Leaving the House Where We Grew Up

Epilogue

Dipper returned to the family room for the third time in the last five minutes, swearing softly under his breath. Getting down onto his hands and knees, he looked under the sectional, shining his cell phone flashlight to aide in the search.

"I swear to god, that kid loses..."

"Honey, I found the shoes," Dipper heard his wife call out. Sitting upright and looking towards the source, he saw Mabel holding a small pair of sneakers in her free hand, the other arm occupied by their six-month-old daughter, Hope. The mom also displayed a grin that begged her flustered husband to take a breath and prepare for the long drive that awaited them.

"Thank you," Dipper said gratefully as he approached the pair, exhaling slowly and managing to find the joy in the moment by losing something of his own: himself in her eyes. She leaned up and kissed him softly, making sure to not squash their recent adoptee between them.

Mabel, now twenty-nine, had only grown more beautiful as she matured. Taking to motherhood without skipping a beat, she loved the ups and downs that came with the role, passing on life lessons, tucking her charges in every night, and being there to mend their scrapes. She thrived in the environment, loving the feel of a full house. What truly made it worthwhile, though, was experiencing it with her soulmate.

Wearing her hair in a long braid most of the time to avoid having little hands tugging at her free-flowing locks, she had filled out a little bit, her busy days packed with a teaching career at the nearby elementary school, her role as a mother of two, and keeping her goofball of a husband in line. The days could be exhausting, but at the end of each one, the happy couple — who were now approaching their tenth wedding anniversary — still counted their blessings en route to the bedroom.

Despite their hectic schedule, nothing had diminished the passion they felt for each other. Even on days when Dipper didn't make it home from his consultant gig with an engineering firm in downtown Portland until ten in the evening, the first thing he would do was fall into the arms of his wife, and kiss away the tension and stress he had packed into his shoulders. They were each other's safe harbor in the storms of modern life, as they always had been.

"Stanley! We found your shoes! Come down here and get in the minivan!" Dipper called upstairs to their adopted son. Moments later, a pair of four-year-old feet stomped down the carpeted risers, eventually landing in front of his father with a playful thump.

"You ready to hit the road, little man?" Mabel asked, grabbing the diaper bag from the hallway table and opening the door to the garage.

"Yup! Can I watch the 'Arthur' in the car?" he requested out of habit, climbing into his usual spot behind the passenger seat.

"Sure thing, bud," his father responded, while making a final check of the items they had crammed into the back of the vehicle: luggage, presents, extra pillows, and a couple food items their mother requested they provide. Mabel fastened their youngest into her car seat, and handed out the requisite crackers and juice to Stanley, named in honor of the man who helped make their happy family possible in the first place. The elderly relative also happened to be that year's host for Christmas.

"Did you make any coffee, hon?" Dipper inquired with a yawn while buckling up behind the wheel. Before he could even close his gaping maw, Mabel reached over and handed him a travel mug brimming with the elixir of the parental life.

"You are the greatest wife ever," he replied, leaning over to share a peck with his love.

"Don't you ever forget that," she playfully snarked.

Opening the garage door, the family vehicle was started up and soon broke out into the eastern suburbs of Portland. They had many miles ahead of them, but didn't need a map. The Family Collins had already visited Gravity Falls a number of times, and every twist and turn in the road had been memorized. This, however, would be the first year the families would come together for Christmas in central Oregon.