Trace takes my bag from where I left it and gives me a warning glance when he realizes how much stuff I’ve crammed in it. “Uh, babe, you probably shouldn’t be carrying such heavy stuff since—”
I cut him off with a look because we haven’t told Bo he’s going to be a big brother yet.
Robert Michael Corbin—Bo, as we call him—reaches out his tiny toddler arm. “I can carry it, Daddy.”
“I know you can, big man. But how about you let me carry it so you can hold Mommy’s hand on the way to the truck? Make sure she gets in safe?”
Once we’ve made it to the truck and both my boys have made sure I’m strapped in, Trace buckles Bo in his carseat. They spend the entire ride to our farm in Macon filling me in on every minute I missed while I was away.
Most of it I already know since we video chat every morning and every night before bed, but I could listen to both of their sweet voices forever. God, I missed them.
“Babe, you sure you’re up for company?” Trace asks me once we’re home.
“It’s Thanksgiving,” I tell him, confused as to why he thinks I wouldn’t want company.
“I know.” He kisses me on the head once more before carrying my bags inside. “But you’ve got to be tired with the traveling, and the time change, and, uh, Bo’s present that you’ve been carrying around all this time.”
“I’m good. Promise.” A smile spreads across my face when we walk into our home. Our home. There aren’t words to describe what an amazing feeling it is to finally come home where I’m loved and safe and whole. I can’t wait to see my son’s reaction when he learns he’s going to be a big brother.
But it will have to wait, because there are a dozen people coming over for dinner.
“You’re sure you defrosted the turkeys and made plenty of stuffing?”
Trace smirks at me. “I think we’ve established who the cook is in this family.”
He’s being a smartass, but the word family hits me and I tear up again. He misunderstands.
“Aww baby, I was kidding. You cook just fine. Who needs anything other than Pop-Tarts and spaghetti anyways?”
I shove him when he comes in for another kiss. “You’re an idiot.”
“Yep, and I’m your idiot. Congratulations.” He kisses me despite my protests, biting my bottom lip hard enough to remind me how much I’ve missed him.
“Mmm. So how much time do we have before everyone gets here?” Before he can answer, my phone vibrates with a text.
Be there in a few. Did you tell him yet?
Mia. And I’m pretty sure she isn’t asking about whether or not we’ve told Bo about the baby.
“Not much. Less than an hour probably,” Trace answers.
Trace keeps on at me until I sit on the couch. Bo climbs in my lap and looks at my phone curiously while his dad checks the contents of the oven. It smells amazing. And I’m suddenly starving.
It’s fine. We’re married with baby number two on the way, M. Just get here already.
After I press send, Bo confiscates my phone and begins scrolling through my pictures. I tell him about the ones I took in London. There are a few of my last visit to Lulu in Los Angeles and seeing her blue-haired selfie makes me miss her even more than usual. I’d hoped she’d always be my stylist so we could hang out on the road, but during a visit with her dad she got hired by some big deal movie company. We still visit each other as much as we can, but life gets in the way sometimes.
“So who all is coming?” I call out to my husband.
“Well, Claire Ann and Pauly, obviously,” Trace begins. His sister and her husband live right down the road so it’s a given they’ll be here. “Rae and that kid with the crappy taste in music she’s dating. My mom, I guess.”
I don’t miss the extra weight in his voice but I hope Bo doesn’t catch it. Trace still hasn’t completely forgiven his mom for the mistakes she’s made over the years, but he’s working on it. She’s Bo’s grandma and he loves her, so I deal with her the best I can.
“Lily and her dad are coming,” I inform him.
“I know,” he hollers back from the kitchen. “Don told me they were. His son is coming in from overseas, so he’ll be here too.”
“Is he in the military?” I can’t remember Lily mentioning that. But she talks a mile a minute so I might’ve missed it.
“No, he’s a pro soccer player,” Trace tells me. Now that I did know—just not the overseas part. I forget sometimes that Lily’s dad is technically Trace’s boss. Never in a million years could I have predicted the way our lives would change.