Hoax in One

| epilogue |

If you looked from the outside in, you'd think our life was perfect.

I got an internship with the PGA my senior year of college that led to a full time job.

My photos were displayed in newspapers and articles and websites across the world. I achieved more than I thought I ever could as a photojournalist.

Tate played professional golf on the PGA Tour.

He'd won major championships and traveled the country with me. He won millions playing, and he donated a lot of it to Alzheimer's research.

For months after Tate opened that envelope, his emotions were up and down. He had good days and bad. He would randomly start crying or need to FaceTime Amy. It was a roller coaster for him to accept that he had gotten that lucky and beat his odds—because not everyone does. He had a sort of survivor's guilt. But every day he worked through it, choosing to be happy, and learning to accept his parents' choices.

Two years after graduation, I married my best friend in a small ceremony in my parents' backyard, and we bought our first house in Hilton Head so we could be close to Richard.

Two years after that we welcomed our little boy, Rich (named after his grandfather who passed a week after his birth), into the world.

Two years after that our twin girls, Lane and Tyler (because I loved my own "boy" name), made their own entrance.

I cinched my pink robe closed and looked down at the newspaper sitting on our kitchen counter. Someone else had taken this picture of our family from the weekend before—Tate in his green jacket after his third Masters win, me in a soft pink golf dress, Rich in his salmon-colored polo, and Lane and Tyler in their white dresses that definitely didn't match because they refused to (much to my dismay).

All of our kids had brown hair and brown eyes because Tate's genes were stronger, but they all had my personality. Win-win.

But like I said, life isn't ever really perfect. No matter what it looks like to anyone else.

Marriage is hard. Marriage is work. Children sometimes make you want to tear your hair out, even when they're the best thing that has ever happened to you. We fought. We aggravated each other. Sometimes we just needed a few moments to ourselves, otherwise we'd go crazy.

I needed my girls' weekends with Alice and Millie. Tate needed his boys' nights with Seth, who was also his caddy.

But every day Tate and I put forth an effort to make each other a priority and to make our family a priority. Our children and I didn't get to travel as much as we did before with Tate, so we made the most of it when we had our time together.

Tate stepped up behind me, almost spilling my hot coffee all over me, and bear hugged me.

"Happy tenth anniversary," he whispered in my ear.

I dropped my head back, looked up into his brown eye, and kissed his smiling lips. "Happy anniversary." I crinkled my nose. "We're so old."

"Ugh, I know. My back hurts from sleeping."

I put my mug down and twisted into Tate before I dropped my voice. "Are you sure that's not from last night?"

"Hm," he murmured, narrowing an eye. "That was quite a position we found ourselves in."

Tate pressed his lips into mine. His tongue slipped between them and caused a rush of electricity to shoot into my stomach. His intensity was something I wouldn't ever take for granted again.

"Will you moan for me like that again after our date tonight?" he asked into my mouth.

I hummed, "Mmhmm," back in response as Tate pushed me against the granite countertop.

The patter of little feet across the wood floor interrupted our make out session. I pulled back slightly to look around Tate's bicep.

Tyler walked into the kitchen in her blue pajama dress. Her hair was frizzy and wild, sticking up on one side. She clutched her hand over her stomach.

"Mommy," she whimpered. "I don't feel w—"

Instead of finishing her sentence, she projectile vomited across the floor.

Tate groaned and dropped his head on my shoulder. "I swear if I get the stomach bug for the third time this year..."

I tried to ignore the smell as I stepped around him, attempting to stop myself from laughing. I squeezed Tate's hip as he squeezed my butt.

"Sweetie, let's get you some medicine and back in bed," I told her softly in my mom voice.

Tate was on his hands and knees cleaning it up when I came back.

"I was going to get it," I huffed. I grabbed another paper towel roll and the cleaning spray to start helping him.

Tate smiled at me. "I know."

We had a weird moment over the throw up where we just goofily smiled at each other as we wiped it up together. I'd scrunch my nose, he'd scrunch his back.

"Rain check for tonight?" I asked.

He nodded. "I'll grill, and we can just drink wine on the back porch."

"That sounds perfect," I whispered as I leaned into him. "I love you, Tate."

Tate gagged before I could kiss him. "I love you, but I'm going to throw up," he groaned.

One by one, we dropped like flies.

Tate threw up in the kitchen trash.

Rich yelled from upstairs.

Lane started crying from her room.

And lastly, I heaved in our bathroom toilet.

When I was finished, I crawled into our king bed and reached across all three of our kids to find Tate's hand. He laced his fingers through mine, and we hugged our kids as their nausea medicine kicked in and they snuggled together.

"Today is a good day, Devin."

"Every day is a good day," I replied and chuckled. "Especially when we get to sleep all day."

This was life. Perfectly imperfect.