Page 21

Inside I find a check with ‘To Love’s Eternal Glory’ written in the memo line.

It’s a ridiculous amount of money—almost as much as I made during my rookie year in the league and definitely more than is expected for a marriage of convenience gift—and a handwritten note accompanied by two clearly Photoshopped plane tickets that read “Adler Airlines”.

“Holy fucking shit that’s a lot of money. Does James think we’re poor or something?” Dean asks as he peers down at the check from over my shoulder. He snatches the note from my hand and reads it out loud.

“‘To the happy couple—please enjoy this donation to the “Keep Gigi’s kids” legal fund, as well as one week of free babysitting, an all expenses paid trip on our private jet to our private island in French Polynesia to celebrate your honeymoon. This offer is redeemable at any time, but is not transferable. That means Kira. Kira is not allowed on my plane. She knows why. Love, James, Georgie, and our gremlin children.’ Well, shit.

I wonder what Kira did to get banned from the private jet. ”

“Knowing your sister, it could be literally anything. Probably some kind of prank, like leaving an open can of tuna under a seat.”

“Nah, she’s more creative than that. She probably glitter bombed an overhead compartment or had the flight crew switch out chocolate chip cookies for oatmeal raisin or something. But damn, dude. This is quite a fucking gift. It almost makes me feel bad that this whole thing is kind of fake.”

I don’t love the way acid burns in my chest at the word ‘fake’. I know it’s not technically incorrect, but it’s not the truth either. Dean and I are married. We made vows to each other, vows we both plan to upkeep. It doesn’t feel fake.

But still, ‘fake’ and ‘marriage of convenience’ feels better than Bro-husbands, and that’s the best I could come up with, so I shouldn’t complain.

“Yeah, I guess that’s the benefit of having billionaires in our circle of friends,” I say with a forced laugh.

“True. Not only do we get over-the-top wedding gifts and access to sick-as-hell vacations, we also know where our next meal will be coming from when the working class finally rises up to eat the bourgeoisie,” Dean laughs, then wraps an arm around my shoulder.

“C’mon, it’s early yet. I say we go to the store and pick up some food, then take the girls for a picnic in the park.

We gotta tell them about us sooner or later, and I have a feeling the whole thing might be easier when there’s peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and fruit punch involved. ”

Half an hour later, we’re unloading bags full of snacks and sandwich fixings from the trunk of an Uber parked at the curb when Lemmie and Mellie come bounding down the front steps of Kira and Warren’s house.

“Uncle Lukey!” They shriek, throwing themselves at my legs and wrapping around my calves.

My chest warms as I glance down at the two little pig-tailed blondes—who look so much like their mother that it makes my heart ache—squeezing me tight.

Fuck. It’s only been a few hours since I last saw them, but I missed the hell out of these kids.

“Well hello there, ladies. How was your morning with Mr. Warren?”

“Me and Mellie and Cami made a slip and slide with Miss Kira’s yoga mats and soap in the attic. Mr. Warren said so many curse words!” Lemmie says.

“We made a fortune! Mr. Warren had to put so much money in our swear jar that he says you don’t have to worry about our college tuition anymore!” Mellie beams, and I look up to see Warren standing in the entryway of his pink Victorian style home, Ollie on his hip and his own daughter at his feet.

“Daddy slipped on his butt and now Lemmie and Mellie can afford to go to Harvard!” Cami calls out, and Dean slaps a hand over his face to cover his laugh.

“Please tell me you’re taking your children home for the day?” Warren calls out as I transfer the twins from my legs to Dean’s. I jog up the steps, taking them two at a time to retrieve Ollie.

“Looks like Kira’s plan to give you a dose of reality worked?” I chuckle as he passes my baby over. She looks like she just woke up from a nap, and when I hold her to my chest, she curls her tiny fists into the fabric of my shirt and nuzzles her face into me.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if my pest of a wife planted the slip-and-slide idea in the kid’s heads just to mess with me. My ass will be bruised for a month.”

I pop inside the house to retrieve the girls’ overnight bags, as well as Ollie’s diaper bag and stroller. When I come back outside, Lem and Mel have Dean down on all fours on the sidewalk while they straddle his back like cowgirls on a horse.

“Uncle Lukey! Dean said we’re having a picnic!” Lemmie says, giggling when Dean makes a neighing noise and bucks.

“We sure are, chickadees. Who wants to help me get Ollie strapped into her stroller so we can go to the park?” I ask, and the girls practically bounce off of Dean’s back and over to me.

For some reason, the twins absolutely love buckling Ollie into things.

Her bouncy chair, her car seat, her stroller, it doesn’t matter.

I always double check their work to make sure Ollie is safe, but I like that Lem and Mel like to help.

I think it bodes well for their teenage years.

Hopefully we’ll be able to rely on them for babysitting.

Briefly, an image of Dean sitting across from me in a romantic restaurant flashes before me. His hair and beard are speckled with distinguished grays, and his hand is on my knee under the table, teasing me in featherlight strokes—a promise of what’s to come later.

But I shut it down quickly. We’ve been married less than an hour, I can’t let myself dive head first into the delusion that maybe this relationship will be something more than friends helping each other out already.

Dean mouths a silent ‘thank you’ and groans as he pushes up to his knees, and once we’ve got Ollie settled, we head to Alamo Square Park with our bags of goodies in hand.

“Peanut butter and jelly is my favorite!”

“Mine too!”

The twins beam up at Dean with bright purple goo splotched at the corners of their mouths like he hung the moon for them, not just spread some peanut butter on white bread with a compostable knife.

“I know it is, mis pollitas. That’s why I told your Uncle Lukey that it was so important that we have PB&J’s today. Because today is a special day, and special days call for special sandwiches.”

