I reach over and take a slice from the plate Bronco’s using to make shish kebabs. I put the pineapple in my mouth and then get a smaller one for Future. He watches me very intently, waiting to be denied what his little body needs. When he tastes the food, he gives me one of those “cherub smiles,” as Topanga calls them.
The boy rests his head on my shoulder and gnaws at the pineapple while watching the girls play. Still underweight, he feels so tiny in my arms. Yet, I’m accustomed to Future climbing on my lap. He doesn’t notice my size, and he rarely seems scared of me. Even when I yelled at DeAnna’s large, barking dog as she walked it very slowly past our house, Future’s shocked expression seemed more “wow, you can get loud” than “get me away from this mean motherfucker.”
“How’s living with a houseful of people?” Lowell asks as Bronco calls his daughters over to help him put together the shish kebabs. Dove joins the girls who show her what to do.
“We’ve got a routine already. The ladies love watching movies in the media room. We do that a couple times a week.”
“We figured they’d drive you crazy,” Bronco says, smirking at Lowell.
“They sometimes do. Fairuza and Pixie argue loudly at times, and Future decides those moments are good for screaming at the top of his lungs,” I say, and the boy smiles at the mention of his name. “If it gets too loud, I ride around for a while. Sometimes, Pixie will run out and jump on the back of my Harley. She’s gotten the hang of holding on, but she still forgets shoes half the time.”
“You’re outnumbered,” Bronco says and grins at his middle daughters. “All that estrogen will drive a man insane, but I’d rather have a million girls than one Wyatt.”
“Ooh, Daddy, I’m telling,” Sidonie says and then giggles with Desi at how Bronco’s in trouble.
“Baby, he knows,” Bronco says, smiling too. “It’s why he hasn’t shown up unannounced for dinner in weeks. Well, that and the life-size cardboard cutout of Pixie that I keep in the front window.”
“Oh, no, I think you hurt her feelings,” Desi says and points at where a teary-eyed Pixie exits the house with Lana and Topanga close behind.
“Leggings!” Lowell’s wife announces dramatically. “That’s the solution. She can wear dresses and shorts without having to shave or wax.”
That’s when I look down to see a section of Pixie’s leg is now hairless. Only that part, though. Based on her teary-eyed expression, she wasn’t a fan of the process.
“Going hairless isn’t natural for some people,” Lana adds and gives Pixie a side-hug. “Everyone is different.”
“I’m shaving my legs,” Desi says, leaning down to touch the hairless spot below Pixie’s right knee. “But never my armpits.”
Lana and Bronco share a smile while Lowell admires Topanga’s sleek legs. My honey inches closer to me. She grins at her brother munching on a slice of red pepper. Then, Pixie rubs her partially hairless leg against me and holds my gaze. She wants reassurance that I’m not angry that she nixed the shaving thing. When I smile, she returns it two-fold. Right then, I see myself through her eyes, and I like the guy looking back at me.
Her gaze peels away from mine when Sidonie kneels down in front of us.
“Did it hurt?” she asks Pixie as she studies her leg.
“It felt nefarious.”
“That was one of the words I got during a spelling bee!” Sidonie cries, staring wide-eyed at her father as if they’ve shared a eureka moment.
Bronco just laughs, comfortable in a way he hasn’t been since the trouble with the Village started. Sure, he still worries about the Killing Joes, and I have no doubt he’s put out feelers to see if he can find and eliminate them for good.
But the man is happy, which is why I sense he won’t run things for too much longer. Bronco Parrish is a man ready to live the good life he’s spent decades building. I’ve decided I’ll follow whatever president he chooses to replace him. I plan to go all-in with the club and stop hiding in the shadows.
That year’s Woodlands’ Pumpkin Patch Party offers a real turning point for my club brothers and me. I’ve gone to these events for years, never doing more than hanging back in a corner and watching the men with their honeys and kids. For this year’s party, I have my own family to focus on.
One of the Woodlands’ traditions involves everyone picking a pumpkin to represent themselves and setting it in front of their houses. This custom is usually the most fun for the younger couples with new babies or grandparents whose family has grown.
This year, Bronco adds three new pumpkins to his stash—a medium-sized one representing Lana, a smallish one for Desi, and a tiny one for Carina.
As usual, Topanga makes sure there’s a giant pumpkin in the patch for me. This year, mine won’t sit alone on my porch. First, we find a small one for Future who carries it around all evening. Fairuza chooses a pale orange one for herself. Dove picks a small one with a curvy stem. Pixie selects a short, wide one since she’s already thinking of baby bumps despite not showing yet. And Topanga gives us a pumpkin seed to represent our little guy or gal.
That night, my club brothers razz me about my giant baby. Their honeys tease about how I didn’t waste any time getting started. I smile and shrug, playing along, no longer hiding. Pixie’s coolness with people certainly helps me seem friendlier. So far, she only likes Topanga, Lana, and Barbie. Otherwise, she has no interest in the other women. I’m sure she’ll mellow out—and the honeys will stop acting as if she’s a dangerous weirdo—once our baby is born.
My new family’s
