Page 174 of Clinically Delicious
Epilogue
Gabriel
Three years later.
I pulled into the driveway at 6:47 PM, exactly thirteen minutes later than my usual arrival time. Traffic on the interstate had been heavier than expected, and there’d been a minor incident in the OR that required my attention before I could leave.
Three years ago, those thirteen minutes would have bothered me.
Three years ago, I would have called ahead, adjusted the schedule, and ensured everything remained on track.
Three years ago, I was an idiot.
I grabbed my briefcase from the passenger seat and headed toward the front door, already bracing myself for what I knew I’d find inside.
Total pandemonium.
Beautiful, chaotic, perfect pandemonium.
The sound hit me before I even opened the door. A high-pitched shriek of laughter, followed by the thunder of small feet and the unmistakable bark of a dog who had no concept of his own size.
I pushed the door open.
“DADDY’S home!” Megan’s voice rang out from somewhere in the living room. “HIDE!”
She streaked past me—nine years old now, all long limbs and wild hair, her face flushed with laughter. Behind her, two small tornadoes in dinosaur pajamas gave chase, their chubby legs pumping as fast as they could manage.
“Get her!” one of them yelled.
The other one giggled but followed closely behind.
They were identical. Completely, perfectly identical. I still mixed them up sometimes, though I’d never admit it out loud. Behind them, adding to the chaos, was approximately eighty pounds of German Shepherd puppy who had not yet realized he was no longer small enough to fit under the coffee table.
He tried anyway.
The coffee table tipped.
A bowl of what looked like goldfish crackers went flying.
“BOYS!” Megan shrieked, diving behind the couch. “The dragon got the treasure!”
“NOOOOO!” they wailed in unison.
The puppy, whose name was officially “Sir Barkington,” but whom everyone called “Bark,” barked enthusiastically and knocked over a tower of blocks that had been precariously stacked in the corner.
I stood in the doorway, briefcase in hand, and took it all in.
The living room looked like a toy store had exploded. There were blocks everywhere, a half-constructed blanket fort draped over the armchair, what appeared to be an entire container of crayons scattered across the coffee table, and—Is that glitter?
Yes.
Yes, that was definitely glitter.
On the couch. On the floor. Somehow on the ceiling.
How does glitter get on the ceiling?
I didn’t ask anymore. I’d learned that some questions were better left unanswered.
