The Bad Jokes #1: The Redhead

Epilogue: Matthewson

My father-in-law was absolutely right.

You hold your little redheaded daughter in your arms for the first time, and you're a goner. You watch that little girl grow up and there isn't anything you wouldn't do for her. You're her dad.

Here I was, holding our not-even-an-hour-old daughter in my arms, looking at the soft golden-red fuzz on the top of her head, and I knew there were now two people in my life I would do anything for. My wife and my tiny daughter.

"Sienna," Rory tossed another name at me from her hospital bed. She was pale and exhausted, but the reason for her being in this hospital bed was a good one. A seven-pound, seven-ounce good reason.

I looked at our baby girl and nodded. "I like it. It fits. She looks like a Sienna."

"And we can use Mom's real name for a middle name -- Amare. Sienna Amare."

"Sold," I told her, just as her parents came into our room.

"Hey, Mom, Dad," I greeted my in-laws. When I'd married Rory, they'd told me I could call them Mom and Dad or Amy and Chase, whichever I felt more comfortable with. With the way Amy mothered me, bossed me around and teased me -- she still referred to me as your majesty -- Mom seemed to be the way to go, and calling Chase Dad was just as natural. Since I'd never had parents before, I welcomed their presence, as well as their love, in my life.

Amy popped a quick kiss on my cheek and Rory's, asked how her daughter was, then, when I asked if she was ready to meet her granddaughter, she got choked up when I transferred Sienna into her arms.

"Meet Sienna Amare," I told her, and at that, she did cry as she welcomed her namesake into the world.

"She's so perfect," she sniffled as she looked at the unmistakable red-gold fuzz that crowned Sienna's head. "Oh, Chase! Look at our granddaughter! She looks just like Rory did!" Chase, who was standing just behind his wife, put an arm around her and pressed a kiss to Amy's head, his index finger running along Sienna's soft cheek.

I filed away the gesture, along with all the other mental notes I'd taken when surrounded by Rory's family. Sometimes I felt like an alien, given the way I was raised, trying to learn about what normal, loving family behavior looked like. And although Rory's family was undoubtedly certifiable at times, they were also warm and affectionate, funny and kind. After closely observing the dynamics of the three female cousins, I'd come to the conclusion that Rory, Gracie and Justice probably shouldn't be allowed together without adult supervision, and although Alexander gave as good as he got, I secretly felt sympathy for him having grown up dealing with that terrifying trio.

He and I had become good friends, probably because he saw me as an ally against the Bad Jokes, as he called them, and he often came to Wyatt's dojo with me and the three of us took turns sparring. Wyatt had given in to Rory's pitiful request to hold self-defense classes for women (Oh, Wyatt <sniff, sniff>, after what I've been through and being so traumatized by it...cue the stage tears and he'd immediately caved, and just as immediately, her tears miraculously stopped) -- as long as Alexander and I would help. Rory had insisted Gracie and Justice attend, and I noticed that Gracie was given more help with her moves by Wyatt than any other woman attending the classes.

Wyatt had finally shaken off the strange mood he'd been in for months, and I knew it was because he and Gracie had connected at the classes and even more so at Rory's and my wedding. Wyatt had been my best man, with Alexander being a groomsman, and through some confusing, complicated, formal game of Rock, Paper, Scissors, with the Judge called in to preside over it, Gracie had ended up as Rory's maid of honor with Justice as bridesmaid. Sparks had flown between Wyatt and Gracie during the wedding party dance and from what Rory said, Gracie was falling fast. I was tasked with finding out where Wyatt's head was, but, on Alexander's advice -- I'm telling you, do not get fucking involved in their shit or they'll turn you into their bitch -- I told my wife that Gracie should talk to Wyatt if she wanted to know how he was feeling.