Eventually, she puffed out her chest and said, “Okay, but only if I get to teach her how to bake.Andshe has to share my markers.Andshe can’t touch Mr. Chomp.”
If that’s all it takes, I’ll buy a dozen Mr. Chomps.
“Deal,” I said, kissing the top of her head, sending her into another fit of giggles.
I’d braced for confusion, tears, attitude, but no, my kid squealed—actually fucking squealed—bouncing so hard the cushions groaned beneath her. Her arms shot around my neck, squeezing so tight my eyes burned. “I can’t believe it. This is the best birthday present ever.”
Allie leaned back against the couch, soft smile, eyes glistening with unshed, happy tears. When Carolina finally hopped down and darted off to her room—no doubt to start sketching out some elaborate plans for “big sister training”—Allie turned to me.
“I told you,” she said gently. “You were worried for nothing.”
I dragged a hand over my face, exhaling hard. “I guess so.”
Her gaze softened even more, landing on me with a kind of fondness I hadn’t seen in years. “I’m really happy for you, B.”
I blinked, caught off guard. “You are?”
“Of course.” She shifted closer, her voice low and steady. “You deserve this, to have someone who makes you feel whole. Just because things didn’t work out between us, doesn’t mean that you don’t deserve to be happy. You know that, right?”
I did. I’d known it for a long time, but hearing her say it like that settled something deep inside me. I hadn’t realized how much I wanted Allie’s blessing—or maybe just her acknowledgment—to believe I could really move forward.
For so long, I had carried the weight of failing her, of failing us, like it was proof I wasn’t built for forever. But this—her encouragement and affirmation that I still deserved something good—it chipped away at the guilt I’d stacked up like bricks, weighing me down.
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “I know.”
Allie squeezed my hand, the kind of touch that came from years of knowing someone better than they knew themselves. “I know you. Stop waiting for the other shoe to drop. You’ve got a daughter who’s over the moon, another on the way, and a woman who clearly cares for you. Life’s too short, so you might as well lean into the good stuff.”
Thirty minutes later, I was still sitting on the couch. Allie had already taken off, Carolina was busy packing her game-day bag with toys and coloring pages, and I was staring at my phone, thumbs hovering over Dani’s name.
We had a home game tonight, so I could’ve very easily waited to tell her in person. But the weight in my chest was too full, too urgent, and I needed her to know right now. Needed her to be the first one I told—like it wouldn’t be real until I shared it with her.
Finally, I typed it out.
Me
Just told Carolina.
Her reply came almost instantly, three little dots blinking before her words appeared:
Dani
And . . . was she excited? Did she cry? Have we ruined her life?
Me
Yes. No. Definitely not.
Dani
Haha, so it went well, then?
Me
You could say that. She’s already coming up with baby names and rules about art supplies and toys.
She shot back an incoherent mix of emojis, ranging from a castle to an avocado to a water droplet, which I assumed meant something about crying.
Me
