“In a minute,” Brooke said. “We have to be in one more picture.” She ignored the insistent tug of Tatum, her two-year-old, on her skirt.
“Make Finn wear the birthday hat,” Laurie yelled, as she chased after her twelve-month-olds, Joseph and Ty. They were crawling at breakneck speed, dressed in identical blue button-downs, paired with toddler khaki pants, though their curls—one blond, the other brown—made them easy to identify. Larkin, their four-year-old, was playing in the family room, defiantly independent, despite her blindness.
“How’s this?” Ever the clown, Finn struck a pose like he was a gentleman tipping his hat, except the hat was a black, plastic fedora with the number thirty-nine painted in glittery red letters.
“And Cole should have his cowboy hat on,” Brooke called, still intent on Nicole’s hair.
“What about me?” Bran said. “With eyes or without?”
“Ewwww, Dad! Don’t be gross.” Fifteen-year-old Ellie gave an eye roll that would’ve scored a ten in a teenager contest, dropping her head down to let her dark blond curls cover her face. “He’s so embarrassing.”
“At least he made Jarrett smile. That’s almost as much of a miracle as M.B.” Rylie winked at her husband, referring to the moniker they’d coined for Hazel before she was born. With their chances of getting pregnant so slim, they’d called her M.B., for Miracle Baby. But they’d already decided to add to their family with more adoptions.
Flash. “Good one.” Flash. Flash. “Maybe a few without the hats.” Flash. Flash.
Rylie felt a tap on her elbow. “Can I hold Hazel?” asked Lily, Bran and Steph’s precocious blond-haired eight-year-old.
“What she’d really love is someone to hold her hand and walk her around.”
Hazel toddled off, hanging on Lily’s hand, thrilled at her freedom. Rylie felt someone on her left and turned to find Stephanie, Bran’s wife, whose belly was even larger than Brooke’s.
“You look great, Steph,” Rylie said. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I’m too old for this,” she said, rubbing the small of her back. “I’ve got a fifteen-year-old. What was I thinking getting pregnant again?”
“You’re not that old,” Rylie said, “You just had Ellie when you were young.”
“Tell that to these feet.” Steph wiggled her swollen toes in her sandals. “At least Brooke gets foot rubs from Cole.”
“I bet Bran would give you a foot massage if you asked him.”
“We’ve tried it a few times.” Steph put her hand over her mouth and whispered to the side. “His hands keep wandering away from my feet. Claims it’s because he can’t see.”
Rylie snorted. “Men! That’s all they think about!”
“Tell me about it,” Steph said. “How do you think I ended up with this surprise package?”
Flash. “Okay. All four of you, give me distinguished, CEO expressions.”
“That constipated look,” Finn said, “like Jarrett.”
All four of them fell apart, looking nothing like distinguished CEOs.
Flash. Flash. Flash. Flash. “Awesome! The best shots of the bunch! Now let’s get all Phantom Enterprise families up here.”
After retrieving the seven-year-olds, Gabe and Ford, from the back yard, the entire crew crowded in front of the fireplace, some standing in back on the elevated brick hearth. Brooke had a big blue cardboard heart for their expected baby, and Steph held up a pink one.
Since they weren’t part of Phantom, Carlie and Matthew, each toting a twin, took charge of organizing everyone into position for the photo. Carlie was in her element. Photo shoots were one of her favorite activities, though Rylie hated them almost as much as celery. Carlie had already regained her original figure, of course. Then again, her career demanded it. Rylie was happy she didn’t have to worry about a few extra pounds of post-baby weight.
“Look up here.” Flash. Flash. “Say cheese!”
“Cheese!” everyone yelled.
Flash.
“Queso!” a voice added. Probably Finn’s.
Flash. Flash.
“Fromage!” said another. “Formaggio!” “Käse!”
Flash.
“I can’t think of any more.” Bran’s voice came from the middle of the group.
“Jarrett should know some more,” Finn said. “He’s the cheesiest one of us.”
“Very funny,” said Jarrett. He’d taken quite a bit of good-natured teasing from his friends after Juanita had shared her video. Four years later, he was still the butt of their jokes, though Rylie had it on good authority his buddies were just as sappy, if not quite as eloquent.
Flash. Flash. Flash. “Okay, that’s a wrap!”
“Yay!” Ford and Gabe bellowed as they raced for the back door where their soccer ball awaited.
“Ford looks like a mini-you,” Rylie told Branson, as the group spread out like spilled marbles.
“So I’ve been told,” Bran said, smiling. “I have no idea whether that’s a good thing or not.”
“It’s a good thing,” she assured him, eyeing their sons through the back windows. “How do you feel about having a new baby?”
