The doorbell rings, and Nick passes Emma back to me so he can answer it. I hear familiar voices in the hallway. Diana and Jason, arriving right on schedule with coffee and reinforcements.
"There's my grandbaby!" Diana's voice carries through the apartment as she enters, arms already outstretched for Emma. "And how is the prettiest girl in the world today?"
Emma lights up at the sight of her Na-na, reaching for her with grabby hands and launching into what I'm pretty sure is a detailed explanation of our morning's packing adventures. Diana listens with rapt attention, making appropriate responses to each babbled observation.
"She's reporting on our progress," I explain. "Very thorough oversight."
"Of course she is. Takes after her father, the responsible one," Diana says with a pointed look at Nick, who's helping Jason carry in what appears to be enough coffee for a small army.
"Hey, I'm responsible," Nick protests. "I remembered to pack Emma's diaper bag."
"After I reminded you three times," I add.
"Details."
Jason snorts, setting coffee and pastry boxes on our kitchen counter. "Some things never change. Remember when we were moving you into your first apartment after college? Nick forgot to pack until the night before."
"I was busy," Nick defends.
"You were hungover," Jason corrects. "From your own goodbye party that you threw for yourself."
"That party was a celebration of my independence and maturity."
"You played beer pong until two in the morning and then cried because you were going to miss Mom's cooking."
Diana laughs, bouncing Emma on her hip. "He called me at six AM asking if I could come make him pancakes 'one last time' before he moved out."
"You did make me pancakes," Nick points out.
"I did. And then I helped you pack because you'd done nothing but throw random clothes in a garbage bag."
I watch this familiar family dynamic play out—the gentle teasing, the obvious affection, the way they've all just seamlessly incorporated Emma into their routines. Diana visits twice a week and babysits whenever we need it. Jason brings Emma presents "just because" and spent last weekend teaching her to stack blocks. Even Ryan, who was so confused by our relationship at first, lights up whenever he sees her.
We've built exactly what I dreamed of during those early, uncertain days—a family that includes all of us, biological and chosen, messily and imperfectly and completely.
"Speaking of packing," Diana says, settling Emma in her high chair with a piece of banana bread, "have you seen the new nursery yet?"
"Not the finished version," I admit. We've been to the new house several times, but the contractors only finished the nursery yesterday. "Nick keeps saying it's a surprise."
"It's not a surprise, exactly," Nick says, suddenly looking nervous. "It's just...I wanted it to be perfect before you saw it."
"It's perfect," I assure him. "Whatever you did, it's perfect."
"You haven't seen it yet."
"I don't need to. I trust you."
The simple statement makes Nick's expression soften, the same way it always does when I tell him I trust him. Eighteen months of daily proof, and he still seems surprised each time I demonstrate faith in his decisions.
"Come on," Jason says, clapping his hands together. "Let's get this show on the road. The moving truck will be here in two hours, and we've barely made a dent."
The next hour passes in a blur of organized chaos. Diana entertains Emma while the rest of us pack and label and try to remember where we put the tape. I find myself gravitating toward the small moments—Nick carefully wrapping the framed photo from our first official date, Jason discovering Emma's newborn hospital bracelet tucked inside a book, Diana finding the pregnancy test we'd forgotten we kept.
"You saved it?" she asks, holding up the little plastic stick.
"Nick did," I say, glancing at him. "I wanted to throw it away, but he said it was 'historically significant.'"
"It was the beginning of everything," Nick says, not even embarrassed. "Of course I kept it."