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“I don’t know, some of my stories might be okay,” Warren jokes as they ease into a conversation about adolescent pranks and what is acceptable and not.

“Tee-peeing a house with toilet paper is harmless fun. You couldn’t blame him for something that’s basically a rite of passage,” Warren argues.

“Perhaps. But I draw the line at egging and slashing tires. There’s no need to waste perfectly good eggs and tires are expensive to replace,” Mrs. Niedermeyer quips.

“What about you Bambi? Where do you draw the line? Is everything off limits because they’re all illegal?”

I consider Warren’s question and knowing smirk, giving him a cheeky smile in return.

“While I don’t condone any illegal actions…I suppose tee-peeing is acceptable.”

Warren’s smile widens and his eyes glint with mischief. “So, you’re saying when our son gets caught tee-peeing a house you won’t punish him or scold him?”

“I never said that. Just that it will be a minimal punishment, and we might laugh about it after a conversation about not doing anything worse, like egging or slashing tires.”

I eye Mrs. Niedermeyer whose lips twitch with amusement. Warren chuckles and wraps an arm around my back pressing a kiss to my hair.

“Very well, if you say so,” he concedes. “As long as I don’t get punished for teaching him how to properly tee-pee a house.”

I elbow him in the ribs which only makes him laugh more. He leans in to speak directly into my ear so Mrs. Niedermeyer doesn’t hear. “That is unless you want to punish me. I might like it.”

My face flushes and I try to conceal it by slowly sipping from my glass of iced tea. Mrs. Niedermeyer doesn’t notice my blush thankfully and continues rambling on about the mischief her boys got into as children, making me laugh and take mental notes on what to expect from an active boy.

The rest of the party goes about the same. We play a few games throughout the day, people collecting clothes pins as they catch others crossing their legs, guessing the flavor of baby food, how many cookies are in the cookie jar. One of my favorites is drawing on white onesies with the fabric markers. Warren’s is ridiculously amazing and mine looks like the baby drew it.

Once most of the games are played, they make me sit in the “throne” and open presents while everyone watches. Some are practical and I am thankful Izzy made me do this because someof those things I wouldn’t have even thought of. Like the peepee teepees which we get plenty of.

Others are more personal like the handmade baby afghan Mrs. Niedermeyer made and a wood carving of the name we’d settled on, Noah, from Izzy that’s painted with fish and boats and deer. I think we may have found the theme for his room. Whenever we make his room.

So far the spare room in my apartment has a few pieces of furniture, a handful of baby clothes and supplies I’ve accumulated. Still haven’t been able to find the perfect crib and I won’t settle for a subpar substitute. So, all we have right now is a playpen until I find the right one. I’m hoping my trip to Anchorage with Izzy next week will produce the perfect crib. I am running out of time after all.

But we haven’t decorated or painted it. I don’t know why I haven’t done any of that yet, nothing felt right, I guess. So, I just left it. Not like he’s going to know the difference until he’s older anyway. By then he’ll be able to choose his own décor. But I like the nature and animals on the wooden name, it suits us.

Warren graciously collects bows and ribbons to make the customary ribbon hat and wears it around like a damn show pony. The pastel colors and glitter clash with his tattoos and dark hair. He doesn’t seem to care and doesn’t remove it till almost everyone has left.

“I think that went pretty well,” Izzy says as she flops down on the couch next to me.

I vacated the throne of honor as soon as possible, not liking all that attention, and made myself comfortable in my favorite spot on the couch.

“I think it went wonderfully Izzy,” Gigi takes her spot in her armchair next to the couch and smiles at my best friend and cradles a cup of hot tea between her hands. “You did a great jobputting everything together. I couldn’t have done that all on my own.”

“Ugh, but now we have to clean up,” Izzy groans and flops her head back on the couch cushion.

With an unenthusiastic grunt and groan, Izzy begins to push herself up with great effort, but her brother stops her with a hand to her shoulder. She falls back, easily giving up her attempt to rise.

“Don’t worry about it sis, me and Warren are on clean-up duty.”

Warren stands next to Owen, a black trash bag in hand and already picking up discarded napkins and emptying plate remnants into the bag, his Daddy button still firmly affixed to his dark grey henley.

“Yeah, we’ve got this. You three just relax and chat. If you need anything let us know,” he adds, smiling as he continues to clean.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen them so happy to be cleaning. If I recall correctly, they were the ones who ran off after throwing a party at Owen’s house while his parents were away, leaving me and Izzy to clean the mess before they got home. I think Izzy is remembering the same event too because she lifts an eyebrow in her brother’s direction and glares unbelieving at them. But they don’t say anything else and get to picking up trash and putting away dirty dishes.

“Thank you boys, that’s sweet of you to offer. I might act like I’m twenty years younger, but my bones and joints know I’m not.” Gigi chuckles and rubs at a knee. “I’ll be soaking in a hot bath tonight.”

“Me too. My feet feel like they’ve been stung by a million bees.” I kick off my slip-ons dramatically, one flying halfway across the room.

Warren turns to stare at the place where it lands and makes a soft thud. The look on his face has all three of us laughing as he sardonically stretches out a foot and kicks it back towards me.