One Year Later

I'm the first one to wake up. Even Ava is still asleep when I open my eyes just before seven because my phone is buzzing like crazy. I forgot to turn on do not disturb mode but no-one usually disturbs me at this hour. Especially not on Christmas Day. But then I see that it's Liyo calling me from the future. She's twelve and a half hours ahead at the moment, her first Christmas with her parents in Sri Lanka; it's almost seven thirty p.m. for her, the day winding to a close.

I slip out of bed before the buzzing can disturb Laurel, who is curled upon her side of the bed with her arm around a pillow, so deeply asleep that she's snoring softly. I can't resist pressing my lips to her temple. We have shared a bed every single night for an entire year, and yet I still love to wake up when she's still asleep, when her hair is all over the place and there's no tension in her body.

Before the call rings out, I answer it and whisper, "Hi, one sec, just finding somewhere quiet."

I peek around Hannah's open door. She's a starfish in the middle of her bed, sleeping so silently that I watch for a few seconds to make sure she's still breathing. I look into Ava's room. She has been upgraded from her crib to a toddler bed that she loves clambering on and off, and a couple months ago she figured out how to open doors. Sometimes I wake up at two in the morning, sensing a presence in the room, and it's because she has snuck in and she's about to cry.

I won't lie, she scares the shit out of me every time.

But right now, she's sleeping soundly with a halo of blonde waves on her pillow. I watch her with a smile for a moment, until I remember that Liyo's on the other end of the phone. I head downstairs as quietly as I can, flicking on the fire in the living room and making myself cozy under a blanket.

"Hi," I say once I'm settled, though I wish I'd made a coffee. "How's Sri Lanka? How are you?"

"How fucking old are you, Annabelle?" Liyo says. "This is a video call. I don't want to see the inside of your ear. Show me your face."

"Sorry." I laugh and hold the phone out in front of me. "I didn't realize."

"I figured, when you just held me upside down for, like, two whole minutes while you watched your kid sleeping."

I still get a flood of warmth whenever anyone refers to Ava as mine. "Sorry," I say again, grinning at my best friend. It's as dark for her, the sun having set, as it is for me before it has risen, except I'm wrapped up in flannel pajamas sitting by the fire while Liyo's in a tank top and shorts. "Is it hot over there?"

She nods, fanning herself. "I swear, it's killing me. I'm too acclimatized to Montana. It's Christmas Day and it's eighty fucking degrees outside," she says, giving me a wide-eyed look of horror and disbelief. "I think my parents are ashamed of me."

"How's Cas handling the heat?"

Liyo grimaces. "The heat isn't the worst part. It's the humidity," she says. "He's putting on a brave face but he's having, like, three cold showers a day. Aren't you, babe?" She looks off camera, reaching out. "Come here. Annie's on the phone."

Cas ducks into view and waves. "Hi, Annie. Merry Christmas!"

"Oh shit, yeah, I didn't say merry Christmas!" Liyo says with a laugh. "You distracted me with that unintentional tour of your house."

"Hey, Cas. Merry Christmas to both of you, and your parents too, Liyo! I can't believe you're so far away."

"Only for a few more days," Liyo says, draping her arm around Cas's neck and kissing his cheek. "This one can't wait to get back to the snow and sleet and slush of Deer Pines."

Cas shrugs. "What can I say? I was born to thrive in a polar climate."

"I don't think Montana has a polar climate," I say.

"It's not called Glacier County for nothing," Liyo says, lifting one finger from Cas's collarbone to point at me, and it's only then that I notice the rock on her finger. Not one of her regular glinting rings: a diamond ring. On her ring finger.

"Holy fucking shit, Liyoni Silva, did you get fucking engaged?" I cry out, trying to keep my voice down. Liyo's grin explodes. She sticks out her hand, the light catching on the diamond.

"Why d'you think he was so eager to spend Christmas with my family?" she says, beaming at her ring and then back at me. She launches into the proposal story – walking along Polhena Beach, no-one else in sight – and the whole time she's talking, Cas is gazing at her like a lovesick teenager, even after eight years together.

"We'll get married at home, don't worry," Liyo says. "I don't want to be sweating my ass off on my wedding day."

"I can't believe you're engaged."

She flashes the ring again. "You'd better believe it, baby." She beams at Cas and kisses his stubbled cheek and when she turns back to me, her eyebrows dance as she says, "It feels really fucking good to be proposed to, I'm just saying."

