This is a story I was late on writing, but thought I'd go ahead and post here, since some of you asked me about an Easter story. It's two parts and I figured that since Easter happens on April 17th in 2019 (the year this would take place) I'm actually early.;)

And I PROMISE to have a Darker update soon and one for the baby story as well. I know a lot of you have been asking. I appreciate your interest so much and love reading your comments and messages!

And the sex of the twins and stuff will be revealed in another part to this Hearts and Flowers story (not the Easter part), so stay tuned.

Thanks for reading! Enjoy! xo

"Why do we have to hide the eggs in our yard?" I ask as I sit at the kitchen table helping Ana cut out sugar cookie bunnies she's baking for the springtime celebration tomorrow. Gail's off today, so I got thrust into this situation by the promise of another type of thrusting situation later. And let me tell you, I'm terrible at this cookie shit. It looks all sweet and innocent from the outset, but it's pure evil. Who knew it would be so easy to over-flour and over-roll and for body parts to tear off. I think I've re-wadded this ball of dough twelve times to try and get these right, and still Peter has no cottontail and his friend can't hear him complain about it because his ears fell off the table.

"It's a tradition," Ana says, shimmying around in her frilly little apron over that silky little dress of hers. She's doing this on purpose to incentivize me and fuck, it's working. She looks like she stepped right out of a fifties sit-com as the perfect doting pregnant housewife. Except in this light I can see the outline of her bra through the back of that dress, and looking down south, I don't think Harriet ever wore matching La Perla black lace crotchless panties for Ozzie.

Damn is she driving me crazy.

"Yes, let's hide them for our kids, not every snot nose at the school," I say, wondering if there's any way I can fuck her quick over the counter. But shit, the kids are watching their movie in the next room. But, they're watching their movie... And she has the short dress on with the crotchless panties... Fuck, my cottontail fell off again!

"Didn't we just do this at Christmas?" I ask. I half expect Tilly to come as herself tomorrow—a hard boiled egg who thinks she's an omelet.

"The moms thought it would be fun if we had the hunt in our meadow."

"Of course they did; they're probably also hoping I'll be wearing a bunny tail with my ass stuck up in the air and hopping around where the she-wolf pack can strike."

"Actually, they have someone for that," Ana says, putting her perfectly formed dough rabbits onto cookie sheets. She's so good handling those ears; they never fall off. Fuck, I just got hard again imagining her other handling skills.

"What do you mean they have someone? What'd they call, Rent-a-Rabbit?"

She laughs and shakes her head.

"You know that new little boy, Clayden Malloy?"
she asks. What's with the "aydens", anyway? Why are parents so eager to put any other name in front of it and call it a name? It was bad enough when every third boy was a Jayden or Brayden, but now these parents are just making this shit up.

"You mean that kid with the fucked up bowl cut?"

"Christian!"

"What? I feel sorry for the boy; that haircut is child abuse." I just gave a full head-cut to my thirteenth try.

"Well, his father is going to play Hoppy Tailingsworth." She giggles. "Isn't that cute?"

I stop re-balling my dough for a moment to soak what she just said in. Am I dreaming this insanity currently?

"Did you just giggle at another man's name for his rabbit act?" I ask as I wad my dough hard and pound it down onto the table, imagining I'm flattening this Hoppy giggle inducing fuck under my R8 tire. Nobody makes my wife giggle and gets away with it.

"No, it's not an act; he's a real Easter Bunny," she says.

"What the hell does that mean?" Am I drunk? Hearing this craziness, I'm trying to remember if I downed a bottle of jack and forgot.

"He plays one at malls and parties. He went to school and has a certificate and everything."

"What kind of outfit hands out Easter Bunny degrees?"

"I'm not sure, but he's offered to donate his time and his costume to the festivities."

"He has his own costume?" I ask and she nods. "Like in his closet all the time?" She nods again. What the hell? I squish the dough through my fingers after I fist my hand at the thought of this pervert and his rabbit gear.

"What happened to the simple party at the school?" I ask.

"They were going to do that, but Bill came up with idea of a meadow egg hunt and thought our house would be perfect for it."

"Did he now?" I grit my teeth. "He came up with the idea? He just offered up our house for his games?"

"He didn't offer anything up. He heard the moms talk about our Christmas party and he suggested it."

