Willow starts crying, and I pick up her car seat to swing it back and forth.
“I’m worried it’s too soon. I’ve only known him for a few months.”
“Well, sometimes you just know… and you two have already been through a lot together. He sounds like a fine young man.”
“He is.”
Willow gets louder.
“I should probably go. Can I call you—”
“Call anytime, hon,” Odette interrupts. “I love our chats.”
She lifts the diaper bag up onto my shoulder, and I carry Willow out to the parking lot where Warren waits. I secure her in the back seat and open the passenger door.
“How did it go?” Warren sits up straight in the driver’s seat, turns his body to face me and studies my face for any visible cues.
“Really well.”
His whole body softens.
“She’s going to let me have custody. She isn’t going to fight it. She—” I choke up. “She seems healthy.”
Warren grabs on to either side of my face and presses his forehead to mine, letting out a long breath.
“She hugged me,” I say, voice shaking.
“That’s so good, Chloe.” He pulls away slowly, kisses between my eyebrows and leans back in.
“Willow is going to stay with me…” I say it out loud for the first time, and it feels real. “I think the worst is over.”
“It is, dove. It is. You did it.”
I brush my hand over his jaw before moving to check on Willow, who lets out one long cry from the back seat. I gather myself with a deep breath and buckle my seatbelt. Warren does the same before he pulls out of the parking lot and begins our drive home.
I want to tell Warren that I love him right now and a hundred times after that, but I need to get through my parents’ visit first. I’ve played out twenty scenarios in my mind, going from his best possible reaction to the worst—and none of them are made better by having Warren meet my parents tomorrow.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“Hello, darling!” My mother’s accent forgoes most of herHs, even after forty years of living outside of Barcelona.
She gives me a quick pat on my shoulder before stepping around me, down the hall of my apartment. My dad pulls me into a bear hug, and I squeal like a child as he raises me off the floor and puts me back down.
“Good to see you, panda.”
Panda has been my dad’s pet name for me since the day the CPS worker dropped me off at their home. They had put a stuffed panda on my pillow, and when I’d told them it was my favourite animal, they took it as a sign that we were meant to be a family. In reality, I preferred rabbits. Still, I learned to love pandas. They were gifted to me by my father after every business trip. Quickly, a collection began to grow. Snow globes, hats, shirts, stuffed animals—all panda-related. The original sits on my desk upstairs.
“You too, papa.”
He wraps his arm around my shoulder, and I lead him into the living room where my mother is standing, taking in the space with slightly pursed lips. Neutral expressions are dangerous when it comes to my mother. She will let you know if she’s happy. Her boisterous laugh and throaty Spanish accent become louder, her smile more pronounced with a hint of mischievousness. But other than that, it’s a guessing game. One that usually ends with someone, often a waiter or hotel maid, crying.
“My roommates, Warren and his brother, Luke, took Willow to go pick up the food. They thought we could catch up for a few minutes uninterrupted.”
I pat the cushion of the couch next to me, and my mom settles in. She turns, smiling, brushes my hair out of my face, and rubs my shoulder before turning towards my dad.
“Did I tell you about Chloe’s roommates? It may have slipped my mind,”she signs.
My dad replies,“The same roommates we met last Christmas? Lane and Elizabeth, was it?”
