Amy and I had talked about kids as amaybe somedaytype of thing. Having children was something I figured I’d do eventually but never gave much thought to it beyond that. Other than my cousin’s kids, I hadn’t been around any in a long time. Since Ross’s offspring were as annoying as he was, I didn’t have experience taking care of kids or even hanging out with them.
My father was a good man, but he wasn’t one for encouragement or deep conversations. I’d always looked at us as the same kind of person, but I didn’t want to grunt at my kid when he or she was having a problem. Mom was always the caregiver and fixer.
With a mother like Olivia, I was sure our child would have nothing to worry about. Olivia would be like one of those lionesses in those memes with the blood dripping down her chin after fighting whatever idiot tried to mess with her baby. My mouth split into a grin at the thought.
What could I really offer my kid?
I felt the wary eyes of my staff as I helped them clean up the counter at the end of the night. We still had a small line, but it was contained inside at this point, and we were ready to lock the door for the night.
A little girl’s giggle broke me out of my afternoon-long trance.
“You can’t have it all, Amara. Mommy will kill me.”
My gaze landed on a broad-shouldered man with full sleeves of tattoos drifting up to his neck, crooning at the child in his arms. He whispered something that made her laugh again. She reminded me of Olivia with her olive skin and her long, dark hair pulled back with an oversized bow. She probably didn’t make little boys cry for sport like Olivia had at that age, but the beauty that radiated from this little girl was the same.
The man laughed when he caught my eyes.
“I keep telling her to pick one thing, but her finger points everywhere.” She folded in laughter when he tickled her side. He let out a sigh and groaned. “Pretty girls get me every time. Can I get a cake pop, please?” He pointed to the red-and-blue chocolate pop next to the counter. Before Gabby could get it, I popped it off the stand and handed it to him.
“Daddy! A Wonder Woman pop!” she gasped and took a bite, chocolate crumbs dropping to what I now noticed was a Wonder Woman sweatshirt.
“See, Amara, it was meant to be! What do you say?”
“Gracias,” she told me with a mouthful of cake.
“Very good!Titiwill be so happy when I tell her how nice you said thank you.” He kissed her cheek as she ignored him to take another bite. “I’ve seen this place on Instagram, and since I was in the neighborhood, I thought we’d stop in,” he told me as he tried to wipe the icing off her chin with a napkin. “My daughter is right—everything looks awesome.”
“We’ve had some new customers lately, thanks to Instagram,” I said, still focused on the little girl as she finished off the cake pop and regarded her father as if he was her entire world. I probably wouldn’t have noticed them if they came on any other day, but watching them now got me right in the chest. “We were used to just locals before then.”
“My wife is a writer and had a signing at the library a few blocks away. This one got antsy, so I thought some sweets would tide her over.”
She rested her head on his chest when she was finished, holding up the empty stick for her father to discard.
“You finished that in three bites,mija!” He kissed her forehead as she cuddled into his neck.
As Staci rang him up for the cake pop, I plucked the stick from her little hand. “I’ll take that, sweetheart. Glad you liked it.”
She turned toward me, still burrowing into her father’s chest, and gave me a big smile. Pretty girls got me every time too.
“Thanks,” the man said. “I’ll have to find an excuse to drive out here and come back.” He adjusted her on his hip and waved. “Have a good day.”
I watched them go, an odd yearning blossoming in my chest.
I still didn’t know what kind of father I would be or what I could give my kid.
All I did know was that they’d get the best of whatever I had.
TWENTY-TWO
OLIVIA
Ilounged on my couch, mindlessly scrolling through my phone. Over the past couple of years, when I was feeling things I didn’t want to acknowledge, the best way to get my turbulent mind off anything was to cue up a true crime documentary—the more disturbing the better.
Morgan constantly got on me for my “abnormal way of self-soothing,” but getting lost in the mystery while creeping myself out seemed to do the trick if my intention was to forget, at least for a little while. I’d lost a night or two of sleep as what I’d watch sometimes got to me a little too much, especially when I lived alone in Manhattan and heard every single noise in and around my apartment after the gruesome episodes.
I’d spent the last two birthdays in solitude with my phone off, watching serial killers. Morgan had a point, but I’d ponder that later.
The creepy narrator noted all the gory details of whatever twisted true story I’d found on Netflix, but I wasn’t tuned in. There was no way to ignore or forget this. The surprise baby I was having with Tyler took all of my focus, so distractions of any kind weren’t possible.