"Don't you find that odd?"

"No. He plays the Easter Bunny at egg hunts all over. He's done it for years."

"Well, so have rapists and murderers."

She rolls her eyes and pissed off, I pull up too fast on my fifteenth try and it's complete cookie carnage.

"He's a nice man," she says.

"So are rapists and murderers!" I say and she laughs, like its a joke. "It's true; the neighbors always say that on the news. When was the last time you heard of a complete asshole that committed a violent crime?"

"So, what exactly are you saying, Christian?"

"That people who play holiday characters are deranged and dangerous."

"You've played plenty."

"Yes, but I was swept up into it by the kids and you and the school. I didn't go out seeking Santa Claus work. I certainly didn't go to college for it to earn a degree. It was thrust upon me."

"Like greatness?" She laughs.

"Very funny. But this is all highly suspicious."

"What is?"

"A guy who just comes to town and just so happens to be a professional Easter Bunny on the side and gets involved with the moms group and then comes up with the idea to use our house for his hippity hop hop act..."

"What's your conspiracy? He's trying to murder us?"

"He wants to have sex with you, Ana."

"What?" She laughs. "Where on earth did you get that from? I've only had three conversations with the man."

"Three?! What could you possibly have to talk with him about three times?"

"The party."

"Exactly! And that's why he suggested it. To have alone time with you, conversations, planning, meetings at secretive locations."

"Secretive locations? We've only talked at the school."

"Well, I didn't know about it and I'm investigating everything all the time, so it was a secret to me! And that's like stealth. He wants to seduce you."

"I'm six months pregnant, Christian."

"And? That's just icing on the cake!"

"You and your overprotective pregnancy kink are overreacting. Men generally don't go after other men's pregnant wives."

"They do if they're the hottest piece of ass on earth and they're mine. Trust me, Ana, everyone wants my hot ass."

She shakes her head and laughs.

"Don't laugh; this is a tragedy not a comedy. This man has no history with this school. He's never been involved in a production. And suddenly he's the star of the show?"

"Christian, you're acting like you wanted to play the Easter Bunny."

I look down, not saying anything, just staring at my dead bunny dreams in the wreck of my dough.

"Is this what this is about? Are you upset they didn't ask you?" she asks, softly. I won't admit it, but I am a bit hurt. Didn't they like my Ham? Or Santa? Or my Thanksgiving performance on that boat? I suspect that it's because the Easter bunny has no sexual orientation to speak of and Tilly won't have an excuse to wife me up and maul me, so she'd rather have easy access to sexually harass me at the buffet table. Her two favorite things—my ass and her ass eating.

"It crossed my mind," I say. "I mean, it's become tradition."

"Don't feel bad. They just chose him because he has the suit," Ana says, trying to lessen the blow.

"I can get a suit, Ana. We're billionaires, trust me we can afford a bunny costume. Hell, I can get Thumper straight off the Disney lot."

"You know, I can get a bunny costume, too," she says with a raised brow and a wiggle as she walks her tray over to the oven, bends over seductively and puts it in. I want to put something in that oven.

"What does that mean, Mrs. Grey?"

"You'll have to wait until the Easter celebration is over," she smirks.

"You're trying to get me off the subject."

"Is it working?"

"I don't know, what were we talking about?"

She smiles and then walks over, sits in my lap and wraps her arms around my neck.

"Christian, don't worry, everything will be fine."
She gives me a kiss and I officially give up on my wad of dough to kneed something else.

"Ana, how can I not worry?" I ask as I stroke her breasts through that apron and the silk of her dress. "My life is worrying about you and our kids." I move my hands down to her belly.

"I know, but we're okay." She puts her hand over mine and kisses me again, shimmying around on my lap. "How can I convince you of that?"

"Why don't we go upstairs so you can try?" I ask against her mouth, knowing full well it won't change my verdict, but damn, I'm looking forward to the trial.

"But, we have cookies to bake," she says as I kiss her neck and inhale her intoxicating scent. She's so sweet.

"Fuck the cookies," I whisper and nip her earlobe, then devour her mouth with mine.

"Daddy!" Phoebe says, running in with Teddy and startling Ana and I out of our romantic moment.

"Gross, they're kissing again!" Teddy says.

