“And anytime you want to try something new with me, all you have to do is let me know.” I waggle my brows at her.
“Okay, thanks.” She bites her lip before looking away.
I pull up outside the front of the house and look over at her. “Remember. This isn’t a race. I know Nevaeh means well, but she can be…”
“Pushy?”
I laugh. “Yeah, that. My point is, take it day by day. You’re still finding your feet. Nobody is expecting you to start sprinting right out of the gate.”
“I guess you’re right.”
“It’s been known to happen.” I wink at her as I jump out and move to the back passenger seat, gently easing Star out of her car seat and into my arms. She doesn’t even stir.
I walk around as Citi jumps out and looks up at me with her soft gaze.
“She’s really out for the count.”
“She’s a heavy sleeper, thank goodness.”
I open my mouth to ask her why that’s good when I see the shadow cross her face. I snap my mouth closed and wrap my arm around her shoulder instead. “You get the door, angel. Let’s get this princess to her bed.”
She nods and fumbles in her pocket for her key before walking up to the door. I wait for her to unlock it and then type in the alarm code before following her inside.
It smells like Citi in here—light and floral, but in a soft way that teases the senses rather than overpowering them. She leads me upstairs and pushes open a door that leads to Star’s room. I move to lay her down, but Citi stops me. “Let’s get her jacket off first.”
I hold Star steady as Citi eases Star’s arms out of the sleeves and then lays her down. I look around the room as Citi slips Star’s sneakers off and pulls a blanket up over her.
“It’s cute in here.”
“Thanks. It’s good for now. We kept it simple until Star can decide what she likes, though honestly, it’s more of a playroom than a sleep room.”
“I don’t understand.” I frown as we leave the bedroom, the door staying ajar so we’ll hear if she wakes up.
“Star won’t sleep in her bed. At some point, she’ll wake up and end up with me or on the floor under her bed.”
“Is that normal?” I curse myself, silently realizing how off that sounded.
She shrugs as she leads the way back downstairs. “I don’t think I should be the one to judge what’s normal.”
“She went through a lot. You both did. She probably needs the comfort of her mom’s arms.”
“I know that’s a big part of it. So even though it’s frowned upon, given her age?—”
“Wait, who the fuck is frowning? It’s nobody’s business.”
She slides her hand over my wrist and smiles. “I love how protective you are of her. Back home, once we were settled in at my dad’s, I started taking Star to mother-and-baby groups. Most of the kids there were younger, but developmentally wise, I thought Star would benefit from being around other children, and younger ones can be less intimidating.”
“And did it help?”
“A little. The kids didn’t care that Star didn’t talk. They just liked having someone to run around with. The moms, though…they were something else. I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t the ‘snooty, holier-than-thou’ attitude. It was held at my dad’s church on Tuesday and Thursday mornings, and they were the longest hours of my life. These women were god-fearing women, women of faith, and all that jazz. They knew who Star and I were, knew what we’d been through. And yet every second, I sat there feeling judged and found lacking.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
“I wish I were. Apparently, having a child out of wedlock to some was a greater crime than being abducted and raped. Don’t get me wrong, some people in the congregation were sweet. They went out of their way to ensure that Star and I had everything we needed, from clothing and toys to books and even home-cooked meals, which they delivered to the house daily. But those support groups? Yeah, they were anything but supportive. If anything, they made me turn in on myself even more than before because I felt like I was failing some invisible test that had been set for me. It didn’t help that my first therapist kind of agreed with them.”
“Didn’t your dad do anything?”
“At first, he didn’t notice because he didn’t attend those sessions. But when I stopped going, he did a little digging and found out what had been happening. To say he was pissed was an understatement. He made a spectacle during one of his sermons, sharing how disappointed he was with them and basically had the rest of the parishioners turning on them. My dad used to be all about forgiveness and turning the other cheek, but I guess he’s changed a lot over the years.”