"Are you telling me to propose?" I ask. "Or are you hoping I'll be proposed to?"

Liyo can't help how wide she's grinning. "Honestly, Annie, it doesn't even matter, but you and Laurel are endgame. You might as well put a ring on it," she says.

I have never seen her so happy, and we have seen a lot more of each other since I've been back in Deer Pines. Our communication has gone from spottily texting each other every few months to texting all the time and seeing each other at least once a week, when I go to hers or she comes here or we meet up at either The Caffeinated Cowboy or Betty's. She has designated herself as Ava's unofficial godmother, which made Hannah jealous because she doesn't have one, so Liyo adopted her too.

Liyo and I chat for a few more minutes until, with my newfound supersonic hearing that I've acquired since sharing the house with a toddler, I hear a soft thud from upstairs. Ava's room is directly overhead. After many more congratulations and wishes of a happy Christmas, I head upstairs just in time to see Ava's door opening, her little arm stretched up to reach the knob.

"Hi, Mama," she says, her grinning face surrounded by sleep-mussed waves that almost reach her shoulders now.

"Hey, honey," I say, crouching down to kiss her good morning. She wraps her arms around my neck so when I stand, I have no choice but to pick her up. "Where're you off to, huh?"

"Where Mommy?"

"She's in bed, it's still early, kiddo," I say. Except when I check my phone, I see that it's seven thirty. Ava's internal clock is reliable as ever, her tummy telling her it's time for breakfast. "You want some food, baby girl?"

She nods and rests her cheek on my shoulder, slipping her thumb into her mouth. Laurel's still sleeping when I glance into our room, no noise coming from Hannah's or Otto's rooms. That won't last long. I predict we have no more than thirty minutes before Hannah wakes up and realizes it's Christmas Day, but for now, it's just Ava and me. It often is in the morning. Turns out I'm more of a morning person than I thought I was, and although Laurel has been an early riser out of necessity, she prefers to sleep in.

I like it. It gives Ava and me a chance to make up for lost time, the first fifteen months of her life that I missed out on. Time that she will never remember as she grows up. By the time she starts school, she won't recall a time I wasn't around.

"We've got a big day ahead of us, Aves," I say as I make her breakfast and brew a pot of coffee. "Are you excited to see Grandma and Granny and Grampa?"

"Yeah!" she says. I wonder how much she understands. If she knows who I'm talking about, or if she only understands when she sees them in person.

I, for one, am excited to host Christmas this year. A union of the families. Neither of my brothers are around this year – Theo is spending the day with his wife's family, and Nathan and Lily are in Australia for Christmas – so my parents are coming here, and so is Laurel's mom. Which ... honestly, I could do without. The woman exhausts me.

Things were going well. She was making more of an effort, and she cut down on her snippy little comments a lot. Until the truth about the whole Ava's dad situation came up, several months ago now, and out came that bitter bitch I met in the garden center last year. There was a bit of a regression. Okay, a major regression. She was out of pocket. Laurel stopped talking to her for almost a month.

Christine wheedled her way back into our lives over the summer. More apologies, more promises to do better. Things have been tentatively okay since then, but she's on two strikes. One more and she's out. Today will be a big test for her, the entire day with us and my parents. I'm prepared to haul her ass out into the snow if she so much as thinks of stepping out of line.

Ava breaks me out of my thoughts when she holds up her sippy cup and says, "More milk, Mama."

"Can you say please?"

"Peas!"

I fill her cup and kiss her head and push Laurel's mom out of my mind. I don't care what the woman thinks of me, frankly. I have the whole world, right here.

*

I'm hit by a blast of heat when I open the oven to check the roast potatoes. They're crisping up and browning nicely and the chicken is looking good too, not long to go now until my first Christmas as a host. I've always been either the child or the guest, never the one in charge, and I can't decide if I like it or if it's too much pressure.

I'm not cooking alone – Dad gave me a hand with the meat and Laurel prepped the vegetables and Mom imparted her wisdom when it came to the potatoes, and Christine brought dessert. It's a group effort, but now it's getting to that stressful time when all of the food will be ready in the next twenty minutes and I don't want to dry out the chicken or overcook the vegetables or char the potatoes.

"How's it going in here?" Laurel asks, escaping the madness of the living room. Her fingers encircle my wrist, drawing me close to her. "Need a hand?"

