June First

Brant, age 36

I pull a pen out of my back pocket and jot down some notes.

June 1, 2031

• It’s June’s 30^th birthday today. THIRTY. We have two children squished on either side of us, but I feel like she wants to celebrate with me already. >:-)
• She’s biting her lip and giving me the eyes.
• You know the eyes.

June stretches out beside me in the little treehouse, yawning dramatically, then “accidentally” grazes her fingertips up my thigh as she brings her hand back up.

• Yep, she wants me.
• Theodore just ran outside, then came back in to tell us that one of the clouds looks like a face with a philtrum. Apparently that’s the little groove between the bottom of your nose and your upper lip. Where does he learn this stuff?
• Caroline has to pee.
• I don’t know why I wrote that down.

“I really have to pee, Mommy.”

Folding the index card in half, I slip it back into my pocket.

Samantha is way better at this.

All four of us shuffle out of the custom-built treehouse, flicking grass blades and dirt stains off our clothes. Andrew helped me build it two years ago—only, it’s not in the tree; it’s built around the tree, at ground level.

We learned our lesson.

“Wait! I forgot my sword.” Caroline bounces toward the little wooden house and sneaks beneath the curtain, her sable-colored ponytail bouncing against her overalls. She’s a tomboy to the max. When she skips back out through the opening, the sword I made for June on Christmas Eve is clutched inside her fist. She starts to make swishy noises as the worn wood blade slices the air, then points right at her brother. “Get back, beast!”

“I’m not a beast, Caroline. I’m a child.” He crosses his arms as the setting sun casts a yellowy glow upon his already sandy hair. “You’re going to give me splinters if you stab me with that.”

“You’re no fun at all.”

“Want to go inside and crystalize our own rock candy?”

Caroline’s face scrunches up with disgust. “That’s so boring. I want to fight bad guys with my magic sword and save Aggie and Bubbles from the un-peekable monsters.”

“Unspeakable,” he corrects. “Hey, don’t you have to pee?”

Her eyes widen with remembrance. Squeezing her legs together, she books it through the yard toward the back of the house, Theodore giving chase. When he catches up to her, he tugs on her ponytail, and their laughter rings in my ears like the sweetest lullaby.

Two familiar arms encircle me from behind as a warm cheek presses into the center of my back. I grin, placing my hands atop hers. “I saw you eyeing me in the treehouse.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she murmurs against my t-shirt, her fingers drifting downward and inching beneath the hem.

“Think we can occupy the kids with a movie while we lock ourselves in the bedroom?”

“You mean, without tears or bloodshed?”

“Valid.” Taking her by surprise, I bend down, grip her by the thighs, and haul her onto my back. June squeals, wrapping her legs around my waist and burying a fist in my hair for leverage. “I guess I can wait. But the moment you blow out your candles, you better be well on your way to blowing—”

Her hand slaps over my mouth as she laughs out, “Brant!”

“You can’t look at me like that and not expect me to obsessively think about what that look implies, Junebug.”

I start to move toward the open patio door with June bouncing on my back, holding on tight through her giggles.

I’m definitely still owning my title of World’s Best Piggy-Back Giver.

When we step through the back door, Theodore and Caroline are sprawled out on the couch with the television on. Theodore has Bubbles clutched in his arms, while Caroline is using Aggie as a pillow. I smile. June and I passed our beloved stuffed elephants down to our children when they were born, and the toys are nearly worn raw from all the love they’ve received over the years.

“I’m going to check on the cake. It should be cooled down enough to frost,” June tells me, sliding down my back.

I give her butt a loving smack as she traipses into the kitchen.

Making my way down the hallway to our master bedroom, I pull the index card out of my pocket and crouch down beside the bed. Underneath hides a slew of shoeboxes. All of them are decorated by the kids with colorful construction paper, markers, paint, glitter, and pipe cleaners.

And inside, holds our moments.

I pluck a few boxes out and sit down, crossed-legged, a wave of nostalgia coasting through me.

June 15, 2024

• It’s the last day of our honeymoon in Hawaii. I just realized I didn’t write a single card for the past two weeks because all I’ve done is stare in wonder at my wife. My. Wife. I’ll never forget the way she looked when a wave tipped her over, and she stood up on shaky legs, soaking wet, shivering, and laughing like she would never again be happier than she was in that moment.

Challenge accepted.

May 16, 2025

• Our son was born today. We named him Theodore Andrew, and Samantha Bailey cried when we told her his name. She sobbed into his little blue swaddle blanket, and June cried, too.

It was only the third time I’ve ever seen Samantha cry.

October 11, 2025

• June has decided to retire from dancing to stay home and raise our children. She wants to be a dance teacher, but she said she’ll chase that dream when the time comes. I’m so fucking proud of her.

February 26, 2026

• We’re moving back home.
• Pauly offered me the opportunity of a lifetime, and even though it will be sad to leave him and Wendy behind in New York (and Rupert), it’s time to say goodbye to the big city. Theodore and Caroline deserve to grow up with their grandparents nearby. We’ll be flying out to look at properties next week, and we can’t wait to lay new roots.
• I think I want to build a treehouse.

