Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 90524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
“I don’t feel they really have.”
“However,” snatching the small box from back behind my luggage is quickly followed by me reappearing in his line of sight, “I love giving gifts. And outside of Berks, I never really get to do it, so for at least the first couple of years, could you oblige me, my lord of the ice, by letting me celebrate the birth of the man whose number I wear?”
Igor’s broad shoulders, one of which now bears a Jack Skellington tattoo on it for me, sink to the bed beneath him. “Fine. Dlya tebya.”
The “for you” line threatens to have me beaming brighter than I already am.
Because this gift isn’t for me.
Or him.
But…us.
I arrive beside him and immediately extend the gift wrapped in The Grinch Christmas paper.
“Happy birthday!”
“Did you put it in Christmas paper because we’re honeymooning in the Northpole away from Pole?”
“No…” My ass hits the edge of the mattress on a crooked grin. “It’s because you’re born on Summer Christmas!”
“That’s not a thing, Joeski.”
“Oh, it’s so a thing, Ig, but that’s not important right now.” Laughter leaves us both. “Just open it.”
Like his daughter, it takes almost no effort to unwrap the gift. One pull practically removes all the packaging and upon seeing the coffee cup, he laughs again. “Nice, gino, baby.” The Mighty Ducks themed mug that says “The Mighty Dad” instead and bears the mask of his favorite character keeps him chuckling. “Ochen' khorosho.”
Keeping my voice even increases in difficulty. “Look inside.”
Ig tips the object a little closer and pulls out the tiny photo that’s waiting to be discovered. The instant it’s in his possession, he clumsily abandons the drinkware, prompting me to scurry to catch it before it shatters. “Eto…nash…rebenok?”
In spite of not knowing the exact translation, it’s pretty easy to guess by tone and expression.
“Da.”
“Fuck…seriously?!” Joy, like I’ve never seen before, pierces through his body propelling him closer to me. “I’m gonna be a dad again?!”
“Yes,” I warmly giggle, grateful he’s responding almost exactly like I had hoped.
Shortly after getting engaged, it was time for my birth control shot; however, instead of just taking it like I had planned, Ig did something totally unexpected the night before. He arranged for us to have a one on one and discuss the idea of children together. He didn’t ask me not to get it, he didn’t demand I start having more kids, and he didn’t even bother making an argument about his preference.
No.
My real-life beast took a Mrs. Potts approved approach and had an open discussion with me.
We agreed on our first child together happening whenever it happened was the best approach for us versus anything with immense pressure, which typically takes a while once you’re off some sort of steady birth control – especially if you’ve been on it for years – and decided to begin the process at that moment by not getting another one.
Little did either of us know just how the stats we had been told didn’t matter because when Berks advised me to go get checked out for what everyone else just said was wedding stress induced nausea, I found out the news.
And then went to my lady doctor to confirm the news.
I am actually pregnant.
And considering how my big burly husband is vibrating in place, it’s safe to say he’s happy about it, too.
Swears in English and Russian swirl around one another, getting swapped and repeated, repeated and exchanged for strange self-created expressions until his cuss word shift has finally run out of steam. One arm gets wrapped around my lower back as the hand holding the photo lovingly cups my cheek, “This is gonna be the best season of our lives yet, Joeski…Spasibo.”
Leaning into his loving touch is accompanied by a smile.
I sure hope so.
Because hand to the stocking…last season was pretty wild.
Getting cheated on.
Being a fake nanny turned real nanny.
Falling in love with my boss who also happens to be one of the best captains in the NHL.
Turning into a beloved and admired hockey girlfriend – now wife.
Raising a bright, learning to be bilingual little girl who is making good progress in her therapy sessions.
Meeting my long-lost sister.
Forgetting all of that shit only to have my best friend and soulmate and his family that’s become my family reconstruct moments with pictures, videos, texts, and schedules to not let my disorder win.
This past hockey season was too wacky to be in one of my heart of gold Christmas miracle movies or one of Ig’s beloved romance novels proving what so many people already know to be true.
Reality really can be crazier than fiction.
Especially when you’ve found the number you wanna wear on your heart forever.
***