Epilogue

EPILOGUE

MICAELA

“ R yan! Gabriel! Melinda! Come upstairs for the family photo!” I shout downstairs to our three oldest kids. They scramble up the stairs, making me laugh when I get my first look at their ugly Christmas sweaters.

It's been a running tradition now for the last decade or so to take a family photo in our ugliest homemade Christmas sweaters. We usually purchase the basic sweater from a thrift shop, then go all out with glitter, sewing, battery-operated LED lights, ornaments, and even some greenery.

Melinda and Ryan are pretty competitive when it comes to making the best worst sweater, while Gabriel usually settles for a quippy holiday joke on his. Alison and Kyle are still a bit too young to be let loose on their own, so Morrison has been helping them this morning while I finish the baking I wanted to get done. After the family photo, it’s tradition to frost cookies and watch a Christmas movie.

“Love the effort everyone put in this year,” I tell my kids as they zoom past me and into the living room where their younger siblings are.

Morrison looks up from the coffee couch where our youngest, Alison, is sitting on his lap. He smiles at the three kids who just joined him, the love in his eyes so pure and genuine it almost brings a tear to my eye. He catches me looking at him and gives me a wink. My man is somehow more handsome today than he was when we had our first encounter almost fifteen years ago now.

He’s an amazing father, a talented mechanic and artist, and a successful businessman. Morrison tells me all the time that he was coasting through life until I came along and gave him a purpose. He saved me all those years ago, but he makes it seem like I’m the one who saved him.

“Alright, fam, everyone assume the position!” Morrison calls out before setting Alison down and heading toward the camera already set up on the tripod.

He directs the kids and me so we’re all fitting in the frame, and then he sets the timer. My husband slides in next to me, nuzzling into the side of my neck and wrapping his arms around me as he pulls my back against his front.

“Merry Christmas, love,” he murmurs.

"Merry Christmas," I reply, looking at him over my shoulder. He kisses me as the camera beeps and snaps a photo.

“Ewww!” Kyle exclaims, making me laugh.

“Ugh, get a room,” Gabe says sarcastically.

“Um, actually, please don’t. I’m too young to know where babies come from,” Melinda, our fourteen-year-old teases.

Morrison kisses me on the cheek and pats my ass. “Cookie time, everyone!” he says, directing our circus of children to the kitchen where I have everything set up for decorating. The kids cheer and race each other to the frosting stations strategically placed around the massive kitchen.

“Thank you for finishing up Alison and Kyle’s sweaters,” I tell him, leaning against his side.

Morrison kisses the top of my head and tucks me further into him. "Thank you for making cookies and letting the monsters destroy the kitchen," he counters.

“All in the name of Christmas,” I say dramatically.

Morrison chuckles and then spins me around, dipping me backward like a ballroom dancer. His nose and lips ghost up my neck and then he kisses me soundly.

The kids are busy with the cookies, so they don’t mind when I cling to my husband and kiss him right back, pouring out all of my gratitude for the life he’s provided for us. Each year, I think it couldn’t get any better, and each year, my Daddy proves me wrong.

THE END

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