“Now, where is my newest granddaughter?” Dad claps his hands, his rings catching the sunlight as he heads toward the group of women holding Gia.
Despite all the commotion, the girl has slept through everything. But given it’s been almost two hours since she ate, she’ll be waking up soon, hankering for my boob.
New voices come through the side entrance, and we all look over to see Abby emerge, hands fidgeting in front of her. Hector walks in behind her, wearing the sweater I knitted for him last year, beaming at me when our eyes meet.
Abby has come over to the house several times over the past two weeks to play with Gia, and each time I see both Patton and her make a little more headway into mending their relationship. And while I know Abby is ready to embrace her son, both physically and emotionally, he’s still slightly guarded, more comfortable with side hugs than full embraces. But if I know Patton’s immense heart and capability to forgive, he’ll get there.
And given he just bought her a fully furnished apartment a block away from us, I’d say that forgiveness is well on its way.
The last time Abby visited us, she brought Hector along. And while their relationship is fairly new, it was adorable to see how happy they both looked together. Also adorable? The way Patton questioned him, more like a parent than her son, asking Hector what his intentions were with his mother.
I rush toward them both, pulling them into a hug. “I’m so happy you could be here.” I look at Abby. “Want to head over to the group and get a snuggle in with your granddaughter? She’s going to wake any minute now for her human milk machine.”
Abby giggles softly, but before she can make her way over, Patton saunters to us, placing a hand on my lower back.
“Hey, Mom. Good to see you.” He gives her a side hug before shaking Hector’s hand.
“Thank you for having us,” Abby says softly before handing him a gift bag. “I knitted her more clothes.”
I can’t help but embrace her again. “Thank you, Abby.”
“Patton!”
We all turn toward the side door just as an older couple steps inside. There’s a woman with gray curls and a portly man in a Boston Bolts hockey T-shirt who looks like he hasn’t met a stranger in his life. The woman is practically bouncing with excitement, her arms outstretched in Patton’s direction.
Bob, never one to let a potential security breach go unchecked, gives a warning bark before trotting over to do a full-body search. Sniffing the couple thoroughly, he seems to determine they’re not carrying weapons, contraband, or treats before giving everyone an approving huff.
I immediately recognize them as Patton’s foster parents, who I met first as a teenager, and then again at our wedding years ago. We’ve spoken on the phone here and there since, and more recently last week after Gia was born. I even had Abby attend that call, where tears gathered inside her eyes as she thanked them profusely for fostering Patton and helping him become the incredible man he is.
“Molly? Joe?” Patton’s voice shakes slightly. “What are you?—”
“Nisha sent us flight tickets to come see you,” Molly says, her voice warm as she wraps Patton in a motherly hug. “We had to come see your little girl properly. Getting a glimpse of her through photos and videos just wasn’t enough.”
Patton glances at me over his shoulder, his eyes warm and grateful. While he and his foster parents may not see each other often, they hold a very special place in his heart, so I know how much it means to him that they’re here.
“We brought gifts.” Joe grins, giving Patton a back-slapping hug.
I’m just about to step forward to greet them as well when I see it.
Rising behind Joe like a ghoul from my nightmares is an enormous, helium-filled teddy bear bobbing in the breeze. Its shiny, vacant eyes catch the sun, and I swear—swear!—they gleam red for a second.
Okay, so perhaps it’s not as large as I’ve described, and maybe it doesn’t have dead eyes. But it’s helium-filled.
And fucking scary.
The effect on me is immediate and catastrophic.
“No,” I whisper, backing up so fast I nearly trip over Hudson’s feet. “No, no, no.”
“What’s wrong with—” Joe starts, but I’m already in full panic mode, ducking behind Emanuel like I’m hiding from armed assailants.
Emanuel, bless his heart, has no idea what’s going on but goes right into protective mode, positioning himself between me and the balloon like he’s ready to take bullets for me.
“Should I tackle it?” he asks gravely.
“Yes!” I whisper-hiss. “Or burn it!”
“What’s happening right now?” Hector asks, a tiny caprese hors d’oeuvre on a toothpick halfway to his mouth.
