“You were worth the patience,” she adds, hugging me again.
Shelby watches it all, and I gotta wonder if she told them to be extra nice to me. Seems like something she’d plan for, but maybe they just thought of it on their own.
All I know is I feel calmer once I’m reminded that I’m not alone. I got a family now. Friends who have my back. A club that won’t sell me out. A baby girl that makes the world a million fucking times more beautiful.
And a wonderfully weird woman who latched on to me and wouldn’t let go no matter how much I pushed her away.
A FINAL WORD FROM THE WEIRDO
I might be a weirdo, but there’s nothing odd about how much I love the sight of Goliath holding our daughter. He has a way with mini-humans, and Kirby is no different. She thinks he’s the sun. As soon as she’s old enough to recognize faces, she goes crazy for his. Kirby knows she got lucky with her dad.
I got lucky with mine too. Dad and Mom move to Shasta soon after Kirby’s birth when they find a house that clicks for them. Shane and I are like stupid kids those first few weeks, always visiting and wanting to sleep over. I swear we’d crawl in our parents’ bed if we were drunk enough.
“You love deep,” Goliath says when I mention how excited I am to go grocery shopping with my mom again. “Shasta wasn’t ever gonna be your real home until your parents called it home too.”
He’s right, of course. My family is everything to me. It’s the same for my parents. My mom’s moods improve when she can see her kids and grandkids every day. She’s also there for Taylor when Kelsi gives birth to their son, Lars. My best friend’s own mother is a deadbeat piece of shit. Since Taylor deserves a great mom, I’m always willing to share mine. Hugh also adopts Mom, claiming he’d spend a weekend away with her anytime.
By Halloween of that year, each member of the Fearsome Foursome and the Band have created the next generation of cool kids—the Magnificent Minions. As Christmas approaches, we’ve all settled into our long-term homes.
The day after we officially move into our new house, Goliath walks around each room, showing Kirby different things. The six-month-old claps regularly, more interested in him than what he’s pointing at. Through it all, I follow them around, enjoying the sight of Goliath in the home he deserves.
“You did this,” he often says those first few weeks. “I just had some stupid shit in my head. You turned it into a house.”
Goliath is overwhelmed that entire year. There’s no denying he shuts down at times. I find him sitting outside alone, thinking about the man he was, who he’s become, and the man he wants to be.
I don’t push him when it comes to his feelings. Thirty-nine years is a long time to feel one way, only to have things change so suddenly. He deserves, at least, a year or two to get his bearings.
After Kirby’s born, Goliath asks for another baby. Like literally as soon as he holds her, he has his mind set on a second child. I don’t use birth control, but the rendering plant gods wait more than six months before knocking me up again. By then, Kirby’s threatening to crawl. She’s a big kid for her age and sports thick brown hair that I’ve always got pinned into adorable pigtails. She barks at the dogs, who are terrified of her. Whenever they run away, she looks for her dad to check if he noticed how she scared the puppies.
Goliath and I decide if our second kid is a boy that we’ll stop. I tell him I want our own little Shelby and Shane combo. In reality, I know we’re not built for a large brood. Goliath loves Kirby so much, and he’ll spend hours playing with her. There’s no denying he has a big enough heart to love a dozen kids. But I worry about him focusing so much on his children that he forgets to pay attention to himself. I want him to have time to play cards and drink at the Saloon with Hugh or go riding with the guys or fishing with my dad. And from a purely selfish viewpoint, I want time for Goliath to focus all his love on me too.