"Not yet. Soon, though," I say, stepping into her embrace. She is warm from the fire. I am warm from standing over the stove. "How's your mom?" I ask quietly.

"So far, so good." Laurel holds up crossed fingers. I think it will probably always be this way. A constant push and pull of affection, never knowing quite where we stand. "How are you?"

"I," I say, pressing my lips to hers, "am great."

She pulls me in for a second kiss. This one longer, deeper, hungrier, her hand on my hip and her fingers pushing under the string of my apron. "Want to come in for a few minutes? Or are we at a critical stage?"

"Critical stage commences in ... ten minutes. I've got some time." I snag my glass of wine and follow Laurel to the living room, where my parents are sharing one sofa with Ava between them, Otto and Christine are on the other, and Hannah's on the floor with Cooper sprawled out next to her.

The electric light from the fire bounces off the ornaments hanging from the tree, especially Otto's kitsch contribution this year: a sparkly fuchsia flamingo wearing a bright pink Santa hat. I dig his weird style, and he laughed when I presented Laurel with my first contribution to the Jacobs Christmas tree: an ornament shaped like a slice of pizza with red glitter as pieces of pepperoni.

We got pizza that night. I have learned how to be quiet when I need to be.

Laurel squeezes next to Otto and I balance on the arm of the sofa, Laurel's arm around my waist like she's holding me in place. I am right where I belong. I can't believe it's been a year already, even longer since I found myself back in Deer Pines feeling like I'd taken a giant step backwards.

Now I see that I had to take that step back in order to see the path I should have taken, the one that has led me to where I am now.

Lunch is a bit of a squeeze, eight of us sitting around a table designed for six, but I am more than happy to have my chair so close to Laurel's that our thighs are pressed together. She leans into the touch, her little finger grazing my thigh when she rests her hand in her lap, inching it closer and closer until her hand is cupping my knee as we eat. She takes twice as long as the rest of us, feeding herself and Ava as my parents and Hannah hold the conversational fort.

Christine doesn't have much to say. I can't help but wonder if it's because she has nothing nice to say. If that's the case, at least she's keeping her words to herself for once rather than cutting Laurel or me down in front of our entire families. I catch her eye when she notices that Laurel's hand is under the table, when she wrinkles her nose and I give her my sweetest smile as I put my hand over Laurel's, holding it in place.

"Enjoying the meal, Christine?" I ask.

"It's delicious, thank you, Annie. The chicken is very succulent," she says, smoothing out her face and slipping into her friendly skin, and her compliment starts an avalanche of praise. I bask a little bit. I'm only human, after all.

Laurel grins and gently pinches my thigh when says, "You're a great cook, honey, and you know it."

It's a relatively new development. It turns out cooking is a lot more fun when you have other people to cook for. For so long I've only cooked as a means to satisfy my hunger. Now I have a family to feed, and I've learned to enjoy experimenting in the kitchen at the weekends. Laurel's in charge during the week, now that she's down to one day a week in the store after the trial of my plan worked out great.

Although the house can be more hectic than the store, her stress levels have been way down since she decided to cut her hours right back. She gets more time with Ava; we're both off work all weekend; the store is bumbling along just fine. I don't want to toot my own horn too loud, but it's been pretty revolutionary.

"What time is it?" my mom asks as Dad serves up the dessert Christine brought with her. I was half expecting her to have made a dry fruit cake as a subtle fuck you, but she has made a decadent yule log, the chocolate sponge moist and airy and the Italian buttercream is fluffy and flavorful. She may be a bitch but she can bake.

"Nearly three," Otto says. His phone has hardly left his hand since he and Madison started officially going out at the start of the year. He became a lot more insistent about learning to drive once he got himself a girlfriend; he got his restricted license a couple months ago and his dad bought him his first car.

"Annie, hon, can you set up the laptop in a minute?" Mom asks. "Theo said he'll set up a Zoom call at three and I know it's not the twenty-fifth for Nathan and Lily anymore but I want to speak to my boys on Christmas."

"No prob." I dig into the yule log. Fuck, it's good. I could devour the entire thing. When we adjourn to the living room, I take a second slice with me and I balance my plate on my knee as I log into Zoom with the meeting link Theo sent to the family chat. I almost lose my dessert when Ava toddles over and tries to clamber up onto my lap.

"Up, Mama," she says.

