Page 310 of What We Brave
"Papa needs something," I mutter, and Laine kicks me under the table.
"What does Papa need?" Caleb asks, because the kid has bat ears when it's inconvenient.
"Patience," Blake says smoothly. "Papa needs patience. And for certain people to stop talking."
"That's rude," Caleb informs him.
"You're right. I apologize."
"To who?"
"To Daddy. For his personality."
Laine snorts into her coffee. I throw a piece of toast at Blake's head. He catches it without looking.
Showoff.
Iris throws her toast on the floor. June immediately tattles. Caleb wants to know if Santa is coming tonight or tomorrow night, because Marcus at school said tonight but Caleb thinks Marcus is wrong.
Normal morning chaos. The kind I never knew I wanted until I had it.
Blake sets a plate of eggs in front of Laine, drops a kiss on the top of her head, and gives me a look that promises retribution later. I grin at him.
"Merry Christmas Eve," I say.
"Yeah, yeah." But he's smiling. Seven years in and he doesn't try to hide when he's happy anymore.
After breakfast, we divide and conquer. Blake's got airport duty—David and Mary's flight lands at ten. That gives me and Laine a few hours to get the kids organized and finish setting up the big reveal.
The guest house.
It took Blake eight months to build. Evenings and weekends, fitting it in around his restoration jobs. I helped where I could, but most of it was him—framing, wiring, plumbing. He called in favors for the stuff he couldn't do himself.
Six hundred square feet. One bedroom, one bathroom, a small kitchen, a living area with a wood stove. Simple, clean, built with the kind of care Blake puts into everything.
It's for David and Mary. An invitation.Come stay. Help with the grandkids. Be part of their lives.
We haven't asked them directly yet. That's what today is for. Show them the space, let them imagine it, then make the pitch.
Laine thinks they'll say yes. She's been watching her parents slow down, talking to her mom about how much they miss the kids between visits. Two weeks a year isn't enough. Not anymore.
I think she's right. David's been dropping hints about "when we're stateside more often." Mary asks about the kids' schedules, their schools, their friends. They're ready. They just need to be asked.
And if they say no, the backup plan is a sex den so our gorgeous little fuckers can't cockblock us all the time.
"Caleb, put your shoes on." Laine's in full mom-mode now. "June, stop poking your sister. Iris—Iris, we don't eat crayons."
I rescue the crayon from Iris's mouth. She gives me a look of pure betrayal.
"I know," I tell her. "Life is cruel."
"Da," she says solemnly. Then tries to grab the crayon back.
"Reid, can you get the sign?" Laine's wrestling June into her coat. "It's in the hall closet."
The sign. The kids helped make it yesterday. WELCOME GRANDMA AND GRANDPA in wobbly letters, decorated with approximately seven thousand stickers. Caleb did most of the writing. June contributed glitter. Iris contributed a single red handprint and then ate some paste.
It's perfect.
