Page 232 of The Ninth

“I know.”

“We ‘re going to make the most of it.”

“I love you, Papa.”

“And Papa loves you.”

Epilogue

I looked up into the dusty rose colored vanity, meeting the prettiest brown eyes with little specs of green. We held eye contact for ten whole seconds before I chuckled. The corners of her lips turned up, causing her little chubby wubby cheeks to rise. She asked me not to squeeze them because she isn’t a baby anymore. It was very hard honoring my girl’s request.

“What’s wrong, Casey?”

“Have you ever noticed how we kind of look exactly alike...?”

“That happens sometimes with parents and their babies. It’s called genetics. You’ll learn about it someday, Lovey.”

“My deddy always says, “you pretty like your mama! You pretty like your mama!” I’m pretty like CASEY!”

I cackled, “Slow down, mooty moots. You most definitely get it from your mammy!”

“Remember when Uncle Micah comes he owes me fifty dollars.”

“For what, exactly?”

“He said if I didn’t talk while he was on the phone, he’d give it to me!”

“AW, NAH! HE SILENCED MY BABY?!”

“Yes ma’am!”

“I’ll be sure to collect your fee for you.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course.”

I sat her brush down, gently running my fingers over her slicked back donut bun. Her hair was the prettiest, medium brown, only a couple shades lighter than her. Every time I admired the beautiful girl I carried and birthed, it made me so emotional. She’s perfect in every way possible. From her confidence, her manners, the way she treats others...Sometimes when I spoke to her, all I could hear was my own mother.

“You know you’re so beautiful, right?”

“Right. Thank you.”

“And your mommy and deddy are so proud of you.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Are you ready to go party?”

“Yeah but, are you sure me and Demi’s pajamas match? Because Uncle promised they would.”

“If he promised they would, then they will. Let’s go.”

I stood from her bench, helping her hop down from her stool. Her pajamas were blush pink with little bunnies in tutus everywhere. Her deddy got her and Demi the cutest bunny slippers to match. The rest of us wore the basic red and black plaid each year as tradition. The girls insisted that only they wore different pajamas than us every year. We also had to eat the cookies they made, no matter how they tasted.

Usually, they tasted like ass.

We left the room that was once a pop-up nursey her father put together. I heard a bunch of voices in the office, so we turned the knob and entered. My mouth immediately dropped open,