"You're a big girl now, Aves. You can get on the sofa on your own," I say, using my finger to swipe a dollop of frosting off her cheek, wiping it on the edge of my plate. I pat the space next to me. Ava just stands there. She gives me this sad little look.

"Peas, Mama," she says, pouting at me and tugging on one of her loose curls.

"Okay, fine, seeing as you asked so nicely." I pick her up and when I kiss her grubby cheek I taste chocolate. At three o'clock on the dot, both of my brothers log in. Theo's in gray, snowy Glasgow with his in-laws, having survived the seven hour drive with a four-year-old who gets carsick; Nathan's in sunny Melbourne, still making the most of his honeymoon a month after Laurel and I left the kids with her mom to spend a long weekend in New York for the wedding. She wasn't going to come until Lily persuaded her, and we had the most amazing time.

Three kid-free days in the Big Apple, Laurel's first time on a plane and the furthest either of us have ever been from home. It was magical. It's a cliche, I know, but it truly was an incredible trip. It was the end of November, the city filled with such a festive vibe – we crammed as many tourist activities into our short trip as possible, even getting up at five a.m. one day to kiss in front of the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree.

"Mom, Dad, I have the boys," I say, turning the laptop to show them, waving at my brothers. Ava catches my hand and pulls it down, marveling at the sparkle of my festive nail polish. "Avie, honey, say hi to Uncle Nathan and Uncle Theo."

Her vocabulary has been coming on in leaps and bounds since she uttered her first word last year, and she has a pretty good grasp of names, but she can't say her TH sounds yet, which makes my brothers pretty difficult.

"Hi, Unkie Nay," she says, parroting me with a goofy little grin. "Hi, Unkie Feo."

This dynamic could have been awkward, but Nathan and I have thrown ourselves into our roles so wholeheartedly that it's wrong to think of us as anything other than Ava's mom and her uncle. He plays the role well, adding all three of Laurel's children to the list of people he sends birthday cards and cash to – his own idea, not Lily's.

"Do you want to talk to your uncles?" I ask Ava, but Cooper plods in from the kitchen and she loses all interest in the video chat.

"No, Mama," she says, launching herself off my lap to throw her arms around Cooper. "Good doggie. Doggie play."

"The girl has her priorities in order," Christine says. From anyone else I wouldn't think twice about the comment but because it's her, I can only assume that's her way of somehow trying to put my brother in his place. As much as I desperately don't want her to do or say anything that will upset Laurel the way she has in the past, I also really wouldn't mind her not being in our lives.

I chat to my brothers for a few minutes before I head next door to the playroom, where Otto's texting Madison (I assume, based on his smile) and Hannah's reading, and Laurel's looking longingly at her own book.

"You can read, you know," I say, nudging it towards her. Cooper and Ava follow me into the playroom, leaving the parents next door. "Today is about chilling and doing whatever you want."

"Come and read with me, Mom," Hannah says.

"We're hosting," Laurel says, but it's a weak protest.

"It's hardly a masquerade ball," I say, throwing the book into her lap. "It's our parents. I think they can handle you taking some time to relax on what is renowned as one of the most stressful days of the year."

"This year's been pretty stress-free, actually," she says.

I bop her on the nose and say, "Because you let me cook."

She gazes up at me with that grateful smile. I bend down to kiss her curved lips, lingering for a moment. After a whole year, Otto has gotten well used to us kissing. It bothers him less, I think, now that he has his own girlfriend to kiss. Especially now that he has a car and he can go see her any time he wants.

I sit on the floor and play with Ava for a little while, until she gets bored and sleepy and she walks over to Laurel and says, "Mommy, hugs." She pats her hands on Laurel's knees. "Hugs, peas."

"Come here, baby, you can have all the hugs you want," Laurel says, her expression transforming from intense concentration on her thriller to the bright, open face of a toddler mom. Ava climbs up and snuggles against Laurel's stomach, closing her eyes and sucking her thumb.

"You know she's going to fall asleep on you," I warn her, watching as Ava makes herself comfortable and Laurel holds her with one hand, her book in the other.

"I know. It's Christmas, I don't care," she says with a contented smile. "Got to make the most of a child who still wants snuggles."

"Hey, I always want snuggles," Hannah protests.

"Yes, but do you nap on my lap?"

"I don't fit on your lap anymore."

"Exactly. Neither will Ava before I know it," she says, stroking Ava's hair. "Just let me enjoy this."

