Chapter 10: Toast and Tears
The scent of charred bread overpowered the lingering coffee and roses. Smoke curled lazily from the toaster, adding a sharp, acrid note to the kitchen’s chaotic symphony. Fabric swatches – dusty rose, pale mint, buttercream yellow – lay scattered like fallen petals across the countertops, casualties of Whitney’s early morning nesting frenzy after the anxious fight between the two kids. Casi stood at the stove, wielding a spatula like a reluctant knight facing a dragon, poking dubiously at two blackened rectangles.
"Epic fail," Mason announced, leaning against the fridge, crunching a cold piece of leftover wedding cake directly from the box, samples sent over by at least 20 different pastry chefs all fighting to make the cake for their wedding. He grinned, frosting smudged on his cheek. "Told you setting it past 'light' was ambitious."
"Shut up," Casi grumbled, but a reluctant smile tugged at her lips. She scraped the charcoal discs onto a plate. "Rescue mission? Jam might salvage… something." She reached for the jar, her movements easy now, the morning’s earlier tension dissolved like sugar in hot tea.
Mason ambled over, snagging a clean knife. "Operation Jelly Overload, commence." He slathered a thick layer onto one burnt offering, then, with deliberate clumsiness, pretended to fumble. A glob of bright red strawberry landed squarely on Casi’s cheekbone.
"Hey!" she yelped, recoiling.
Mason burst out laughing, the sound warm and genuine, filling the kitchen. "Oops?" He grabbed a paper towel, stepping closer. "Hold still, menace." He dabbed gently at the sticky mess on her face, his thumb brushing her cheekbone. Their eyes met, a silent understanding passing between them – the shared relief after the storm, the unspoken sorry and it’s okay.
Casi wrinkled her nose but didn’t pull away. "We should've just talked," she murmured, echoing Mason’s words from earlier, quieter now. "Instead of… detonating."
"Yeah," Mason agreed softly, wiping away the last trace of jelly. He tossed the towel aside. "Lesson learned. Mostly." He picked up his salvaged toast, took a huge, defiant bite of the charred, jam-covered mess, and chewed with exaggerated satisfaction. Swallowing, he glanced towards the doorway where Colson was pouring coffee, his back to them. Whitney stood beside him, leaning heavily on the counter, one hand massaging the small of her back, her belly a vast, impossible curve beneath her thin pajamas.
Mason’s voice, casual as commenting on the weather, cut through the companionable silence. "Oh yeah," he said around another mouthful, crumbs spraying slightly. "Almost forgot. We decided. You and Whit should both give us away."
The ceramic mug slipped from Colson’s fingers.
It hit the granite countertop with a sharp, startling clatter, coffee sloshing over the rim, dark liquid spreading across the pale stone like spilled ink. He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. His hands, suspended mid-air where the mug had been, began to tremble violently.
Whitney reacted instantly. She shifted her weight, wincing slightly, and reached out. Not for the spilled coffee, but for Colson. Her hands, warm and steady, closed over his shaking ones. She pulled them gently, firmly, down against the taut, stretched fabric covering her belly. The solid, living curve beneath his palms.
"Colson?" Whitney’s voice was soft, probing.
He didn’t look at her. His gaze was fixed on Mason and Casi, frozen near the stove. Casi’s eyes were wide, startled by the reaction. Mason had stopped chewing, toast halfway to his mouth, realization dawning slowly on his face.
The trembling in Colson’s hands intensified under Whitney’s touch. Then, slowly, his head bowed. A single, hot tear splashed onto Whitney’s knuckle where she held his hand against her skin. Then another. Silent tracks carved paths through the faint stubble on his cheeks, catching the morning light filtering through the window. The tears weren't wrenching sobs, but a quiet, relentless overflow, streaming down his face as the reality detonated silently within him.
His baby girl. Getting married.
