Keiran is my oldest child. My doctor gave me the choice to have him delivered on any of five days in early July, so he arrived strong and healthy on our second wedding anniversary. All his life the two holidays were celebrated as if they were one great event. Mom plus Dad equals Keiran.
Our milestone 20th anniversary and his becoming legally an adult were always going to be the biggest party yet, and the bash at our house went on past midnight. Our two families spent generously on a catered meal, a small dance band, and an open bar. The last guests didn’t stumble into their rides home until 1:30 in the morning. My exhausted husband had nodded off at a little after midnight and his second bottle of wine. Keiran wasn’t far behind, and was asleep fully clothed on his bedspread. Despite Keiran’s age there had been some drinking game between the two of them as midnight had approached, and obviously they’d both lost.
My sister joked, as she was leaving, that I would have to wait a day or two for the wild sex every anniversary night ought to include. After I locked up and turned off most of the lights, I made my own unsteady way upstairs.