Amber is a terror—like the most adorable, funny little terror, who rips through the house and the yard like a tornado every single day. The kid is a force on most days, and I never thought I would, but I love it.
I love the chaos and the happiness she brings to my life with Gabe. But today, she looks pale and so small. Not moving. I do not like this at all.
“She was burning up when I went to get her from school.” Shelly places a hand on her red little cheeks. “But she feels cooler now after the ibuprofen I gave her.”
I nod. “Do you have more of that? Or the bottle for reference, so I can make sure I give her the right medicine?”
Shelly smiles at me, looking kind of like she wants to pat me on the head but also like I said something endearing. I just need to make sure I don’t give the kid the wrong medicine and make this worse.
She needs to feel better and start tearing up some stuff and making messes. Screeching loud like she likes to.
“I put everything in the bag I packed for her. And I did include pjs and more clothes, even though I know she has plenty at your place. If you need anything at all, call or text me. I’ll have my phone on me.”
I know she’s worried. Likely very used to being the one who takes care of Amber when she’s sick. “Don’t worry. I have no problem calling you for help.” I gaze down at Amber before taking the bag Shelly gives me and slinging it over my shoulder. “You ready to go, kiddo?”
Her little eyes peer up at me, and the kid looks miserable. “Can I play with the kittens?”
Somehow, I don’t think she’ll have enough energy for that, but I don’t want to upset her. “Maybe after you rest some?” Yeah, it’s a question. I haven’t really gotten to the telling her what to do stage, and I’m not sure I ever will, but it’s fine. She has two parents. Two really good parents who love the hell out of her. I’m fine with being her dad’s boyfriend who makes sure Gabe doesn’t kill all her dandelions and reads to her because I do better voices than Gabe. Her words, not mine.
The kid doesn’t pout or argue at all.
Okay, she’s really sick.
I get her out to my car and into her booster seat—yes, my car has one as well as Gabe’s truck—and I drive us out to the house. Shelly sent a text to Gabe after she called me to let him know what’s going on, but I’m not sure whether he saw it yet. Though knowing Gabe, it won’t be too long if he hasn’t. He checks his phone often, just in case.
I get Amber set up in her bed with her favorite stuffies, her tablet, and some water before getting busy in the kitchen, making some chicken noodle soup for dinner. She said she’s not hungry yet, but hopefully, she will be by the time Gabe gets home.
Gabe and Shelly and Randy all text me a lot throughout the day, checking on our little princess, and by five, I’m ready to pass out.
Not that she’s being demanding at all—again, not normal for her, and I don’t like it—but because I’ve been worrying nonstop. Going to check on her. Making sure her temp is going down. Staying on top of medicine and water. Hoping she’ll eat a little, but she’s refused and gone back to sleep every time I ask her.
When Gabe gets home, I’m scooping chicken noodles into a bowl with fresh, hot mashed potatoes—just like my mom used to make. One of the few things she did right. Maybe that’s not fair, but I don’t have a lot of good things to say about my mom. And I’ve made peace with that.
I seem to have found my family now.
“That smells phenomenal,” Gabe says, walking toward me and kissing my cheek. “How’s our little germ magnet?”
“Shelly called her that too,” I say, frowning. It’s really not Amber’s fault she’s sick.
He just chuckles and kisses my nose. “Calm down. She knows she’s a germ magnet.” He winks and takes the bowl from me. “This going to her?”
“Yes.” I grab some chocolate milk, hoping she’ll be able to drink and eat. “And she’s doing a little better, but she didn’t want to eat at all today.
“That’s pretty normal for the first day or two. She’s been drinking?” he checks.
I nod. “Yes. I’ve been bugging the shit out of her all day,” I answer, making our way to her room. I grab a tray on the way in, so she can eat in bed.
“I had no doubt she’d be in good hands,” he says, and I know he means it. Even though I had no experience with kids when we first met, he trusts me with his daughter.
Which is a huge deal. No way I’d ever screw that up.
“Chicken noodles?” Oh, thank fuck, her eyes are lit up as she starts to sit up when we head into her room.
“Take it easy,” Gabe says sweetly and makes his way to her bed, the hot bowl of food in his big hands. I put the tray over her lap, and he places the bowl in front of her. “Hey, baby.”
“I feel poopy, Daddy.”
God, make it stop. Every time she says that, my heart pangs painfully. “I know. Dakota took good care of you though?”
