Is Topanga here for the gossip? No, most likely, she’s at the bar due to the new girl’s very clear fixation on Lowell.
Conor might have eyes for Monroe, but the young blonde is always peeking at our club VP. Bronco regularly teases his nephew over how his new obsession has a thing for older men.
“Maybe in a few decades, she’ll give you a ride,” Bronco told Conor a few days ago.
Conor chuckled at the razzing, but he has to be annoyed by Monroe’s interest in another man. Did he ask Topanga to scare off the newest bunny?
My mind is back on the burning paper when Monroe heads to the table to drop off a round of beers. Bronco goes very still as if he’s hoping for a chick fight. Topanga stares hardcore at the younger woman, but Monroe only sees a purposely oblivious Lowell. She doesn’t even peek at Conor off in another corner near Drummer. No, Monroe’s got sugar daddy fever—as Bronco calls it.
Giving up on subtlety, Topanga slaps Monroe square in the cheek.
“You scheming little whore,” Lowell’s honey sneers as the bunny backs away, wide-eyed. “How dare you flirt with my man right in front of me? Do you want to get fucked up? Because I’ll have him kill you if you disrespect me again.”
The room falls silent except for the still-playing music overhead. Everyone turns their gaze to the two women. A few bunnies glance at each other, clearly sensing this moment was coming. Other girls look scared as if Topanga might slap them next. My club brothers wear expressions ranging from amusement to boredom. Conor remains absolutely unreadable as he watches the women’s standoff.
Lowell glances at his wife and the bunny before focusing on Bronco and shrugging as if to say, “Chick drama.”
Struck silent, Monroe shrinks under the weight of all the eyes on her. Her left cheek is bright pink. When she doesn’t defend herself right away, Topanga looks ready to sit back down.
Then Monroe blurts out, “I don’t want to fuck Lowell.”
Smelling blood in the water, Topanga leans forward until she’s an inch from Monroe’s face. “Then why, ya basic bitch, are you always slobbering over him, huh?”
“I think he might be my dad.”
Topanga gasps, dialing up the drama as she glares at a now wide-eyed yet frozen Lowell. “You sloppy fucker,” she growls at her husband.
Loving drama, Bronco hides a grin behind his hand. Besides, not so long ago, he got razzed plenty over his surprise baby, Carina.
Topanga turns back to Monroe. “Wait, how old are you?”
“Twenty-one.”
Topanga’s entire demeanor shifts, and she flashes a bright smile. “Oh, then, that’s fine. You were conceived during the pre-Topanga era,” she announces and pats her husband’s back.
And that’s how Lowell and Topanga added a pumpkin to their porch.
PART 9: EPILOGUES
PIXIE
I’ve never loved the winter as much as that first one with Anders. The chilly weather and dangerous roads force him to stay home often. We spend hours together, talking, watching movies, and cuddling. Anders craves the quiet with me.
Familiarity is how he grew so attached to Bronco. Following his president around, day after day, created a bond that Anders didn’t know how to build otherwise. Unsure how to get close to people, he forgets to talk and rarely asks questions.
But our first winter together allows him to become part of my family without having to learn new skills. He does nothing more than share a space with us. When we sit in the family room and watch shows, he does, too. When we go upstairs to the empty playroom, he joins us. Of course, he never actually crawls or rolls around. But that’s okay. Anders doesn’t take part in a lot of stuff that Bronco and Lowell do, either. I notice how quiet he is with them. That’s what Anders does.
There are times when we sit in the family room and watch the snow fall outside. Next to the back doors, Future and Dove build towns with their blocks. Mama will read a book. Sitting with Anders, I use his heartbeat to keep time. Like us, Anders is satisfied with the quiet, just as long as he isn’t alone.
Another favorite activity is when Anders watches his sports shows in the family room while the rest of us work in our coloring books. Mine has fairies—which are like pixies. I often rest a pillow in Anders’s lap and relax against him while he puts his feet up. The five of us are safe, warm, and together. That’s all a family needs to be truly happy.
Soon, our baby will make us six. Anders isn’t afraid to be a father. He is very good with Future, always patient and gentle. I also notice how he studies the way Bronco raises his girls.
Besides, Anders won’t be a parent alone. Mama, Dove, and I will help when he’s overwhelmed. And he most definitely will get overwhelmed.
Anders still disappears when Future gets too loud, or Dove begins pacing frantically. Not always, but there are times when the cruel voices in his head feed off people’s emotional distress. He starts believing the lies and obsessing over problems from long ago.
I help him when I can and let him hide when he needs to. If one day, he has to take a ride on his motorcycle or go to Rooster’s Tavern when our baby cries, so be it. I’m unbothered by small things. I trust Anders will always come through in the big moments.
By spring, our house feels like a home. I love the warm colors Anders chose for our family room, kitchen, and dining room. Over our bed, I hung up the dandelion artwork that Lana found on the computer. Mama has a different one in hers while Dove owns several.
Over the family room’s fireplace are pictures of our family that Summer took with her fancy camera. There’s Anders with his half-grin and pale blue eyes against a handsome, tanned face. Next is a picture of