I leave to find a bottle of wine for a top-up and I end up talking with my brothers for a few more minutes, and when I return to the playroom, Laurel's asleep with the book in her hand, Ava asleep on her lap, and Hannah looks like she's about to drift off into a post-Christmas dinner food coma.

You know what, fuck it, the parents can look after themselves. I get Hannah to budge up a bit and I sink into the deep sofa next to her, and she lays her head on my lap, opening her book again.

I guess I fall asleep too, because I jerk awake when a bright light blinds me.

"Sorry!" Mom whispers, holding up her phone. "The four of you just looked so sweet, all cuddled up together. I didn't realize the flash was on."

I blink the light away and once I'm reoriented, I realize the weight on my shoulder is Laurel's head, her mouth open as she dozes, and Hannah's fast asleep with her ear pressed to my thigh.

"What time is it?"

"Four thirty? Five?" Mom says, her tone telling me it could be anywhere from half past three to seven o'clock. "Christine just left."

"Shit, have you been entertaining her this whole time? Sorry, Mom."

Mom chuckles and waves her hand. "It's okay. I think she's just lonely. I'm going to befriend her, I think that'll defrost her a bit."

"You think she's capable of friendship?" I ask, once I've ascertained that Hannah's asleep and Otto isn't in the room anymore.

Mom grins and says, "I think she'll find that when it comes to Webster women, it's very hard to say no. I'm sure Laurel's figured that out."

"I'm an Abraham woman," I sleepily point out.

"You have Webster blood, honey," Mom says, and she grins at Ava, who got her own way – naptime with her mommy instead of in her bed. "So does that little tyke."

"She's a very strong-willed little tyke," I say. "My little diva. She can say, what, fifty words, and sometimes I swear she has the attitude of a teenager."

Mom laughs, shaking her head at me.

"What?"

"Oh, Annie," she says, grinning. "She's you, honey. She's all you."

"Well, she is the youngest," I say, careful not to disturb any of the sleeping Jacobses when I curl a piece of her hair around my finger.

"Will she always be?" Mom asks, lowering her voice. I suck in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"I don't know." I would love to have another child and Laurel knows that, but it isn't make or break for me. She's the one who would be putting herself through all that again and I can't ask her to do that just because I like the idea of being around from the start. The conversation comes up every couple of months but we never get very far. The ball's in her court. She knows what I want. I know that she doesn't know what she wants, and it's fine, it really is. If this is our family, completed, then it is still more than I ever thought I'd get.

Mom sees the look in my eyes. Her expression softens. "You want another," she says quietly. I think about there being another person in the house, another dependent little kid, tacking more years onto however long it'll be before Laurel and I are independent and ... it doesn't scare me. I smile at the thought, and I nod.

Mom's smile is a small one. She sighs and says, "It must be so hard to be a lesbian."

I snort a laugh. "I find it pretty easy, actually."

She rolls her eyes. "That came out wrong, I'm sorry, hon. I just meant, well, your father and I never really thought about children. You all just ... happened, and each of you is such a blessing, but we never made active plans."

"Very reckless behavior, Mother."

She chuckles. "I'm just saying it was easy. You have to be so intentional. You're hardly going to wake up a few weeks after a boozy New Year's Eve party and realize your period's late."

"Mom! Are you telling me how Nathan was conceived?"

"Oh, honey, I can't remember the how, I'm just pretty sure that's the when."

"Dear god, Mom." I let out a low laugh, amazed that Laurel, Hannah and Ava are still dozing. "You're right, yeah, we can't accidentally make a baby. But that just means that if we did have another one, it would be the most wanted child in the world."

*

I am the chosen one tonight. My mom is right. Ava has us wrapped around her little fingers. She dictates which of us reads her to sleep when she asks for either Mama or Mommy to read her a bedtime story, which usually ends up being at least three stories. I thought she'd be out like a light after how busy today has been, when her afternoon nap was half as long as it usually is and she should've been in bed three hours ago, but nope. We're past that point.

"No go, Mama," she says when I stand up, thinking she's drifted off.

I sit. "I'm here, Aves."

"Story?"

"You've had three stories already, honey. It's time to go to sleep. Even Mama's tired." I'm not faking it when I yawn.

"Where Mommy?"

"Mommy's gone to bed. It's late. She's sleeping," I say. That might be a slight lie. Ava doesn't need to know that her mommy's downstairs finishing off the last few chapters of her book with the last dregs of the wine.

