Well. Her mother cried when we told her we were pregnant. Happy tears. Pulled me into a hug and whispered "take care of my girls" like it was a benediction.
I plan to. For the rest of my life, I plan to.
The doorbell rings and Sophia shrieks. "Gamma! Gampa!"
She takes off running toward the door and Claire laughs, chasing after her.
I wipe my hands on a towel and follow. Claire opens the door and her parents are standing there with armfuls of presents. Too many presents. They always bring too many presents.
"There's my girl!" Claire's mother drops to her knees as Sophia barrels into her. "Happy birthday, sweet pea!"
Sophia is already tearing into the first package while her grandfather sets the rest down and turns to me.
"Nash." He extends his hand.
I shake it. "Richard. Patricia. Good to see you."
"You too." Richard looks past me into the house. "Place looks good. Bigger than the last one."
"We needed the space." I gesture at Sophia, who's now surrounded by a mountain of tissue paper. "Kid's got more toys than sense."
"She's two. That's the job." He claps me on the shoulder. "You look good, son. Settled."
Son. He's called me that a few times over the past year. Always catches me off guard. He’s only a few years older.
"Feel settled," I say honestly.
Claire's mother stands, leaving Sophia to her presents, and gives me a hug. "How are you, Nash?"
"Good. Really good."
"Still having the—" She makes a vague gesture.
The nightmares. She means the nightmares.
"Sometimes," I admit. "Not as often."
"That's good." She squeezes my arm. "And you're taking care of yourself? Taking care of them?"
"Always."
"Good. That's all I needed to hear."
She moves past me to help Claire with the decorations and Richard follows, already pulling Sophia into his lap to help her open the next present.
I stand in the doorway of my house, our house, the one we bought two years ago when Claire got pregnant, the one with the extra bedrooms and the big backyard and the porch where we sit in the evenings while Sophia plays, and I watch my family.
My wife laughing as she hangs crooked streamers. My daughter squealing over a new doll. My in-laws who went from hating me to accepting me to actually caring about me.
The nightmares still come. Some nights I wake up at three a.m. thinking I'm back in a burning building. Some nights I have to get up and walk it off, stand on the porch until I can breathe again.
But now there's Claire.
She never pushes. Never demands I talk when I can't. Just lets me have my space until I'm ready to come back to bed, and when I do, she's there.
Reminding me that I made it out. That I survived. That I get to have this.
"Dada!" Sophia calls. "Come see!"