"What did I tell you two about knocking?" I ask as Ana giggles into my neck. At least her giggle is mine again.

"We gotta knock before we go to the kitchen?" Teddy asks. I guess he's right, those are just the rules for our bedroom.

"I thought you two were watching your movie," I say.

"Yeah. They founded Nemo," Phoebe says.

"Well, that's a relief," I say.

"Oooh, my cookies," Ana says after her timer goes off and tries to get up, but the babies are beginning to make springing up for her difficult. Thankfully I work out with Claude and I'm able to help her to her feet with relative ease. I don't know how string bean fathers-to-be do it.

"What have you been making?" I ask, taking one of Phoebe's hands and looking at her sparkle fingers.

"I was glittering my Easter basket for the party that I'm gonna put all of the Easter Bunny eggs in."

"Don't take any eggs from that rabbit!" I say and Ana swats my arm, giggling, as she passes to tend to her cookies. I've given up the dough dreams long ago. I kind of feel sorry for my lump of cookie material; it'll never live up to it's potential.

"It's time to decamorate the eggs now, Daddy!" Phoebe says.

"Yeah, and tomorrow we dig them up out of the dirt," Teddy says, so excited by the prospect. I'm hoping he'll turn out to be an archeologist in life and not just work at the dump.

"But first, you have to color them,"Ana says as she picks up a bowl full of hard boiled eggs from the counter and hands it to me. There are so many of them, it's like she robbed the hopes of an entire population of springtime chickens of ever having young.

"We're gonna have an Easter eggs color party in the barn with Boone!" Phoebe says. "He's hosting it as his house!"

"Boone gives the best parties," Teddy says and the kids dance around in celebration of turkey time.

"Christian, are you sure you're okay to do this alone?" Ana whispers to me.

"Ana," I whisper back, so the kids don't hear, but they're busy blowing fart sounds with their mouths and laughing about which is the grossest. And Phoebe's winning! "As long as there's no cooking," I point to my sad lump of dough. "I'll be fine."

"No; there's no cooking involved. It's just a little food coloring and water."

"Then, trust me. I've got this covered."

#######

Covered as in dirt on my grave. I'm sitting in front of eight bowls of water, a lemon, a bottle of vinegar and a box of holiday color with some high looking cartoon rabbits on the front that are supposed to be decorating an egg in their white picket fence cottage, but it looks more like they're sharing a bong in Granny's kitchen. This Easter Bunny shit makes no sense to me. Why are bunnies in a traditional housing situation coloring chicken eggs and then hiding them in the lawn, anyway? If that doesn't prove it's really a bong, then nothing else does. And what the fuck is this bottle of vinegar for?!

"Fritzy said last year they buried the eggs and they thought they founded all of them, but their dog founded one they missed and he brought it inside to dinner and all the family thought his dad farted bad 'cause he does that when he sneaks cheese," Teddy says as we sit at the dining table at Boone's bachelor pad apartment with Phoebe, Chester and our turkey host for the forthcoming festivities himself.

"Trust me, I know," I say. "I sat next to him at the talent show after the ice cream social." It was loud and deadly all night long. That, and having to listen to the chopsticks version of Mary Had a Little Lamb on the piano fourteen times by that O'Leary girl, nearly ushered in my early demise.

"You gotta wear these ones, Daddy," Phoebe says, putting gigantic pink sparkle bunny ears with two baby chicks dangling on each side that chirp and light up, on my head.

"What's this for?" I ask as I adjust them on my mop. Damn they're heavy. And every time I turn my head the chicks swing and whack me in the eyes. How am I going to decorate eggs in this thing? I feel like that woman who had to balance a bowl of fruit on her head while singing and shaking her cha-chas.

"Because you're the leader of the bunny peoples and you have 'sponsibility of all of the eggs of the world," Phoebe says.

"Sounds like a big job."

"Yeah. You gotta make sure all of the world gets chocolates, too. Even the turtles and the sea horseys and all of the most beautifulist pegasuses."

Geez, I thought GEH had responsibilities...

"Turtles eat chocolate?" I ask.

"Well, not so much, but you gotta give it to them so they won't be sad of the froggy's candies."

"Of course," I say. I guess frogs really score at Easter.

