“Evie.” I shifted Vincent to my other side so I could take her hand. “That’s not true. You’re doing great.”
“Yeah,” she huffed. “Great for the dumbass who didn’t even know she was pregnant. Vincent deserves better.”
As she cried, face buried in her hands, I plucked a clean washcloth from the pile of laundry beside me and handed it to her. Jenn had warned me about crashing postpartum hormones, and since Vincent was now a month old, this seemed to be right on schedule.
I put my free arm around her and squeezed, wishing I knew how to convince her of how incredible she was. First-time parenthood was hard as hell, even for the people who planned for it. She was making the best of it, and it was okay to ask for help.
Not knowing how to formulate an argument she’d buy, I just hugged her to my side.
Finally, when her breathing slowed, I said, “You’re an amazing mother, and I’m the lucky bastard who gets a front-row seat to watch you shine.”
The thought that this woman doubted herself ate at me. She was so capable, so resilient. Her entire life had changed in a few short weeks, and here she was, rolling with it all remarkably well.
“I’m stumbling,” she admitted.
“And I’m happy to stumble right alongside you,” I assured her. “Between the two of us, we will figure it out. And we’ve got the whole town if we need them.”
She shook her head violently. “I don’t want to lean on anyone. If it doesn’t last, it’ll only make things harder.” She let out a shuddering breath. “And nothing lasts.”
That comment hit me square in the chest. I wasn’t going anywhere, and I’d told her that. But telling her again right now wouldn’t help. So I tucked the information away, saving it for another time. If I wanted to stay in her and Vincent’s lives. Then I would have to prove that I was all in using small, steady actions that wouldn’t scare her off or push her away.
She hiccuped. “My life is a disaster.”
“You know,” I nudged her gently, “maybe this was meant to happen.”
She glowered at me, dabbing at her tears with the washcloth.
“You are a type-A overachiever boss-bitch planner,” I said, like she didn’t already know that.
She nodded, clearly comforted by my accurate appraisal. “Maybe this was the surprise you needed.”
She scoffed, the sound a little watery. “You think I ended up pregnant on accident and remained clueless about it until my water broke in a pizza parlor because the universe didn’t want me overthinking and obsessing for nine months?”
I tamped down on a smile. She was annoyed, but at least mad was better than sobbing and beating herself up.
“And us,” I said. “We would have argued the entire pregnancy.”
“Yes.” She slumped. “Because you would have annoyed me by bringing me snacks and gifts and insisting on coming to all the doctor’s appointments.”
“Yup,” I quipped. “I would have been at every single one, with snacks.”
She shook her head, though one corner of her mouth quirked up. “You are the worst. I would have hated you and pushed you away and told you I could do everything on my own.”
“Really?” I gasped, feigning surprise.
For that, I got a light punch in the arm.
My body lit up with the contact she initiated. I was the kind of person who gave and received touch casually. It was natural to me. But Evie, so far, had been very selective about it. So her touch made me feel special, even if it had been violent.
Because violence from Evie Marino was preferable to nothing.
She dried her eyes for good, then took Vincent from me. When my hands were free, I jumped up, determined to make myself useful before I said something stupid and made her cry again. According to Jenn, the best thing I could do was be useful. So I unloaded the dishwasher, then refilled it with the stacks of plates and bowls in the sink. I’d tackle the laundry next.
After I’d cleaned off the island and started folding the load of clean clothes, Evie put Vincent in his baby swing and padded over, the color already back in her cheeks.
“How do you do it?” she asked quietly, picking up her coffee.
I folded the tiniest pair of pants and started a pile for Vincent’s things. “Do what?”
