Give it time. She’ll chill.’ Spoiler alert. Linda didn’t chill, but Emily and Jake kept going strong.
Months flew by, hiking red rocks, binging True Crime on Netflix, splitting spicy wings at Buffalo Wild Wings over Coors Light. Then, one starry night at their reservoir spot in Cherry Creek, Jake dropped to one knee. Emily said yes before he could finish, tears and giggles blurring as he slipped a simple ring from Kay Jewelers on her finger.
They planned a wedding, Linda’s gripes be damned, and said, «‘I do,’ at a sunny boulder vineyard, wildflowers swaying and the Rockies watching. Linda showed up naturally, her face sour as expired yogurt. During the toasts she rose, chardonnay in hand, and cleared her throat.
«‘To my son,’ she said, voice like a taut wire, «‘I wish you joy, and I pray you’ve picked someone who won’t… disappoint us all.’ Guests shifted, a few aunts whispering, but the DJ jumped in with a corny line about love, diffusing the bomb. Emily gripped Jake’s hand under the table, eyes on the fairy lights and mountain skyline. This was their moment.
No one, not even Linda, could steal it. After the wedding, Emily and Jake kicked off their next chapter in a three-bedroom condo in Arvada, a sweet inheritance from Jake’s late grandma, who’d doted on him. The place was a steel, gleaming hardwood floors, huge windows spilling Colorado sunshine, and a front-range view that turned coffee runs into mini-vacations.
They threw themselves into fixing it up, hanging picks from their Cherry Creek days, snagging a navy couch from Ikea, and bickering over paint chips at Home Depot like an old married couple. Every nook started buzzing with their energy, love mess and the occasional IPA Jake spilled tinkering with his bruise. A year later, life flipped in the wildest best way.
Emily gave birth to their son, a chunky bundle with Jake’s hazel eyes. Jake, still buzzing from dad vibes, pitched naming him Eli, after his grandad who’d shown him how to cast a line at Lake Granby. It’s got grit, you know.
Feels right, he said, cradling Eli in the hospital, voice thick. Emily beamed, wiped out, but radiant. Love it.
Makes me think of this chill prof I had at CU Boulder. Total legend. They chuckled, clueless that Littleton was about to ignite.
Linda got the scoop on Eli’s name at his first visit, and went full detective. She nabbed Jake in her kitchen, same spot she’d ripped Emily apart, and sneered, Eli, huh? Real cute. Bet your little wifey picked it cause it’s her college boyfriend’s name.
That kid’s a cuckoo in your nest, Jake. Mark my words. Jake’s jaw hit the floor, coffee mug wobbling.
Mum, you’re unhinged. That’s my kid. Your grandson.
He snapped, thinking, she’s lost it for real this time. Linda grinned, venom dripping. Sure, son.
I see her smirking about college. She played you like a cheap fiddle at a hoedown. Jake bolted, hauling Emily and Eli back to Arvada, his brain a mess.
Linda’s poison lingered, but he shoved it down. Over the next year she kept stirring the pot, muttering at Fourth of July BBQs about Eli’s nose not being Thompson enough. Emily laughed it off, nudging Jake over hot dogs and coleslaw.
She’s certifiable, she’d say, squeezing his arm. But Linda doubled down. One afternoon, while Emily whipped up cookies for Eli’s preschool bake sale, Linda helped by sneaking salt into the dough.
The batch was trash, and Linda crowed to Nick, can’t even bake. Pathetic excuse for a wife. Jake and Emily held strong, though.
They built their world around Eli. Park playdates, midnight diaper dashes to Walmart, cozy nights with popcorn and Toy Story marathons. Linda’s stunts were just static, a gnat they flicked off.
The condo brimmed with Eli’s crayon art and Hot Wheels, a fortress of their little family. But Linda wasn’t out of tricks. She was scheming, biding her time for a blow that’d really test them.
Life hummed along for Emily and Jake, a groove of preschool runs, brewery shifts and chill nights in their Arvada condo. Eli hit five, and Emily pulled out all the stops for his birthday. Balloons from Party City, a Spider-Man cake she’d wrestled into existence, and a backyard bash with neighbours and Jake’s rowdy cousins.
She’d wised up with Linda, shoving Eli her way to play instead of risking kitchen sabotage. It was a slick move. Linda griped but got sucked into Lego battles with the birthday champ, while Emily dished out sliders and guac like a pro.
The party rocked. Guests couldn’t shut up about her food, and Jake grinned, proud as a peacock. Linda, though, was always scheming.
Weeks earlier, Emily had hit her ten-year high school reunion at a posh Lodo spot in Denver. No plus ones. So Jake held down the fort with Eli, juggling goodnight moon and a rare night off.
Emily rolled in late, buzzing from margaritas and memories, spilling to Jake. Matt’s a tech hotshot now. Buff.
All Silicon Valley vibes, she giggled, ditching her heels. Get this. He was my first boyfriend back in sophomore year.
Wild, huh? Jake forced a smile, but a shadow crept into his gut. He stayed quiet, letting her chatter fade. Linda pounced on that nugget at Eli’s party, pinning Jake by the cooler with a smirk.
So, this Matt dude’s still kicking around Denver, huh? Emily’s all googly-eyed about him. Bet she’s been sneaking off with that gym rat loser. Eli’s his, not yours, Jake.