Total pages in book: 21
Estimated words: 19358 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 97(@200wpm)___ 77(@250wpm)___ 65(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 19358 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 97(@200wpm)___ 77(@250wpm)___ 65(@300wpm)
“No, baby,” I said patiently. “You should stop and think it through. Is he a nice person? Are you old enough to kiss someone outside of your family? Is it a good idea for you to kiss him right now? And the answer to those questions was yes, yes, yes with Papa.”
She side-eyed Hon as if determining whether he’d made the right call in allowing me such privileges. He held out his arms and let her fall into them, pressing kisses to her head over and over. “He’s my husband, Jadie-lady,” he singsonged. “I get to kiss him as much as I want to.”
“He’s gross,” she said, turning a scowl at me again. “He eats pickles!”
West, who was off his call, laughed and tugged lightly on one of her braids. “I like a woman with strong opinions,” he said. “Your dad brought out some raspberries, and I happen to know they’re your favorite. So I was thinking we might have a few before everyone else realizes they’re out here.”
As a pediatrician, West Wilde was expert level at distracting and redirecting kids. I mouthed a thank you as West pulled an excited Jada over to the table where the containers of fruit and other snacks were stacked.
Nico walked over and carefully deposited a zonked-out Joy into my arms. “Mission accomplished.”
I shot him a look that I hope promised riches beyond his wildest dreams. “You’re the love of my life,” I told him.
“Hey!” West called. “I heard that.”
Hon popped a cheese puff in his mouth and crunched down on it. “You can have him. He snores like a mofo.”
West and Nico’s younger daughter, Reenie, stopped from where she was careening toward the juice pouches. “I know that word. Uncle Otto told me all about mofo.”
Nico clapped a hand over her mouth gently and wrapped his arm around her, fake-whispering in her ear, “Uncle Otto needs a time-out because that is a bad word,” before kissing her messy hair and letting her go. She giggled and said she was going to tell Uncle Otto he needed a time-out the next time she saw him.
As she ran off, Nico walked over to West and wrapped his arms around West’s neck, the dark ink on his skin standing out against West’s unmarked skin. “Your brothers are going to be the death of me,” he murmured before leaning in to kiss his husband. The two of them were enjoying a sweet moment until Jada noticed.
“Ahh!” she yelped. “Uncle Nico, no! You’re not old enough!”
Nico collapsed against West’s chest, laughing and turning his head to grin at our sassy daughter. “Sweetheart, I promise I am.” West’s fingers tangled in Nico’s hair as he pulled Nico’s head back to kiss him again. “I love you,” he growled. “And I will fight that mini consent officer for the right to kiss you.”
After heading over to address our daughter and give a stern but gentle warning against telling adults what to do, Hon returned to me, running the back of his finger along Joy’s plump cheek. Her lips did that little sleepy sucking thing that made both of us melt.
“Come on,” he whispered. “Let’s take her up to her crib.”
We moved into the house together, passing mismatched picture frames filled with family memories. A pair of dirty pajamas stuck out from under a chair, toys lay scattered underfoot by the stairs, and there was still a deep gouge in the drywall from the day Hon had thrown open the front door too hard and whooped to let us know the adoption was final.
My heart filled with the ups and downs of the past eight years. The six years we’d enjoyed on our own, complete with fancy sun vacations and long, lingering dinners over a nice bottle or three of wine. And then the previous two, which had been a roller coaster like we’d never imagined.
“Oh my god,” Hon said with a laugh as he trailed me up the stairs. “I forgot to tell you that the patient who sued the hospital when we met—remember him?—apparently, he is trying it again. I got a call from an attorney in Louisiana who told me a doozy of a story and then revealed that they’d found two other attempts by the same patient.”
“Jesus,” I said. “Guy’s looking for a payday. Or he needs mental health support he’s not getting.”
I moved into the nursery and leaned over the crib, silently saying a little transfer prayer I’d made up several months ago after a particularly grueling car trip with the kids.
I am calm. The baby is calm. The crib is soft. My back is strong. Gravity is gentle. The universe wants this transfer to succeed.
Hon’s warm hand settled on my back as I laid Joy down and pressed a firm hand on her chest.
I am calm. The baby is calm. The crib is soft. My back is strong. Gravity is gentle. The universe wants this transfer to succeed.