Talk About the Direct Approach...

Epilogue

I can tell you one thing that may or may not change your life forever.

Odds are, it probably won't, but I feel you should know.

Ketchup-flavored ice cream? Surprisingly delicious. Adding some pickles on top? Even better.

I rest my back against the couch, flipping the channel on the TV--to Spongebob of course. As long as that show airs, I'll watch it, no matter what my age. I scoop up another spoonful of the ice cream, dutifully placing a small pickle on top, before shoving it in my mouth.

About eight months ago, the idea of ketchup ice cream with pickles would have appalled me. But eight months ago, I didn't get weird cravings.

I look down at my left hand, resting on my enlarged stomach. A magnificent ring sits on my finger, a diamond heart situated on brilliant gold, diamonds dotting the band.

Personally, I would have been content with something much simpler, but it was Cayton's choosing, not mine. I have yet to get the actual wedding band, due to the fact that the actual wedding hasn't happened yet.

Funny story that is. Cayton and I had a deal; after I finished school, we could finally start a family together. I wanted to be married first though. Even if our mate bond is stronger than any marriage bond, and I'm not necessarily human any longer, and weddings aren't a werewolf thing. I still wanted the wedding I dreamed of since I was little. And, Cayton being Cayton, gave me what I wanted.

Things got a little tricky when I found out I was pregnant though. I still had five months until graduation--which Cayton told me was the day he planned on proposing--and already there was a baby on the way.

He ended up asking me to marry him the day we found out. So that's how I walked across the stage to receive my diploma--five months pregnant and engaged.

We had to put the wedding off until after our little bundle of joy was born. I refused to walk down the aisle looking like an inflated marshmallow. And besides, due to me being changed, there has been some concern about both my health and the baby's, so we have to keep a close eye on it all for a while. The doctor is sure everything will be ok, but still, better safe than sorry.

Now I'm sitting at home, eight months pregnant and eating ketchup ice cream. Not the most healthy of choices, but I couldn't help my cravings. They've been strange, believe me. This is probably one of the more normal cravings.

Cayton is off in the house somewhere with Trenton, working on this so-called surprise for me.

Someone knocks on the door, and I shout for them to come in. There's no way I'm getting off this couch. That would require effort. I had always pictured pregnant women as always smiling and glowing. Which, I've concluded is nothing more than a marketing scheme to convince people to have babies so they can sell them baby clothes.

The door opens and it isn't long before two little girls come running in the room, one screaming "Aunt Macy!"

The oldest--Celene--jumps up next to me. She's nearly five years old now, and Lord help us all, an exact replica of her mother in the personality department. Her black hair is pulled up into a ponytail, and because she has an obsession with bows, she has about three clipped right above the hair tie, even though they don't match her outfit.

"Can I have some?" Celene comes right out and asks, pointing at the ice cream bowl in my hand, brown eyes looking at me as if she had to beg. I smile and shove a spoonful in her mouth.

"Me too?" Little Willow, three years old and Trenton's replica, pulls herself up on the other side.

"Anything for my favorite redhead," I say to Willow just as I hear Tami coming in. I give her a smile as I feed Willow some of the ice cream. "And how's my second favorite fire wolf?"