Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 117574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 588(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 392(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 588(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 392(@300wpm)
As I sing, I do my damnedest to perform the moves I’ve practiced endlessly. And I think, based on the crowd’s reaction, the guys just behind me and on either side of me must be doing their thing, too. I could be wrong about that, though. I think I’m in a fugue state. On the cusp of passing out.
Either way, whatever’s happening, good, bad, or ugly, it’s enough to make Charlotte, and everyone else, lose their ever-loving minds, especially the wives of every man up here. Charlotte and Tessa are leading the charge: they’re clutching each other and jumping up and down screaming while Claire and Thea jump around next to them.
I can’t help noticing half the party is clapping with a “what’s going on?” smile on their faces. Which could mean we’re sucking horribly up here or that they don’t realize this song isn’t real. You know how a song parody can be so damned good, half the people who hear it don’t even realize it was meant to be funny? I think that’s the case with “All Strings Attached.” I truly think there are people here who think I’ve picked out an existing song from Spotify to lip-synch and dance to at my wife’s 40th birthday party. Well, let them think it. Honestly, I’m complimented. We’re giving it our all up here, after all. And the song is dope.
Even if this is the worst boy banding the world has ever seen, my wife is now crying happy tears, as the song barrels toward its big whiz-bang ending, and that’s all that matters to me. I swear, Charlotte’s never looked more beautiful than she does right now. I’ll remember this moment as long as I live.
We’re almost at the finish line of the song now. It’s time for me to lip-synch my favorite part—the outro.
That’s it. We did it. The song is over. On the word “blast,” we strike our group pose—the clustered, all-too-serious, last-minute one we quickly came up with earlier during the party—a pose that includes a whole lot of squinting, smoldering, lip pursing, and hands positioned on chins. Well, three of us strike the ending pose, anyway. Max and Fish forget and have to skitter over and take their places after the song ends, in total silence, their footfalls echoing hilariously across the patio like scratches on a record player. It’s funny as hell, honestly. Way better than what we’d planned to do, based on the hysterical, raucous guffawing their hilarious mistake elicits from our audience.
After holding the group pose for a long beat, the five members of Auggie Loves Charlotte finally break free of our frozen tableau, at which point the crowd descends upon us like hungry lions attacking gazelles. Wives tackle husbands. Kids are picked up and twirled around. Hearty laughter abounds. And best of all, Charlotte flings herself into my arms and thanks me effusively for “the best gift” she’s ever received in her life.
I hug her to me as she bursts into happy tears. I don’t know if it’s pregnancy hormones, or if Charlotte would be crying like this, regardless, but the woman cries for a solid two minutes in my arms before she’s finally able to carry on a coherent conversation with me.
“How on earth did you make this happen?” she asks, wiping her eyes.
I pick up Thea, who’s tugging on my leg, and proceed to tell Charlotte the whole story.
“I can’t believe Fish did all that,” Charlotte says. “I’m blown away.”
“Yeah, I hope you don’t mind, but I kind of promised him we’d name our son Fish as payment for all his hard work. Hope that’s okay with you, babe.”
Charlotte cracks up. “Sorry, no. I’m cool with Guppy, though. Does that work for you, babe?”
“Finally. It’s perfect.”
We both laugh. We haven’t settled on a name for our son-to-be yet. For some reason, Thea was easy for us. We both love Althea and felt good about keeping her name alive in our family. But settling on a boy’s name has been much harder. There’s a tradition in my family to name boys after rulers in history—the Vaughn boys are Maximillian and Augustus, and now, Max’s son is Marcus—but Charlotte and I can’t decide if we care about following that tradition. I guess we’ll figure it out, at the very latest when the baby comes in three months.
My mother comes over to hug Charlotte and me, with Lucky in her arms. When she arrives, Thea reaches out for her, so Mom puts Lucky down and takes her beloved granddaughter into her arms. We chat for a bit as a threesome, until Charlotte and Mom wind up chatting, separately, at which point, I glance around the party.
When I see everyone around me having so much fun—all our friends and family and so many kiddos and dogs—I can’t help it. I get emotional. I can’t believe my kids get to grow up in this house, surrounded by so many friends and family. They’ll have birthday parties here. The kids can pitch a tent out here in this amazing backyard and “go camping” with our dogs. And best of all, Charlotte will be their mother, so they’ll always know they’re loved beyond measure. The thought makes me choke up.