Page 78 of The Best Worst Thing

May, Two Years Later

There was no alarm.

There was no waking up slow.

There was only Gracie Hausman Speyer, screaming into the monitor before the clock had struck six.

“Mammmmmmmaaaaaa!”

Nicole rolled over and groaned, then yanked her phone off the charger, threw on a sweatshirt, and wandered into her daughter’s room.

Standing in the crib, glaring at her mother, was three feet of full-blown toddler—brown pigtails, ink-blue eyes, and a terribly matted, plush octopus dangling from her cute little fist.

“Gracie, baby, why are you awake? It’s so early. It’s too early.”

“I’m hungry!” She put her less-pudgy-by-the-day arms in the air. “Uppy?”

Nicole chuckled, then pulled Gracie into her arms and padded down the creaking hardwood into a fairly tidy kitchen where an open jar of peanut butter sat on the tile countertop, giant spoon plunked in it.

Nicole rolled her eyes, then tossed the utensil in the sink and screwed the lid back on the container.

She started the coffee, then flung a frozen waffle in the toaster while Gracie—now in the living room, chasing a not-particularly-pleased Nero around the coffee table—squealed with delight.

By quarter to eight, Nicole and Gracie had read six board books, completed three puzzles, built one architecturally insignificant castle out of magnetic tiles, and watched the same episode of Peppa Pig twice.

After setting Gracie up with a few crayons and smushing flat a second helping of blueberries for her very fruit-motivated offspring, Nicole collapsed onto the couch.

She was in the middle of texting Valerie a few thoughts about next week’s recording when her phone buzzed.

Outside. Need help.

She secured Gracie behind her baby gate, then stepped outside, where Gabe was standing on the porch with a tray of smoked salmon in one hand and a Gabe-size, definitely not-Nicole-approved teddy bear in the other.

“Uh, what is that?”

“This? It’s a bear! It’s from Costco!”

Nicole shook her head, laughing, then grabbed a bag of bagels from the back seat of Gabe’s new car. She held the front door open for him as he slipped across the threshold, arms full.

“Daddy!”

“Is that my little girl!?” Gabe crouched over the playpen as Gracie, shrieking at the sight of her new plush companion, leapt straight into his arms. “Those pajamas are so fun! Are they new? Look at you! You’re so cool!”

Nicole smiled. They’d been working on telling Gracie things like that.

Things besides you’re so pretty or you’re so smart.

Gabe and Nicole were always working on something or another.

Mostly, though, on making sure Gracie knew that she was loved and wanted and the center of their universe, even if her story had been a little different from the start.

The front door opened.

“Nic? Is Gabe here? That his new car out front?”

“Hey, man,” Gabe said, outstretching his hand while Gracie bounced on his hip. Logan wiped his palm on the front of his shorts, then shook Gabe’s hand with a smirk.

“That’s, uh, quite a bear you’ve brought us.”

Gabe gave Nero a little scratch as he passed by, tail wagging. “Couldn’t help myself. I got her one for my place too.”

“I get it. I ordered her this ball pit thing last month and then, after we put Gracie down for her nap, Nicole looked at me with a straight face and suggested we keep it in my trunk when we weren’t using it.”

“She ask it like a question? Like it was your idea? Or was it more of a—”

“Well, isn’t this just adorable,” Nicole said. “You two, bonding over how annoying I am.”

Gabe laughed as Logan, grinning, walked over to Nicole and wrapped his sweat-drenched body around hers until she was smiling, then smooshed his flushed, salty face into her neck until she was shrieking, squirming, shoving him away.

“Sorry, Nic.” He pinched her waist before wandering into the kitchen to pour himself a cup of coffee. “It’s just … you’re so annoying.”

She glared at him, then at Gabe, as Gracie—now laughing too, because it must’ve seemed like the thing to do—wriggled out of Gabe’s arms and into Logan’s lap where he’d just taken a seat at the kitchen table.

Gabe sat down across from them as Nicole grabbed a few plates and Logan tore open the bag of bagels.

And then, like they always did on Saturday mornings, rain or shine, good week or bad, Gabe’s place or Nicole and Logan’s, the three of them sat around and ate breakfast and let Gracie leap from lap to lap, soaking up all the attention—and all the strawberry cream cheese—she possibly could.

And then, around noon, when Gracie had gone home with her dad for the weekend and Nicole and Logan had crawled into their half-made bed to try and sleep off another long week, Nicole rolled herself into Logan’s arms, pulled the comforter past their shoulders, and closed her tired eyes.

A second later, they flung open.

“Logan,” she said, sitting up, nudging him awake. He stared at her—eyes sleepy, adjusting, confused. “What’d you write on that sheet of paper?”

“Wh-what?”

“The day you first kissed me. When I asked you what you’d do to me if I went to the Tar Pits without you? I forgot all about it. I just remembered.”

He rubbed his eyes again, then smirked. “I already did it.”

“You did? When? That night after the Grand Canyon? Or that time after the salmon festival? Oh, or after I watched the entirety of King Felix’s perfect game in that bathing suit you like?”

He shook his head, laughing.

“No, Nicole,” he said, pulling her into his arms and drifting back to sleep. “Last October. When I married you.”