"Story," she says, holding up one finger.

I sigh. "One story. Only one more. Okay? And then you're going to close your eyes, and I'm going to bed."

Ava stares up at me as I pick up a fourth picture book. Each one takes no more than a few minutes to read. I draw this one out, giving Ava as much time as possible to drop off before I reach the end of the book, and I try to sound as boring as possible so she drifts off.

There's a creak on the landing outside her room. I don't stop my reading as I glance through the door and see Laurel miming that she's going to take a shower and head to bed. After a couple of minutes, the book comes to an end and Ava doesn't protest. I touch her back and kiss her cheek and whisper goodnight, and she lets me leave.

I'm shattered when I change into pajamas and crawl between the covers, listening to the patter of water as Laurel showers. Accomplishment achieved: our first full Christmas Day as a family; my first attempt at cooking a Christmas roast lunch; my first year here.

My eyes are struggling to stay open. I peer up at Laurel when I feel the pressure of her sitting on the edge of the bed, but she's not there. I look down. I sigh. Ava's standing by my side of the bed, clutching her teddy bear and giving me her best puppy dog eyes, and I don't have it in me to take her back to her room and start the process all over again.

"Okay, fine, get in," I say, barely lifting my head off the pillow as I help her into my bed. I was still crawling into my parents' bed when I was eight years old and look at me. I'm fine.

Ava clambers over me to get to the middle of the bed, snuggling under the comforter and pressing her warm little body against mine.

"Don't tell Mommy," I say, yawning into her hair.

"Shush," Ava says, her finger against her lips.

"Exactly."

By the time Laurel comes out of the bathroom, one towel around her body and another in her hand as she dries her hair, Ava's asleep and I'm just about hanging onto consciousness. I blink up at Laurel when I sense her lack of movement. She's just looking down at Ava and me, a smile on her lips.

"Don't say anything," I grunt. She doesn't. When a few seconds pass and she's still watching us, I ask, "Are you alright? I know today was busy but your mom was on her best behavior and I think we smashed it, to be honest."

"I want to do it," Laurel says.

"Huh?" I blink at her. "Bit abrupt, but okay. You're not gonna warm me up first?"

"Not that."

"Oh. Okay, good, because I'm not comfortable having s-e-x when Ava's in the bed." I roll onto my back and push my hair off her face. "What do you mean, then?"

"I want another baby," Laurel says. "I want to have a baby with you."

I am no longer tired. My exhaustion flees. I sit up on my elbows, eyes wide as I try to figure out if there's a way I've mishead. "You want a baby?"

"I do." She nods, the short stiff nod she does when she has made up her mind.

"Are you saying that because you actually want it or because of what my mom said?"

She frowns. "What did your mom say?"

"You didn't hear?"

"No. What did she say? When?"

I regale the conversation Mom and I had while Laurel was napping on my shoulder. Her smile grows as she listens, moonlight reflecting in her shining eyes.

"I didn't hear," she says. "Well, I don't know, maybe I heard subconsciously. I want to do it."

I get out of bed. This is not a conversation to be having when I'm under the covers and she's standing in a towel in the middle of the room because I think I'm about to cry and I want to be able to hold her. "Are you sure?" I ask. Yup, there's the wobble in my voice and the sting in my eyes.

"I'm sure." She plants her hands on my waist, her eyes boring into mine. "I want another one. I do, Annie, I really do. I'm not just saying that because I know you want a baby, else we'd already have one by now. I mean it." Her gaze slips to Ava, to her little body sleeping in the middle of our king size bed, and then back to me. I lean into her wet body, my trembling hands in her damp hair as I kiss her.

We're going to do it. Oh my god. I clutch her when our lips part, my knees going weak. I don't have the strength to stand, sinking onto the edge of the bed, and when I see that Laurel's eyes are shining, that's my undoing. The first tear falls, and its friends soon follow suit, and I am burying my face in Laurel's shoulder and she's holding me.

There's a long road ahead of us. Who knows how long this could take, if it will work at all, but all I can think as I hold Laurel is I already know our child's name.

I never told her about my conversation with Liyo, about the two names I fell in love with a year ago. I didn't want to scare her off, to pile on the pressure of my pipe dream, but now it isn't a pipe dream anymore. With four words, Laurel has turned it from a fantasy to our future.

*

don't worry, there are two epilogues, one each for annie and laurel! that does mean the next chapter is the last though!