Chapter 9
The adoption became final on a Tuesday in May.
Tyler was eleven. Chloe was nine. They stood in the courtroom, side by side, both wearing their best clothes. The judge asked Tyler if he wanted to be adopted.
He looked at me. He looked at Chloe. He said, "Yes. More than anything."
The judge signed the papers. Tyler Stallone. My son.
Afterward, we went out for ice cream. Tyler got mint chocolate chip. Chloe got strawberry. Barnacle got a plain cone — we'd brought him along, and the ice cream shop was dog-friendly.
Chloe looked at Tyler across the table. "So now you're really my brother."
Tyler smiled. It was a real smile. Not the nervous, tight-lipped smile he'd had when he first came. A real one. "Yeah. I'm really your brother."
"Good," Chloe said. "Because I need someone to carry my backpack."
Tyler laughed. He reached across the table and ruffled her hair. She swatted at him. They were siblings. Completely.
Margaret was there too. She'd been in our lives for two years now. She was steady. She was kind. She loved the kids. They loved her.
That night, after the kids were in bed, Margaret and I sat on the porch. The lake was dark. The stars were bright.
"Stallone," she said. "I have something to ask you."
I looked at her.
She pulled a small box from her pocket. She opened it. A ring. Simple. Gold.
"I know you're not the marrying kind," she said. "I know you've been hurt. But I love you. I love those kids. I love this crazy, messy, beautiful family you've built. And I want to be part of it. Will you marry me?"
I stared at her. I'd been the one to propose before. I'd never had a woman propose to me. It surprised me. It delighted me.
I thought about Doreen. About the mistake I'd made. About rushing in. But this was different. Margaret was different. She'd seen us at our worst. She'd stayed. She loved Chloe. She loved Tyler. She loved Barnacle. She loved me — scars, regrets, and all.
"Yes," I said. "Yes, I'll marry you."
She cried. I cried. We kissed on the porch, under the stars, while a three-legged dog snored at our feet.
The wedding was small. Backyard. Chloe was the flower girl. Tyler was the best man. Barnacle wore a bow tie.
We wrote our own vows. I promised to never stop trying. To never take love for granted. To always show up.
Margaret promised to love my children as her own. To stand by me through the hard days. To never laugh when a child cried.
Chloe read a poem she'd written. Tyler gave a speech. It was short. It was awkward. It was perfect.
Afterward, Chloe came up to me. She tugged on my sleeve.
"Daddy," she said. "I'm happy."
May you like
I picked her up — she was getting too big for this, but I didn't care. I held her. I kissed her forehead.
"Me too, baby," I said. "Me too."
