I remember.” His eyes widen in alarm. “She went into the kitchen to grab a knife to filet me with?” I nod, biting my lower lip. His eyes dart over my shoulder, his brows furrow in thought. “I’ve bitched about the missing knifeto her…multiple times.”

“I know, dear.”

“Maria is devious.” He says, almost to himself. I’m not sure how I feel about the admiration in his voice. “And she’s kept it all this time?”

I shrug, “Because you kept bitching about it being missing. Payback.”

“I love her.” He smirks, dropping his arms to his sides and stepping into the nursery. He brings me to his chest, his entire body enveloping me in his warmth and addictive scent. This right here is my home. “Not as much as I love you.” He whispers.

“Me or Javi?”

“Bit of both.”

Chuckling, I lean back and nip at his chin. “Take me to bed?”

“He’s down for the count?”

Peering back over my shoulder I smile softly at the human person we created doing the nasty. “For a few hours. He drained me, but there might be a little something left for you.” I suggest with a wiggle of my eyebrows. He really enjoys my milky tits. Suddenly, I’m airborne over his shoulder, his large hand kneading my ass.

“Damn kid, I’m nice enough to share…”

Foster 20.

---