"Boone, you get to pick the first egg," Phoebe says, as Boone, dressed in a blue and yellow polka dot satin cape with white lace ruffled edges, stares down at the bowl of hard boileds that's set in front of him. He looks like he's on his way to a costume party as either a metrosexual superhero or a shower curtain. Hey that's funny—a bird bath.

"Why does he go first?" I ask as I look around at his digs. This bird has the life. Phoebe gave the interior decorator drawings of exactly what his bachelor pad should be like. He's got an entertainment center with a 60" mounted flat screen (set to Animal Planet because Phoebe wants him to make friends and see the world); a personal chef that delivers gourmet seed cuisine; and a fully equipped gym and spa so he won't get fat or stressed from sitting in his ergonomic recliner watching the TV and eating the seeds.

"He picks first 'cause they're his family," she says.

"So, it's a respect thing?" I ask and she nods.

"Yeah," Teddy says. "And he can help us pick the good ones, 'cause when you're family you can tell which ones got cracks in their heads and which ones are rotted more easy."

True; Elliot's been known by the family to be cracked in the head for years. And he married Ms. Rot, herself.

Chester, dressed in overalls of the same pattern as Boone's cape and a white sweater whose turtleneck collar looks like a blooming flower that his head is the daisy center of, has decided he's through with eggs and has moved on to a plate of those rabbit sugar cookies Ana's made us and grabs one. I try to shoo him away, but he stands up and hisses, chomping his teeth and waving his arm to make sure I know exactly where I need to fuck off to. Oh to hell with it, have the cookie!

"Okay Boone, what's the verdict?" I ask and we all watch, but instead of deciding on something, he just bobs his head up and down, almost as if he's hearing a hip-hop beat in his mind. Ice Biggie Boone-Dawg starts to check out all the eggs, bobbing down on the majority of them, but never committing to one. He just loses interest after a quick peck, flaps his feathers as he leaves the table and returns to watching some show about exotic flamingos in his recliner. Typical male.

"I think Boone says they're all good," I say, trying to smooth the afternoon along. With the state of the art bachelor pad, the flat screen and the peck 'em and leave 'em mentality, I think Boone may be Elliot's true spirit animal.

"How do we do the eggs, Daddy?" Teddy asks. And it's a tough question.

"Well," I say, looking at the boxed coloring kit, vinegar bottle, whole lemon and eight little bowls of water set on the table before us. Shit, I have no idea. I figure there's some sort of coloring squeeze bottle dripper thing we add to the water that's in the box, but what the fuck am I supposed to do with the vinegar and lemon? Why does this feel like that dream where you're suddenly back in high school on the day of the big chemistry final and you realize you haven't read a word of the textbook or attended a day of class all year? "I think we should open the box."

I think that is of no help. I've opened the box, looking for divine guidance from the Wizards of Paas, only to find all these antacid looking color tablets and a list of instructions that looks like it was typed in some back room in some factory by a person who speaks primarily Swahili and stuffed haphazardly inside. Or maybe it just looks like Swahili because I don't know what the fuck any of this means. This whole thing is like an Easybake meth lab.

"Instruction One: Start with clean, cool hard boiled eggs," I read aloud. "Put them in a dry area and pick out your colors." Okay, sounds simple enough.

I set the antacid tablets by the bowl of eggs.

"How are the eggs clean if they come out of chicken's butts, Dad?" Teddy asks.

"Because your mother washed them."

"Eww, butt eggs are like poopy breakfasts," Phoebe says and the kids both clutch their bellies and laugh.

"Instruction Two," I read. "Separate your colors and set them individually by their designated bowls of water." Why is this beginning to sound like a list of demands from a hostage situation? "For traditional pastels add three tablespoons of lemon juice to water plus the color tablet of your choosing." Fuck, I gotta cut the lemon. I thought I didn't have to cook.

"What are past tells?" Teddy asks.

"They're when you telled something secret to your bestest friend before a week ago," Phoebe says.

"That..." I say. "And, they're colors." I try to slice this lemon with this kid friendly knife Ana has laid out. I'd have more luck slicing through it with the back of a plastic spoon.

"Like red and brown?" Teddy asks.

"No, they're like pale pink and purple and yellow..." I say.

"Why do the eggs gotta be all girly colors?" Teddy asks.

