Instead, I find myself in the living room, tidying throw pillows that don’t need tidying while stealing glances at Henry. He’s sprawled on his back with one arm flung over his head, the picture of complete contentment. His dark hair is getting longer, starting to curl at the edges the way Jordan’s does when he hasn’t had it cut recently.
The comparison is a punch to the stomach. In two weeks, I won’t see Henry every day. I won’t watch him discover new things, or comfort him when he’s fussy, or celebrate his small victories. Someone else will learn his routines, his preferences, his little personality quirks that make him so special.
Someone else will be there when he says his first real word or takes his first unassisted steps. All the milestones I’ve been looking forward to experiencing with him will belong to someone else.
The thought makes my chest ache in a way that has nothing to do with Jordan and everything to do with how much I’ve come to love this little boy.
I move to the kitchen and open the refrigerator, staring at its contents without seeing anything. Maybe I should prep something for dinner, even though Ash will probably want mac and cheese again, and I haven’t had much appetite lately. Maybe I should go grocery shopping, though we don’t really need anything. Maybe I should call Esme and see if she wants to meet for coffee, even though we just saw each other yesterday.
Maybe I should admit that I’m desperately trying to avoid thinking about last night and the look in Jordan’s eyes when I handed him that letter.
The sound of a car door slamming outside makes me close the refrigerator and glance at the clock. One fifteen. Way too early for Ash to be home from school, and definitely too early for Jordan to be back from the hospital. He’s been working twelve- and thirteen-hour days; showing up at one in the afternoon would be completely out of character.
But when I peer through the front window, Jordan’s car is in his driveway, and he’s walking quickly toward my front door. Something about his posture, the urgency in his stride, makes my heart rate spike. Is something wrong with Amy? Did something happen at the hospital?
He knocks softly, probably mindful that Henry might be sleeping, and I open the door before he can knock again.
“Jordan? What are you doing home so early? Is everything all right?”
“Amy’s awake.”
The words stop me mid-sentence. I search his face, looking for any sign that I misheard or misunderstood, but his expression is a mixture of exhaustion and joy and something else I can’t quite identify.
“What?” I whisper.
“She woke up this morning. She’s conscious, talking, asking about Henry.” His voice cracks slightly. “The doctors say it’ll be a long recovery, but she’s going to be okay.”
Relief floods through me so completely that I have to grip the doorframe for support. Amy is awake. Henry’s mother is going to be okay. This nightmare that Jordan has been living for over a month is finally ending.
“Oh, my God, Jordan. That’s incredible. That’s amazing!” Without thinking, I step forward and hug him, feeling his arms come around me automatically. “How is she? How areyou? This must be such a relief.”
For a moment, we just hold each other on my front doorstep, and I let myself feel the pure joy of good news, of prayers answered, of a family that’s going to be whole again. But then I remember where we stand, what happened last night, and I pull back.
“I’m so happy for you. For Henry. This changes everything.” I step back into the doorway, putting space between us. “You must want to see him. He’s napping, but?—”
“Alexa, wait.” Jordan looks at me with an intensity that makes my stomach flutter. “Can we talk? Please?”
“If this is about the transition with Henry, we can discuss that later. You should be with Amy right now, or getting ready to bring Henry to see her, or?—”
“This isn’t about Henry. Well, it is, but not just about Henry.” He runs a hand through his hair, the gesture I’ve come to recognize as his tell when he’s nervous. “Can I come in? Please?”
Something in his tone, something vulnerable and urgent, makes me step aside and let him into the living room. He glances at Henry sleeping peacefully in the playpen, and his expression softens for a moment before he turns back to me.
“Amy waking up made me realize something,” he says, staying near the door like he’s ready to run if this goes badly. “Life is fragile. Life is short. People we love can disappear in an instant, and we might not get second chances.”
I cross my arms, protecting myself from whatever he’s about to say. “Jordan…”
“I’ve been an idiot, Alexa. A complete idiot.” The words come out in a rush, like he’s afraid he’ll lose his nerve if he doesn’t say them quickly. “I thought I was protecting us both by keeping things professional. I thought I was being smart, avoiding complications. But really, I was just being scared.”
“Scared of what?”
“Scared of feeling something real. Scared of risking what we had for what wecouldhave. Scared of admitting that somewhere along the way, this stopped being about Henry needing a nanny and started being about me needing you.”
My heart starts beating faster, but I force myself to stay guarded. “Jordan, you made it very clear that you wanted professionalboundaries. You made it clear that anything personal between us was inappropriate.”
“I was wrong.” He takes a step closer, his eyes never leaving mine. “I was so wrong, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for pushing you away when what I really wanted was to pull you closer. I’m sorry for making you feel like you didn’t matter when you’re the most important thing that’s happened to me in years.”
“You can’t just say that now that Amy’s awake and you don’t need me anymore.” The words come out sharper than I intended, but they need to be said. “You can’t decide you have feelings for me just because the circumstances changed.”
