I pull into a spot at the doctor's office, telling Aura that we were here. She kicks her legs in the back seat, babbling away.
Shaking my head, I unbuckle her from her car seat.
"You are something else, Aura,” I say to her, walking into the waiting room.
We've only been here a few times since Aura has been healthy, other than the occasional cold here and there.
The office isn't your typical doctor's office, the walls are painted in a variety of soft pastel colors. I can only hope that as Aura grows, she sees this space not as a scary place, but as a place designed to make sure she is ok.
As I walk up to the receptionist's desk, she gives me a welcoming smile. "Good morning!" she says, her voice light and cheerful, as if she were welcoming us into her home.
After we check in, we wait in the plush chair that fill the perimeter of the waiting room. There are a few other parents sitting nearby with their children. Aura looks around inquisitively, eager to explore.
In two corners of the room, there are TVs playing Doc McStuffins. Aura sits in my lap holding her panda lovey that Millie got her. She gnaws on one ear of the panda absentmindedly, occasionally glancing up at me to make sure I’m still there. Her trust in me is absolute. It’s humbling and terrifying all at once.
Man, I miss her. I miss her warm smile in the morning. I know that this rift between us will pass. I can't help my start to stress about the engagement on Saturday.
The nurse calls our name, snapping me back to reality. Wewalk down the hall to the exam room, and I try to steady myself. This is just a routine checkup.
The appointment goes smoothly, and Aura's given a clean bill of health. The doctor says she's growing on track, even if she's a little small for her age. To be honest, I don't mind. I like her small, it means she still my little girl.
I leave the office with a quiet hope—maybe next time, Millie will be here with us.
Maybe next time, we’ll walk in together. As a family.
I tuck that hope deep inside my chest, a fragile ember I promise to protect at all costs.
Amorino: darling
Piccolina: little one
Panic Pastries
MILLIE
Saturday can’t come quickly enough.
My days in the café, baking tray after tray of sugary treats, but my mind keeps drifting back to the meeting I have with Gabriel on Saturday night. We are meeting tonight as well, and I hope we can talk through this now rather than tomorrow too.
I should be excited, but all I feel is anxiety and uncertainty.
My stomach twist every time I glance at the clock. The numbers seem to taunt me, counting down the hours too fast and not fast enough.
I go through the motions of prepping dough and folding pastries, but my fingers feel clumsy as if they are disconnected from the rest of me.
I keep wondering what he’ll say. What I’ll say. But most of all, what we’ll decide.
But today is no different. I’ve got an interview to conduct, and if it goes well, I’ll finally have a general manager to take over the parts of the business that I stress over every day. It’s something I’ve needed for months, but right now, it’s hard to focus on anything other than Gabriel.
The bell above the door jingles as it swings open, and I glance up to see Marty Rosadetti walking in.