"'Cause they're the pretty ones," Phoebe says. "And when peoples look in the grasses, they wanna find rainbow surprises." I used to think that, too, until Mia's childhood dog ate a box of crayons and the bottom of my shoe found that rainbow surprise when it wasn't looking.

"There are no such thing as boy colors or girl colors," I say, trying to discourage gender assignment to hues, but knowing full well I believed the same thing at six. "Pastels are spring colors. Like you'd see in the flowers and the grass and..." Where the hell else? "The set-up at the grocery store with the jelly beans and the peeps."

"I love the peeps!" Phoebe says, throwing her arms in the air in celebration of marshmallow chicken-kind everywhere. "But, I don't like to eat off their heads, cause then they can't see no more." So, that's why I found seven decapitated peep heads lined in a row on the window sill of the kitchen nook looking out onto the yard. And to think I was about to have Taylor investigate a threat.

Finally, after much adieu, I slice the lemon and the paper cut I got on Friday at the office feels my accomplishment first. Fuck, now what do I do with this lemon? I need three tablespoons of juice for each. Ana's set out some measuring spoons, so I lift them up to read which one is which, but all I see are TSP and TBSP written faintly on the handles. What the fuck does that mean? Is it code? Neither one of them look like a spoon I'd use at the table, unless I was on a diet and trying to make myself believe I was getting more cereal than I actually was. Fuck it, I got a big lemon, so I decide to squeeze an even value of juice into all the bowls.

"Instruction Three: For ultra violet eggs, add three tablespoons vinegar." I look to the kids. "Do we want ultra violet eggs?" How the fuck does vinegar make that happen? Isn't that like the sun? Doesn't UV give you cancer?

"I don't want super purple eggs!" Teddy says.

What?—oh, ultra violet.

"No, I think it means neon," I say.

"Eggs don't have knees, so they can't put them on stuff, Daddy," Phoebe says.

"You're right; forget the neon."

"I want rainbow eggs!" Phoebe says and Chester stands and puts both hands in the air, clapping them as crumbs rain down in agreement. Boone couldn't care less; he's transfixed on flamingo stems dancing around some water.

"Yeah, it would be cool if all the colors were stripes like a rainbow," Teddy says. "Like every color on one egg!"

"Yeah!" Phoebe says.

And just like that, a flash of brilliance comes to me. Why not just put all the color tablets into one bowl? They'll swirl around in a rainbow mix and my kids will have the best rainbow eggs this side of your Easter bonnet.

Yeah, if your Easter bonnet looks like this, I'd hide from the parade...

"I thought it was 'post to be rainbow, why does it look so black?" Phoebe asks as we stare into the murky abyss of the concoction I've just created by putting every tablet into one bowl.

"It's like space without any stars or moon and only some pukey green at the edges," Teddy says.

"It looks like the color of sad," Phoebe says. "I don't want sad Easter eggs, Daddy."

Great, because of me, my kids are going to have goth eggs. Ana will have my hide if she finds out. No, actually she'll think it's hilarious. She warned me I couldn't do it and she'd be right. Fuck, I can't let her thing I'm this big of a louse. I'm feeling like the biggest loser, but not the one who lost the weight. The one who gained a fifth head and a shitload of problems. What the fuck am I going to do?

Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I see an easel set up that holds a finger painting Phoebe's done. I think it's a portrait of Boone as his feathers are glued around what looks like a print of her hand. And I remember something—Boone has art supplies!

"Hey, you know a better way to decorate eggs?" I ask, getting up from my seat, almost tipping over because of my bunny crown and the fact that the seat I'm in was made for poultry asses, and run over to Boone's art corner. "Finger paints! And markers!" I grab a bunch of the felt tip things from a canister and hold them up.

"We color the egg outsides with markers?" Teddy asks.

"Yes, and stickers," I lift up a bunch of bunny and flower ones that are in a little drawer labeled "cute ones". "And paint!" I pick up a little bottle, waving it around.

"That's for Boone's nails," Phoebe says, practically confirming Boone's costume as definitely being a metrosexual superhero.

"It's for eggs, too," I say throwing the supplies on the table. "And we can glitter them up, as well."

"Yay!" Phoebe throws her arms up in the air.

And it wasn't a metrosexual superhero that saved the day; it was Dad.