The chaotic kitchen faded – the burnt toast smell, the scattered pastels, the spilled coffee. All he saw was a tiny Casi, maybe five, perched on his shoulders at a festival, sticky fingers clutching his hair, shrieking with laughter as he ran. Her first day of school, clinging to his leg, big eyes wide with fear until he knelt and promised he’d be right there at pickup. Teaching her to ride a bike, scraped knees and fierce determination. The fierce teenager defending him, protecting Mason, building walls against the world. The young woman standing beside Mason now, her eyes soft with love and shared history.
A choked sound escaped him, half-laugh, half-sob. He finally lifted his gaze, his eyes swimming, meeting Casi’s startled blue ones across the room. "Married?" The word scraped out, raw and thick.
Casi swallowed, taking a hesitant step forward. "Dad…"
Whitney squeezed his hands, still pinned against her belly. She felt the frantic flutter of movement beneath – the triplets reacting to the sudden shift in energy, the surge of intense emotion radiating from him. "Breathe, rockstar," she murmured, her voice a low anchor. "Just breathe."
Mason carefully set his toast down. He wiped his hands on his jeans, looking suddenly young and uncertain again. "We… we thought…" He glanced at Casi, seeking backup. "It’s tradition, but also… you both…" He gestured helplessly at Whitney. "You’re both…"
"You’re stealing my best friend," Colson managed, his voice cracking, tears still flowing freely. He looked directly at Mason, no anger in his wet eyes, just a profound, bewildered ache. "And my baby girl." He shook his head slowly, the movement dislodging more tears. "Both of you. In one go."
Casi crossed the kitchen quickly now, ignoring the spilled coffee. She stopped in front of Colson, reaching up to cup his stubbled cheek, her thumb brushing away a tear. Her own eyes were suspiciously bright. "Nobody’s stealing anyone, old man," she said, her voice thick but trying for lightness. "We’re just… adding paperwork. And probably more burnt toast." She leaned her forehead against his shoulder. "You’re stuck with us."
Colson shuddered, a deep, full-body tremor. He freed one hand from Whitney’s grasp and wrapped his arm tightly around Casi, pulling her close, burying his face in her hair. He held her fiercely, the way he had when she was small and scared. Whitney kept her hand over his other hand, still pressed firmly against her belly, feeling the frantic kicks subside slightly into a softer, rhythmic pulse.
Mason watched them, a lump visible in his throat. He cleared it. "So… is that a yes? On the giving away part? Both of you?"
Colson lifted his head from Casi’s hair. His face was a mess – tear-streaked, stubbled, eyes red-rimmed – but a shaky, incredulous smile was breaking through. He looked at Whitney, seeking confirmation, seeking steadiness. She met his gaze, a soft smile touching her own lips, her thumb stroking the back of his hand still resting on her bump.
He looked back at Mason, then at Casi nestled against his side. He took a deep, shuddering breath, the kind that follows a long dive into cold water. "Yeah," he rasped, the word thick but clear. "Yeah. Both of us." He squeezed Casi tighter. "Just… warn me next time you drop a bomb like that, kid. Over breakfast." He sniffed, wiping his face roughly with his free hand. "Gotta preserve the tough guy image. Barely intact as it is."
Casi snorted against his shoulder. "Too late. Saw you cry. Twice in one week. Record’s broken."
Whitney chuckled softly, shifting her weight again with a small grimace. "Okay, emotional earthquake survivors," she announced, her voice regaining its practical warmth. "Someone clean up that coffee lake before it stains the fancy stone. Mason, make more toast. Light setting. Casi, grab the fabric swatches before they get baptized. And Colson?" She leaned into him slightly, transferring some of her weight. "You’re on official bump-support duty. These tiny hurricanes are demanding breakfast now."
As Mason scrambled for paper towels, Casi gathered the pastel fabrics, and Colson slid a supportive arm around Whitney’s waist, his hand still resting possessively on her belly, the kitchen hummed back to life. The scent of fresh coffee began to overpower the burnt toast. The scattered chaos felt different now – charged with a new, profound layer of love and impending change. Colson pressed a kiss to Whitney’s temple, his eyes lingering on Casi, now laughing with Mason over the soggy toast rescue attempt. The tears had stopped, but the echo remained, a deep vibration in his chest. His baby girl was getting married. Ready or not.