She does too, though it’s a nervous smile.
“You’ve been puked on before,” she says.
“First time I met Begonia’s sister and her kids. Two of the three got me. Hayes still pulls out pictures of the carnage if I get too full of myself. By his standards. Which are stupidly high.”
“How high are we talking?”
“Sometimes Ibreathetoo full of myself for him.”
“He sounds like a good brother.”
“He is.”
“I like standards that high.”
“Good.”
I can feel her watching me, but my eyes are on her white chicken. It’s hopping over on its single leg, and I think my loafers might be in danger.
Nothing compared to my heart though.
“Bash is—” I swallow. Perfect? Hilarious? Adorable? Everything I ever hoped my kid would be at his age?
“He is,” she agrees softly.
Like I don’t have to finish.
She just knows he’s beyond normal human English words.
“Yolko Ono, donotpeck that,” she orders.
The chicken clucks at her, and my shoe lives to see another minute.
Thisshoe.
My other shoes are dead and buried. The clothes too. No regrets.
“Thank you for your patience with him today,” Emma adds.
“I was the stranger. He had a lot of people he knew better.”
“They’re all family to him.”
“Nice that he knows the triplets apart enough to call them on their pretend-to-be-each-other game.”
She squeezes her eyes shut and suppresses a smile.
“Lucky kid,” I muse. “He knows he’s loved.”
“He’s very loved. He—thank you.”
I lift a brow at her.
“He’s the very best thing in my life, and I wouldn’t have him without you, so…thank you. I haven’t said that yet.”
“My contribution was, ah, small.”
“But critical.”