#######

"Wow, these are spectacular," Ana says, examining the eggs we're showing to her as she sits at the kitchen table. There's so much glitter and nail polish and 3-D sticker action going on, they look like they just stepped out of a Times Square billboard and they're on their way to Vegas to liven up the strip. "I've never such artistic expression!"

"Thank you," I say, noticing she's noticing the nail polish swirl art that is mine. Who knew I had such talent in lacquers.

"I made a mermaid egg," Phoebe says. "I put the gold fishy sticker at the bottom to make her tail, and the blue nail paint for her body, and an Ariel sticker for her head."

"So beautiful!" she gushes. "But, didn't you guys use any of the boxed egg coloring?"

"Uh, we dabbled in that," I say. "But, I wanted to encourage artistic expression, like you said. Egg dye is for amateurs. I wanted the kids to have full reign over their creativity."

She gives me a look. She knows I'm full of something, but she isn't quite sure if it's genius or shit.

"Is that green marker?" she asks, picking up another one and examining it.

"Yeah," Teddy says, excitedly. "I made it to look like a rock from Mars. But, it isn't really a rock, it's an alien that pretended to be one and he's sitting in the park and is gonna jump out and take people and steal them back to his spaceship, so they could take them back to Mars and study their brains." I can't believe he got all that out in one breath. "I put eye stickers on the side so you could see the Mars man was peeking out."

"That's so imaginative, Teddy!" Ana says and thenlooks at me. "We have the most talented kids!"

"I couldn't agree more." Whew. I feel like I've dodged a real bullet. The kids are happy, Ana thinks I'm a good educational influence, and I am still having sex tonight.

"How did you ever come up with that idea for your egg, Teddy?" Ana asks.

"I thought to make a Mars man when Daddy put in all the colors into one bowl and it was all black like space," Teddy says.

That bullet I dodged just backed up, got in a spaceship and crashed through my head by way of Mars.

#######

"He came back pretty clean, sir," Taylor says as we slosh through the just watered meadow hiding basketfuls of these damn eggs. Thankfully the majority were pre-colored, but I'm taking extra special care to hide the kids' eggs in spots they can find them before those other hellion children get their hands on them and they get all broken up.

"He's moved a lot, but there doesn't appear to be anything criminal about it," Taylor says.

"Why has he moved so much?"

"It's not clear, Mr. Grey, but his former neighbor said he was always on the go."

Neighbors! Next thing I know he'll tell me the neighbor thought he was nice..."

"The neighbor thought he was nice, sir."

"I knew it!"

"How's that, Mr. Grey?"

"Just confirming my belief that everyone who's nice to their neighbors is a predator."

"Everyone seems to think he's a a nice guy, Mr. Grey. Not just the neighbor."

"What do I care what everyone thinks? I only care about what I think and so should you."

Mr. Grey, I'd be first to notify you if there was cause for concern, but I truly don't see any. I think he's just a man who likes to dress up as a bunny at parties."

"And this doesn't cause concern for you?!"

I place egg after egg behind rocks, in the flowers and in tall grass and I can't shake the feeling something is up here. No man would play the Easter Bunny if he wasn't strong armed by family or is a criminal. Who picks to be the Easter Bunny, anyway? It's rather second or third rate of all of the holiday characters. I mean, I trust Santas more than Easter Bunnies. Though, that's not saying much.

"What about this Bunny University he went to?" I ask, making sure to hide the yellow eggs in the yellow planter and the green ones in the green so they'll be camouflaged appropriately. I notice Taylor put a pink one in a red bucket. Amateur.

"It's a real place where people get certificates to play characters. Not just holiday ones, clowns and such. It's accredited, sir."

"By who? Let me guess—the department of jesters."

"It's on the up and up for people who do that sort of work, sir. And they do bring happiness to children."

"I don't care if this guy is a fucking saint walking over the river and across a rainbow to shit gold into the pot at the end of it, something needs to be done about him."

"Do you want me to lock him in his basement and stand watch so he can't show up, sir?" he asks. He's so fucking weird. He always takes it to kidnapping and guerrilla war tactics. But, that's why I love him.

"No, no need." Besides, Ana would immediately know it was me. "We're going to beat him at his own game."

"We, sir?" I think I can see him gulp.

I nod. "Taylor, tomorrow, we're hunting wabbits."