I handed the four moving guys each a crisp $20 bill.

“Thanks for all the help,” I said to them, “and I’ll make sure to refer you to anyone I know who plans on moving.”

“You’re very welcome, Mr. O’Brien,” Jake, the foreman of the bunch, replied. And with that, they got in the truck and drove away.

I looked back at the house. My family now had a home of our own. The 5-bedroom, 4 and a half bath colonial had cost me a pretty penny, but I had been smart with my money while in the Army, investing it all, as well as the inheritance I got from my parents’ death. Eleven years of pay at Warrant Officer levels, all with flying bonuses, and five with combat bonuses, tends to add up, especially when your only expense is insurance on a car you only drive a thousand miles a year. The credit union was happy when I was able to put up almost a quarter of the cost of the house as a down payment. And I still had another quarter million to hold onto.

Bev came up behind me and wrapped me up in a hug, the scent of her perfume giving me just enough warning to not surprise me. She kissed me on the cheek and said, “I have some news for you, Sean.”

“I hope it’s good. I’m feeling really happy today, and I don’t want that to change.”

Just then the kids came squealing past us, running towards the back yard.

“You’ll have to decide for yourself.” She raised her voice. “Kids, stay in the front yard for now.” I knew she wanted them to stay where we could see them.

“If that’s the case, I’m guessing you’re pregnant,” I replied.

“Got it in one.”

She turned me around then pushed me out to arm’s length while I attempted to keep my poker face on. “And?”

“This is terrible. Now I have to stay with you forever.”

I got a light punch on the shoulder as she burst out laughing. My poker face had failed again. There’s a reason I never joined in the poker games on base.

“When do you want to tell the kids?” she asked after composed herself.

“How far along are you?”

“Two, maybe three weeks. We didn’t waste any time after the wedding.”

“In that case, Christmas. Before they open their presents.”

“I hope you’re not working that day.”

“I hope I’ve found a job by then. Speaking of, I have four interviews next week.”

“Where?”

“Boston MedFlight on Monday, WBZ on Tuesday, UMass Memorial on Thursday, and NECN on Friday. How’s the school application going?” I asked, knowing she just needed two general education credits to complete her accounting degree.

“Waiting to hear back from Fitchburg State and UMass Lowell.”

“What about Framingham State?” I asked.

“Got accepted, but you know UMass is my first choice.”

At that moment, George came running up to us.

“I’m hungry, mommy!”

I picked him up. He was sort of small for a seven year old boy. “How about you and I unpack the grill and we can make burgers while your mom makes a salad?”

“Can I make the salad with mommy?”

“Sure thing, just make sure to actually help, ok?”

“I will.”

With that, Bev and the kids went into the kitchen, while I went to the back yard and started assembling the grill that I had bought the day before. When I was done, I loaded it with the lump charcoal the previous owners of the house had left behind and got it lit. I headed into the house to find my wife unpacking all the dishes and loading them in the dishwasher. I washed my hands in the sink, then grabbed the ground beef from the fridge and started making it into patties. I had just finished when the doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it,” Bev said, abandoning me to the children.

I could hear the voices from the front door as I washed my hands, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying. As I was drying off, Bev returned to the kitchen, followed by four people, a couple in their mid-thirties, a girl of about sixteen who looked like she wanted to be anywhere but here, and a boy of about thirteen or fourteen. The man was carrying a case of hard cider from a local orchard, while the woman was holding a bottle of wine and the girl held a bowl covered in cellophane containing what appeared to be macaroni salad.

“Sean, these are our neighbors Jacques and Sophie Archambeau, their daughter Yvette and son Pierre,” Bev said. As she made the introduction, I shook the free hand of Jacques.

Sophie piped up, “We brought you some housewarming gifts,” indicating the wine and the cider. She had a slight accent, not quite French or Quebecois, closer to Walloon.

Jacques looked me in the eye and said, “I’m sure you’ll love living here,” his accent was thicker, definitely Walloon. The year in Brussels shuttling around NATO generals had taught me French and Dutch.

“Merci pour le cidre, voisin,” I replied in my best French. With that he broke into a huge grin.

“I can tell from that you haven’t spoken French in a while. How about we go out back and let our wives gossip?”

“Sounds good. Grill should be ready for the meat,” I said as I picked up the platter of beef patties, a pack of cheese, and a spatula. Pierre followed us out to the backyard.

Jacques and I talked for a while as I cooked the burgers, and we rejoined the families in the dining room to have lunch.

The rest of the afternoon passed by as we talked, learning about each other. Jacques worked from home as a freelance translator, mostly of technical manuals. Sophie taught French at the local high school, and Yvette was about to start her junior year at the same school, while Pierre went to the junior high school across the street. The family had moved to the town right before Pierre started junior high. At some point, George, Alice and Paul wandered into the living room, and were followed by Yvette. Bev and I learned a secret about Pierre, which he told me after both he and his parents swore us not to tell anyone.

Pierre was born female and was transitioning to male.

When the Archambeau family left, it was dinner time. Bev and I decided to order a couple of pizzas, then made sure the beds were reassembled and ready for being slept in. At nine, we tucked the kids into their beds, with George being last. As we were tucking him in, he got a funny look on his face and said, “Why am I the only girl I know who gets treated like a boy?”