Ian
“What are you doing?”
Riley shows up in the kitchen. Her eyes are still swollen and her face tells me that she’s barely slept. I didn’t close my eyes all night, worrying about her, about me, about this child and what I almost lost.
I spent the night holding her, hoping she’d calm down, and she only fell asleep from exhaustion around dawn.
“I’m making breakfast.”
“Oh,” she says, embarrassed.
“Someone has to cook to stop this family going hungry.”
“This family,” she repeats quietly.
“My family,” I say with pride. “Go back to bed, I’ll be there soon.”
“We can eat here.”
“Nah, I like seeing you lying down.”
“Ian O’Connor,” she chides, crossing her arms as I laugh at her tone.
“Not necessarily in that sense.”
Riley goes back to the room smiling, and I finish making breakfast. I take two plates of eggs on toast and bring them to her.
“Are you hungry?” I ask, showing her the plate.
I sit in front of her and watch her eat. Okay, eat is a big word – I watch her try.
“Don’t you feel well?”
“It’s just nausea.”
“I’m sorry.”
She smiles. “It’s okay.”
“Can I do anything to make you feel better?”
“You could be less perfect.”
I laugh, dropping my plate.
“I’m not perfect.”
“You seem pretty perfect to me.”
“Okay then, let’s see…I’m grumpy, even when I speak, and sometimes when I’m eating.”
She laughs, shaking her head.
“I’m unreasonable and a bit of an arsehole. I’m a hothead and I have two hopeless brothers.”
“Okay, you’ve given me a clear picture,” she stops me.
My laughter cuts short the moment the words rise up in me and leave my lips.
