“You’re fucking with me,” I say through a massive exhale as I glide my palm from my forehead into my hair.
“I’m fucking with you. About the Suburban, at least. The key and the cash are nonnegotiable.”
“Done,” I say with a nod.
We swap mobile payment info, phone numbers and addresses, and I load Lindsey up with Holly’s go-bag of formula and diapers. I’ve been a single dad for less than two weeks, but for the first time since she showed up at my door, I can see a path forward. Until now, I’ve been piecing my life together, staying up all damn night and fitting in a few hours of sleep when I can between practices, then racing from the local church preschool to the stadium and back again to make everything fit into my limited free time. I’ve gotten lucky so far with the times they’re open, but that luck is running out. Church daycare and triple-A ball schedules aren’t necessarily in sync.
I carry Holly to Lindsey’s car and get her locked into the seat. I tuck the small blanket she arrived with around her body and press a soft kiss to her precious forehead, and as I back out of the gray minivan littered with Cheerios and Hot Wheels cars, I’m suddenly overwhelmed by relief. So much so that I wrap my arms around Lindsey and hug her against my chest, tucking my face into her hair and willing myself not to cry like the exhausted nutcase I’ve suddenly become.
“Oh . . . okay, then. It’s . . . it’s okay,” she says through a soft giggle, her hands rubbing gentle circles on my back.
Her touch snaps me back to attention, and my eyes fly open wide. I clear my throat as I back away, wincing through the embarrassed burn on my cheeks.
“Sorry about that. I’m a bit?—”
“I get it. Trust me. I’ve been there . . . a few times.” Her gentle smile barely reaches her eyes, and it’s in that moment I see how tired she is, too.
“It’s nice not to be alone.” I shrug, but my words seem to hit us at the same time, our gazes widening. Lindsey’s chest fills with a deep breath, and I feel this urge to somehow rearrange my words so they seem less needy.
“It is,” she says before I speak. And there’s a rawness to her tone that makes me think our stories might not be so different.
Or I’m so fucking tired that I’m delusional and reading into things that don’t exist.
Either way, this is the best grand I’ve ever spent.
TWO
LINDSEY
Okay, I can do this.
I forgot how nice it feels to lie down with a sleeping baby against my chest. I’m so used to the trampling of feet over my body and the sharp elbows of my twins as they race to be first to the van when we’re going anywhere. This baby, though . . . she is sweet. And so quiet.
For now.
“Mom, Mommy, Mom, Mom, Mom . . .” Deacon is bouncing on his knees on the only open cushion on my parents’ sofa. Meanwhile, Riggs is rolling around the floor, claiming he’s so hungry he might die. We all literally just ate full-ass meals.
How Holly sleeps through this onslaught of neediness baffles me, and I must admit I’m jealous. I wonder what would happen if I shut my eyes and simply pretended to be sleeping too? I’d try, but I’m afraid the boys would drag Holly and me into the front yard and spray us with the hose to get my attention.
“Boys, hey . . . boys!” I whisper shout, waving them to sit on their knees on the floor beside the couch. They both drop their pointy chins into my gut.
“Remember how we talked on the way home about how Holly would be hanging out with us a lot, and she needs more sleepthan you two because she’s growing faster, and that we need to try whispering when she’s asleep?”
My boys shake their heads. Liars. They remember. Though it’s possible they weren’t really listening.
I groan softly and work myself back into a sitting position. Two minutes of rest will have to do. I carry Holly to her carrier and tuck her in, then place her next to my father’s chair, shielding her from the chaos on the other side of the room as my sons bound into the kitchen and begin jumping in attempts to reach the cabinets. They’re not even close to tall enough.
“You’ve got your hands full.” My mom chuckles lightly as she walks in with a few grocery bags slung over her arms.
“I’ve got my life full,” I relent, leaning against the fridge door and handing over two slices of Kraft cheese to amuse the rabid toddlers.
I brought my parents up to speed while the kids and I slammed down breakfast at the diner this morning. They have a strange tale of their own, having lived apart for most of my life, but they recently got back together. My mom slowed her career down to help my dad through the rest of his stroke recovery. She moved back into their home, and they act like newlyweds, together on the sofa each night, taking morning walks, and running every errand together. The only reason they are apart right now is that my dad is at his physical therapy evaluation and has to undergo several tests. Plus, they knew I was coming back here with, well . . . my hands full.
My mom sets the grocery bags on the counter, then crouches so she’s on my sons’ level. They come in close enough for her to place a hand on their shoulders as they chew their way through the pieces of cheese.
“Boys, do you want to go play with the hose in the yard?” She glances up at me and winks, as if she’s letting them in on a secret.
“Yeah!” Deacon shouts. My mom hushes him quickly.