July 18, 2026

• Pauly and I opened up a new restaurant in downtown Chicago. I’m the co-owner. I own a RESTAURANT. Holy shit… is this real life?

• I just got home from work and Theodore pulled himself up from the couch cushions and took his first steps. To me. My son just walked to me. And I ran down the hallway of our brand new house, collapsed onto the bed, and cried.

August 5, 2026

• We’ve been stopping by Theo’s gravesite every Saturday night since we returned home. June eventually told me that Theo was her mysterious date for all those years, so we decided to keep up the tradition.
• Today I stuck around a little longer. I told Theo I was keeping my promise… I’m taking care of June. Our princess is safe. After I said the words, I swore I felt the wind pick up, just a little. Almost as if he heard me. Almost as if he was saying, “I know you are, Luigi.”

Was that you, Theo?

December 24, 2028

• Caroline asked me who the woman was in the photograph ornament on the Christmas tree—the ornament June and Theo gave to me when I was a boy. I told Caroline it was her grandma, the woman we named her after. My sweet mother. She said she was real pretty. And then she said the stuffed elephant in the picture looked a lot like Bubbles 🙂

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• I’m so unbelievably happy. That’s all.

Thirty years ago, I was a terrified six-year-old boy who had just lost his whole world. I was curled up on my bedroom floor, hiding under the bed with a toy elephant as my only comfort.

Now, I’m sitting on the bedroom floor of my forever home while my own six-year-old boy, my precocious daughter, and my Junebug, have a tickle fight down the hallway, their giggles and squeals the only comfort I’ll ever need again.

I sigh contentedly.

Where has the time gone?

I hope to read through all of those index cards one day, fifty years from now, and know exactly where the time went.

And I’ll smile. I’ll laugh. I’ll cry.

I’ll be really damn proud of the life I lived and grateful for all the little moments that created it.

“The pizza just got here.” June stands in the doorway to our bedroom, her dress wrinkled, and her hair sticking up from the tickle fight with the kids.

God, she’s perfect.

I nod, watching as she strolls toward me with that same come-hither look in her eyes. She’s holding a paper plate topped with two slices of pizza. “Will you still look at me like that in fifty years when I’m old and wrinkly?” I wonder.

Twirling the skirt of her housedress, she nibbles her bottom lip and crinkles her nose. “Look at you how?”

“That same look you gave me in the treehouse. Like you want to rip off my belt and see what’s hiding inside my pants.” I frown, pondering. “Spoiler alert: by then, it’ll probably be a colostomy bag.”

“Gross!” She sits down beside me and smacks my chest, dropping her forehead to my shoulder as belly laughter rolls through her. “Of course I’ll still look at you like that.”

I grin, taking the plate she hands me. “Liar.”

“I’m serious. Age doesn’t change anything.” With her chin propped against my arm, she glances up at me with big, glittering eyes. “You’ll still be Brant, and I’ll still be June.”

Her words steal my breath for a moment. Swallowing, I stroke her hair back with my hand, then place a kiss to the top of her head. “Yeah,” I murmur. “You’re right.”

Glancing down at the pizza, I glare at the mushrooms piled onto each piece. Then I hold back a laugh as I return my attention to her. “Mushrooms? We hate mushrooms.”

“I know. They messed up the order,” she sighs. “The kids love them, so I didn’t say anything.”

I scrape them off. “Fuck mushrooms.”

We share a knowing look, tinged with humor, as June echoes softly, “Fuck mushrooms.”

The shoeboxes still lie strewn around us, so she licks her fingers and plucks a random card from a random box. “I love going through these. It’s all the beautiful moments that make up our forever,” June muses, her eyes scanning over the little white card. “Like this one.”

She hands it to me.

I read.

February 2, 2024

• June’s water broke. I’m going to be a father. My God, I’m going to be a father. And I’m going to be a good father. Like Andrew. I’m going to build treehouses, and wear funny slippers, and make rhymes, and stand at the bus stop every morning before work telling my child to have a remarkable day. I’m going to cook family dinners, host barbecues, sing lullabies by the light of the moon, and look for rainbows after every storm. I’m going to be present. I’m going to be brave. I’m going to put my family first, like my own father never did. Always. Forever. Until my very last breath.

They. Come. First.

I nod, teary-eyed and breathless, wrapping my arm around my wife and placing the card back into the box. I close the lid, pulling June close to me as we eat terrible mushroom pizza on our bedroom floor on her birthday, making more wishes, more memories, more moments that make up our forever.

That’s when our children come barreling into the room with greasy fingers and sauce-covered faces, singing an off-key, high-pitched rendition of Happy Birthday.

They leap into our laps, and we all collapse with laughter.

With love.

They come first.

And as June squeezes my hand beneath the pile of children and sends me a loved-laced smile, her eyes twinkling blue and brilliant, I realize that I no longer fear my lasts.

Because I know,

Every last will be with them.