Four.
Then I smiled.
If they wanted me to see what a real family looked like, I would bring mine.
That evening, the drive from downtown to my house took twenty-four minutes. Traffic crawled along Lake Shore Drive. The city moved in glass and taillights around me, impatient and beautiful. By the time I pulled into the small driveway beside my Lincoln Park brownstone, the sky had turned violet.
Before I opened the front door, I heard laughter.
Not polite laughter.
Not cocktail laughter.
The wild, breathless sound of two toddlers winning a war against an adult who had underestimated them.
I unlocked the door and stepped into chaos.
Blocks covered the Persian rug. Couch cushions had been transformed into a fortress. A stuffed giraffe lay face down under the coffee table as if it had given up on the evening. In the middle of it all, my brother-in-law Jamal was on the floor in his dress shirt and slacks, tie loosened, one sleeve rolled higher than the other. He was a corporate attorney who could make senior partners sweat in conference rooms, but at that moment he was being defeated by two children armed with wooden spoons.
My sister Hannah sat on the sofa with a glass of red wine, offering useless commentary.
“Jamal, you’re letting them flank you.”
“I am aware,” he said, trying to remove a block from under his knee. “Their tactics are advanced.”
Then Leo saw me.
“Mommy!”
His sister Lily turned so fast she nearly knocked over the block tower behind her.
They ran to me with the full force of three-year-old devotion, all soft cheeks, flying curls, and tiny shoes slapping the hardwood.
I dropped my tote and crouched just in time for both of them to crash into my arms.
There are moments motherhood gives you that no insult can reach. The weight of a child’s head under your chin. The smell of apple slices and shampoo in their hair. The way their arms tighten around your neck as if they have never once doubted that you are home.
I held them both and closed my eyes.
The Vances had called me empty.
They had no idea my life had been overflowing for years.
When I pulled back, Leo placed both hands on my cheeks.
“You late,” he informed me.
“I know. I had a big day.”
Lily patted my shoulder. “Uncle Jamal lost.”
“I saw.”
“I was betrayed by poor architecture,” Jamal said from the floor.
Hannah stood and walked toward the entry, then noticed the envelope in my tote.
“What is that?”
I tossed it onto the kitchen island.
The wax seal hit the marble with a heavy little thud.
Jamal picked it up first.
“Please tell me nobody is still mailing family crests in the twenty-first century.”
Hannah read the invitation over his shoulder. Her expression hardened before she reached the second line.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“They invited you?”
“Yes.”
“To Declan’s wedding?”