“Is today special because Mr. Warren paid us five-hundred dollars since he said ‘fuck’?” Mel asks, and I have to cough to cover up my laugh.

“Mellie! You can’t say that word. You promised Uncle Lukey, and Mr. Warren will make us give the money back,” Lemmie chastises her sister, saving me the trouble of reminding them not to curse.

It’s a good thing I’ve got that lofty wedding check from Adler in my wallet. I’m going to need it if Warren is getting the girls accustomed to such a high going-rate.

“That’s part of why today is so special, but there’s another reason, too.”

Dean looks over at me from across the blue and white checkered blanket we laid out here on the grassy hill overlooking Steiner Street, Ollie babbling happily between his legs while gumming an applesauce pouch.

This side of town is much warmer than downtown at city hall, and the unseasonable lack of wind is making for a perfect picnicking afternoon.

I take a bite of my turkey and havarti on sourdough, licking a drop of pesto off the corner of my mouth as I chew. Then I set it down and wipe my hands on my pants just to buy myself a little time before discussing Dean’s and my morning activities with the girls.

“Do you remember a few weeks ago when you asked Dean if he was going to stay with us forever?” I ask. Lem and Mel each tap their chins with their pointer fingers, pursing their lips while they think. The way they manage to be completely in sync sometimes blows my mind.

“We remember,” they say in unison. I should look into little kid’s synchronized swimming classes. Dean and I might have a couple gold medalists on our hands .

“It got me thinking. You and your baby sister love Dean, right? And Dean loves you,” I pause, waiting for their nod of acknowledgment before continuing.

“Well, I love Dean, too, and he loves me, and we decided that we wanted to show the world how much we all love each other and become a big family.”

A part of me was scared that saying the words out loud would make them feel cheap, but it doesn’t. It’s not a lie. I love Dean, and I know Dean loves me. Just because it’s not a romantic kind of love doesn’t make it any less true.

“We already are a family,” Mellie says matter-of-factly.

“You’re right, Mel. We are a family, and we always will be. But we have so much love in our hearts that we get to be an extra special family. This morning, Dean and I got married.” I reach over and take Dean’s hand in mine and squeeze it lightly. He squeezes me back, one, two, three times.

“What does married mean?” Lemmie asks. I open my mouth to answer, then close it.

I guess I should have expected this question.

It’s not like the girls have never met any married couples before, but I don’t think it’s something Gigi would have ever explained to them.

She wasn’t married, she never introduced the women she dated to her daughters.

And if Mellie and Lemmie didn’t know to ask, it makes sense that the topic would have never come up.

“It means,” Dean says, jumping in and saving my ass from having to formulate an articulate response. “That your Uncle Lukey and I love you girls and each other so much that we made a promise that we would stay together forever, and we can’t ever break that promise.”

Heat rushes to my cheeks as I take in the magnitude of the day. Somehow, Dean’s watered-down version of our actions make the whole thing feel so much bigger and important. But I can’t stop the nagging fear in my gut that says that my parents and their lawyers might force us to break that promise.

I shove that fear to the side when Dean starts fiddling in the diaper bag and pulls out a small red and gold shopping bag I hadn’t noticed. He must have slid it in there last night before dropping the kids off next door.

“It also means that we all get to wear something special, too. Something that tells the whole world that me, Uncle Lukey and you three pollitas all belong together. Can you hold out your wrists for me?”

Lem and Mel wiggle closer to Dean, holding out their peanut butter-speckled hands in anticipation of his gift, and he carefully pulls two gold bracelets out.

“Tell me those aren’t really Cartier bracelets,” I gasp, because what kind of psycho buys six thousand dollar bracelets for a couple of five-year-olds?

“They’re adjustable,” he says to me as he fastens a bracelet onto Mellie’s wrist, and then Lemmie’s. “So they can wear them forever. We’ll just size them up as they grow. I’ve got one for Ollie-girl too, for when she’s old enough. And…”

He pulls a red and gold box from the bag, opening it up to reveal a simple gold band. My eyes go wide and my stomach does a flip.

“For me?” I ask, and Dean shrugs sheepishly.

“We didn’t talk about rings, but I thought we should all have something to solidify our family unit.”

“Put it on Uncle Lukey!” Lemmie squeals, and Dean takes the ring from the box and slides it on to my left ring finger.

“Dean, this is beautiful, but I didn’t get you anything,” I say, though I can’t take my eyes off the band sitting on my finger. How something so unassuming can feel so monumental, I don’t understand.

“I’ve got my ring covered,” Dean says, pulling a matching gold band from his pocket and sliding it on his hand. “And you gave me everything, Luke. You gave me a family today.”

“We all match!” Mellie says, waving her bedazzled wrist around. In a second, Lemmie has joined in and the girls have found themselves in a very important game of popstar dress-up make-believe.

“Wow,” I whisper. “Dean, this is too much.”

“No way, corazón. It’s jewelry, and it’s not nearly enough. I don’t care what circumstances led us here. We got married today. I’m yours, you’re mine, and these kids are ours.”

Dean lifts Ollie from between his legs and kisses her cheek.

She squeals and giggles and grabs his face with her chubby baby hands, squishing his cheeks while he laughs.

Lemmie and Mellie look happier than I’ve seen them in months, sneaking bites of PB&J between posing for invisible paparazzi and showing off their bracelets.

My heart feels like it’s going to burst out of my chest. Fuck, I feel happier than I have in months.

Since way before Gigi passed. Maybe since my injury took me out of the game last year.

Tilting my head up to the sky, I blink back a few tears before looking back at Dean and placing my palm on his knee.

“Yours, mine, ours,” I say, and those three words feel more important than any of the vows we made this morning. Because this time, they came from my heart.