“Neither. Just…when I’m alone. When Jordan’s away and it’s just me and the baby. I know we’ll be with him sometimes, but when we’re not…”
“You’ll have us.” Gwen rested a reassuring hand on my arm. “Katie, you’ve never been alone, not with me around. And you never will be.”
I looked at her hopefully.
“You’re going to be amazing. You were meant for this. And I’m ten minutes away. You know Lola’s already planning sleepovers with the new baby,” she said, folding more tiny sleep suits into the drawer.
I giggled. “I love you, Gwen.”
“I know. But you owe me a big bottle of something after this.”
“Do you think we should check on them?”
“It’s important that we do.” She nodded.
We returned to the nursery, if you could still call it that, to findthem surrounded by even more chaos than before. Jordan was lying flat on his back questioning his life choices while Tom sat cross-legged with a screwdriver between his teeth, staring at the cot that looked even less assembled than when we’d left.
“Oh great, this is going well,” Gwen said.
“We’re at the point of not actually making it worse,” Jordan replied, sitting up.
I leaned against the doorframe. “Are you two alright, or are we just winging it now?”
Tom removed the screwdriver from his mouth. “It’s fine. We’ve established this”—he pointed at a plank—“is probably a leg. And this might be structural. Or decorative. Or both. We’re not sure yet.”
Jordan groaned. “Babe, you’re really not helping.”
I knelt beside him. “I know, but I’m enjoying this whole thing a lot,” I said, gesturing at the mess.
“You know I could’ve just hired someone, right?”
“And miss this bonding moment? Never. Plus, you said, and I quote, ‘How hard can it be?’”
“Famous last words.” Gwen smirked.
A sudden triumphant click from Tom was followed by a surprised, “Oh.”
We all turned.
He blinked at the cot. “I think I fixed the side rail.”
Jordan stared at it. “You what?”
“Lucky guess.” He laughed.
Jordan flopped backwards with a dramatic groan. “I officially retire from cot-building. This was worse than a five-setter at Roland Garros.”
I kissed his temple. “But you look really good doing it.”
He cracked one eye open. “You just want me shirtless and sweaty in the new nursery.”
“I mean, it’s notnotpart of the appeal.”
Tom dusted his hands off. “Right. That’s enough domestic bliss for me. I’m going to find Lola and see if she’s redecorated your fridge yet.”
“She’s drawn a picture of the baby surfing,” Gwen called over her shoulder. “It’s actually hilariously good.”
“Legend,” Jordan muttered, then reached for my hand, gently tugging me down beside him in the cardboard mess.
