Park Avenue Player by Vi Keeland
Epilogue
Hollis – 2 years later
There was a knock at the door. As Elodie went to answer it, I admired the jiggle of her ass.
“Are we expecting someone?” I asked.
“Not that I know of.”
When she opened the door, a man stood there with a huge bouquet of flowers.
“Delivery for you, ma’am.”
“Oh wow. Thank you.”
After the door closed, she placed the flowers on the kitchen counter and read the note to herself. She laughed before handing me the card.
Elodie, you’ve come a long way. You went from trapping bad men to creating future good ones. Belated congratulations on your son.
–Soren
P.S. If you ever want to come back to work for me, I’d make a great babysitter.
“Fat chance of that ever happening, you dick.” I laughed and tossed the note.
I could never imagine letting my wife go back to that line of work. I’d end up in jail.
“Well, that was very nice of him, anyway,” she said.
Our three-month-old baby son lay on his stomach atop my chest. He stretched his little neck to see all around him. Ben—short for Benson, Anna’s last name—had my brown hair and nose but Elodie’s eyes. He was a true mix of us. I’d taken two weeks off to be with them, and today was the last day of my vacation. I wouldn’t have minded spending every day with these two and not ever going back to work again. Gone were my workaholic days. Now I ran out of the office when the clock struck five most nights to get home to my family.
We still lived in the same apartment but had converted the guest room into a nursery. Not only were we adjusting to life with a newborn, we were now dealing with a teenager. Hailey still lived with us, and hopefully that would be the case forever. After my brother was released from prison, he disappeared. He’d written us a letter, though, shortly before his release, asking if we’d be willing to take Hailey indefinitely. I was totally relieved. I didn’t want to have to fight him. And although she worried about her dad, Hailey was thrilled to live with us permanently.
Speaking of the devil, Hailey waltzed into the living room. My eyes widened when I got a look at what she was wearing—a cutoff shirt.
“Where do you think you’re going dressed like that?”
“To the movies.”
“With whom?”
“Kelsie.”
Somehow, I was skeptical. “That’s it?”
“And Evan.”
“Evan?”
“Elodie knows.”
I looked at my wife. “Care to explain?”
“I’ve met Evan and his mom. He’s a nice kid.” Elodie shrugged. “I told her she couldn’t go alone with him, though. She had to bring Kelsie along.”
This can’t be starting already. “How old is he?”
“Fourteen,” Hailey answered.
I thought back to the chronic masturbator I had been at that age and cringed.
“Go put on a different shirt,” I ordered.
She huffed, but she returned to her room. It was a rarity that she didn’t argue with me.
After Hailey left for the movies, Elodie and I continued hanging out with our son on the floor. He had one of those playmats with toys hanging from it, and he was now kicking his legs around. Both of us were concerned because the poor little guy hadn’t pooped in days. We were on what we’d dubbed “poop watch.” If he didn’t go tonight, we planned to take him first thing in the morning to the pediatrician.
After about an hour of floor time, we noticed baby Ben got the look on his face that usually meant he was about to push something out.
“Oh my gosh! This might be it!” Elodie beamed.
Ben’s face turned beet red, and it looked like his eyes were bugging out of his head. He grunted.
“It’s happening,” I said.
And then came the sound of the explosion.
Elodie picked him up off the floor and ran to the nursery to assess the situation.
Several seconds later, I heard her yell from down the hall. “Ben made the motherlode! The motherlode!”
I ran to the room and said, “Let me do the honors.”
“No, I’m just so relieved he did it that I don’t even mind changing it.”
She handed me the dirty diaper, and I disposed of it in the pail.
Elodie got him changed and dressed in a clean sleeper. She handed him to me, and I lifted him up in the air as we danced around with him. This was what my life had come to—dancing in celebration of a bowel movement. I wouldn’t have had it any other way.
We returned to the living room with our freshly changed son, who surely must have felt lighter after that.
Baaa. “Ben made the motherlode!”
“Did you hear that?”
Elodie walked over to the bird’s cage. “Huey, what did you just say?”
He was silent.
Just when she’d given up and turned away, he squawked. Baaa. “Ben made the motherlode!”
“Oh, man.” I laughed. “Are you serious?”
“You think it will stick?” she asked.
“Well, his last saying only lasted an entire decade.”
I hoped Anna was looking down right now and laughing her ass off.
