Epilogue

“You’re probably not going to like it. It’s dumb,” Tamara informed us. It seemed like once she’d hit sixth grade, everything was. Her old dreams about a miniature horse farm? Dumb. Playing house in the shed? Dumb. I remembered Brenna acting just the same way, though, and I took heart in how much she’d lately come around.

“I know it’s not dumb,” Jude answered. “We’re going to love it. We love all your art.”

I saw that Michael was about to say that he didn’t feel that way but when I held up my index finger in warning, he closed his mouth. It was a smart decision.

“I’m sure it kicks ass, because that’s how you roll,” Sergio announced. “That’s why we have your paintings displayed all over the shop, because everyone likes to look at them.” He was their stepdad now and it had taken a while, but both Tam and Michael had grown to respect what he had to say. He had his arm around Shannon, who was already emotional although I’d reminded her that this was only a middle school art show.

“How are you going to behave when she gets accepted into college?” I’d asked, and she’d fallen apart.

“I can’t believe that’s even an option for my kids. I never thought this would be our life,” she’d told me, sniffling, and my eyes had stung some, too.

“Let’s get going,” Eddie ordered us. “Mikey and I have the game at two and we’re warming up before that. The kid and I are going to look at her picture, and the rest of you can screw around out here or you can follow us.” He propelled himself forward in his new chair with my toddler in his lap. Declan laughed as they rode over a bump in the pavement and I saw Jude’s eyes move quickly to check, but our son was fine. He was a tiny replica of his father, with his thick, dark hair and the same beautiful brown eyes. They shared a personality, too: Declan was an easygoing, sweet little guy, so warm-hearted and loving.

The rest of us did follow them into the school building to see Tamara’s painting, which had won a prize (“Everyone won something. It’s dumb,” she had explained it). She caught up with Eddie to lead the way, Shannon and Sergio walked behind him, then Michael holding hands with my daughter, and finally Jude and me. I carried our next little one in my stomach, just below the waistline of my scrubs. We were a large group and everyone had something to say about the school, the baseball game, the art show, a child running away—

“Amelia, come back,” Jude ordered as she suddenly raced ahead, but our oldest child flipped her auburn hair over her shoulder and kept right on going. That girl had a mind of her own and no one could understand where her stubbornness and independence had come from.

“I got her,” Michael informed us, because he was the best big brother to our kids that they could ever hope to have.

“You’re not responsible for them,” I’d told him many, many times, and I watched carefully to make sure that too much responsibility wasn’t foisted on him by mistake, either. “You’re their brother, not their dad.” I never wanted him to miss out on anything because he was busy taking care of someone else.

“It’s all right. Kids can get into crap pretty quick,” he liked to answer. He thought it was better if we all watched them, just in case. Michael spent a lot of time at our house, especially in the basement that Jude had dried, cleared of spiders, and totally remodeled. It was now a game and play room for everyone. The third bedroom upstairs was different, too, because it had transformed first into Amelia’s nursery, and then into a staircase that led to a third story when we built out the attic and the back of the house.

Monique, Eddie’s former neighbor, had recommended her son as a general contractor and he’d done a great job of expanding the footprint to fit all of us. Jude and Sergio had helped, but they were busy with the ever-expanding business of the woodshop and with being spouses and dads. The big construction project had given Monique more opportunities to come by and check on things on our street, which meant seeing Eddie. They got along a lot better now that they were living apart, and they’d returned to being a couple. But I had made clear that he was responsible for buying his own condoms.

“You don’t want to know the things he tells me about the stuff they do,” my husband had said, and he kept that information to himself.

After all the repairs and additions, our whole house was very different. It didn’t look much like the cottages I’d admired, the ones I’d written about in my journals, the ones with the free-range kids and animals and the beautiful accessories. Ours was so much better than that because it belonged to the people inside it. But it did have perfect paint colors.

“Ok, here it is,” Tamara said, and stopped in the school hallway. “Our teacher made the frames and the name plates. It’s dumb.”

We all stared at the picture hung on the wall in a cardboard frame, and at the white sticker that identified the artist and the title of the work above it. “Tamara Westover,” it read and, “My Family.”

“Tam, you painted us?” Shannon asked. Because there she was on the paper next to Sergio, and Michael stood in front of them with his sister at his side.

“That’s me,” Eddie pointed out, pleased. He was in the picture too, and Tam had painted Michael with his hand on Eddie’s shoulder.

“That’s us!” Jude said. My palm rested on Eddie’s other shoulder, and I held Declan. Jude had his arm around me and Amelia sat on his shoulders. “It’s all of us.”

“Yeah, I told you that I painted my family,” Tamara answered impatiently. “There we are.”

“I love it,” Shannon said, and she was bawling. “It’s perfect.”

“It’s pretty good,” Michael approved. He had caught up with Amelia and carried her back, and when she saw herself on the wall, she started to clap. We all did.

“Whatever,” Tam muttered. But she was grinning, and she curtsied and then bowed when the round of applause was over.

“I’ll be damned. That’s amazing!” Eddie exclaimed. “Come here.” He kissed her cheek and Declan kissed the other side.

“It’s…” I started to say, but I couldn’t think of a word that would encompass not just the painting, but the family that was pictured there. Eddie was right; it was amazing. It was also beautiful, infuriating, surprising, tough, heartwarming, exciting, and wonderful.

“It is, isn’t it?” Jude asked. His hand covered my stomach and he smiled down at me. “It’s just…”

It was. Our life together was all of those things, and for me, Jude was at the center of everything. I never could have planned it in my journal, but I loved the surprises.

Honestly.