I watch him closely.
His hands hang limply at his sides, but it’s the tremor in his voice when he says, “Can I see her?” that has my eyes filling with tears.
I don’t know what the fuck is going on right now, but I do know that the man at my door deserves to see his daughter. I nod and turn to open the door, allowing him into our house. His presence is large and consuming when he steps inside.
I point at the shoe rack, trying to ignore the press of his body behind me. Even in a moment like this, the air between us hums. It makes me want to lean back into him and have his arms wrap around me.
It would feel so good to be held by someone.
Instead, I rush ahead, padding quietly down the hallway to grab him a towel. When I return and give it to him, I chance a look at his chiseled face. His normally tan skin is now a perfect match for the white terry cloth in his hands.
I try not to stare as he dries himself off, opting to glower at my fingers instead. Still no manicure.
A sad laugh bubbles up in my throat.
“What?” Theo focuses on toweling off his wet hair now, bicep bulging and flexing as he reaches up over his head.
“I just . . . nothing. It’s silly.”
“No, tell me.”
When the sigh leaves me, my entire body sags in its wake. Heat blooms on my cheeks as I stare down at my outstretched hands. “It sounds ridiculous, but for a long time, I’ve been telling myself that I’m going to start getting manicures. I don’t know why. I just want them. I can’t have my nails painted at the hospital and the job is too hard on my hands anyway. I keep meaning to do it while I’m off work, but I just . . . haven’t.”
When I peek up, Theo is staring at me with an intensity I don’t think I’ve ever seen any man direct at me in my life. Which I suppose makes sense. He’s gutted and I’m standing here talking about wanting to get manicures.
I hit him with a watery smile. “Just drop the towel there. Ignore the mess.” I wince a little when I gaze out over the kitchen and living room. It could be worse, but there are unfinished dishes in the sink, coffee pods on the counter, and toys all over the living room floor. It’s all proof that I am just doing what needs to be done to get through this godforsaken teething phase. “It’s been a rough couple of days.”
He says nothing and I don’t chance a look in his direction before I lead him down the hallway toward Vivienne’s room. I know the intrusion might wake her, but this seems like one of those moments where it doesn’t matter. If the thunder hasn’t done it yet, maybe we’re in the clear.
With a gentle click, I open the door to the nursery. It’s a beautiful, cozy room that came together with a lot of support from everyone out here in Chestnut Springs. Sloane helped me paint it the softest pink, with high-gloss white on the crown moldings. Lace curtains lay over the blackout drapes behind them. The crib is from my dad—he sent it in the mail. The rocking chair is from Harvey, a family heirloom that I’m sure I don’t deserve. He brought it over and placed it in the corner himself. Willa brought all the useful things, a diaper genie, a wipe warmer, loads of spit rags. And Summer still hasn’t stopped buying her clothes.
The way everyone rallied around me is still almost more than I can comfortably think about.
I walk across the room and open the blinds, allowing the soft gray light from outside to illuminate the nursery. Theo stands in the doorway, motionless.
I peek down at Vivi, still in the same blissful position as the last time I checked on her. Then, with a deep, centering breath, I march across the room and wrap my hand around Theo’s. His palm is damp and clammy as I lead him over to the edge of the white crib.
And then we stand there. Two people who barely know each other.
Staring down at our daughter. Him for the first time. And me for the millionth.
After only a few beats, he shifts his fingers so that they link between mine. His hand squeezes, and it feels like he’s squeezing at my heart instead. When I look up at him, his eyes are wide and unblinking.
“Winter.” My name is a breath on his lips this time. He reaches down and trails a knuckle over one of her full cheeks. Her little lips make a suckling motion, and she turns her head into his touch.
“Oh god. What’s—” His free hand clamps up over his mouth. “Where’s the bathroom?”
“Straight across the hall.” I barely get the words out before he’s gone.
I follow and hear him heaving as I approach the door. He’s left it slightly ajar, and I can see a sliver of him hunched over the toilet, hands in his hair, looking utterly defeated.
I step away to give him some privacy. And then I slide down the wall beside the bathroom door and hang my head in my hands before giving myself over to my own feelings of nausea.
Something went wrong along the way. I’m not sure what, or where. All I know is the man in my bathroom would never have sent me that text.
13
Theo
I’ve missed so much.
It’s the sentence that keeps running through my head. The one that hammers at my heart until it hurts. The one that has me heaving as though I could expel the thought from my body.
My head snaps up when I hear a soft knock against the door. “Theo? I, uh . . . I brought you some mouthwash. Can I come in?”
I flush, stand, and open the door the rest of the way. In my haste, I didn’t take time to close it and lock it. My vision went blurry at the edges and my stomach turned over on itself as the realization that I have a child struck me down to my knees.
A little girl.
And I’ve missed so damn much.
I take Winter in, really take her in, seeing her in a different light now. Hair tossed up in a messy bun. Face makeup-free with dark circles under the eyes that are fixed on mine and wide as saucers. She looks tired but healthier than the last time I saw her. There’s a glow about her, like she spends time outside.
I let my eyes trail down her body but snap them back up to her face when I get to her chest. Her loose tank top hides nothing and she’s not wearing a bra. Gawking at the outline of her nipples through the thin gray fabric isn’t what the moment calls for, so I focus on her icy-blue eyes, swirling with so many questions.
But she doesn’t ask them.
She holds out a white plastic cup, halfway filled with a liquid that matches her eyes. “Here.”
When I take the cup, our fingers touch. For a minute, I rest the pad of my index finger over the tip of hers. I slide it up to the next knuckle, feeling as though I’m touching the edge of all the ways I need to say sorry. I don’t even know where to start.
“Thank you.” I toss the minty liquid back, then brace my hands over the sink and stare down the drain as I try to come to grips with all the ways my life has changed today.
A daughter.
Another wave of nausea hits me, so I spit, rinse, and sit on the floor with my back leaned against the tub, ass plunked down on a plush pink bathmat.
“Wanna come sit in the living room?” Winter’s voice is smooth, calm. I’ve heard people call her icy, but I see a strong woman. One I admire even more now.
“I think I should stay close to the toilet.” I glance at the pink foamy duck covering the tap and organic baby soap with little ABC blocks on the front label.
Her lips roll together as she regards me. “Listen, it’s clean in here but like . . . not that clean.”
“To be frank, the cleanliness of your bathroom is the last thing I care about right now.”
Her lashes flutter in time with the nervous way she nods her head. “Yeah. Okay.”
To my surprise, she puts the mouthwash on a shelf and heads in my direction, plopping down onto the bathroom mat right beside me.
Her soft jersey shorts slouch down over her thighs when she props her knees up and her bare leg presses against mine. “Is this okay?”
I nod, eyes still fixed on her smooth tan thigh, her femur so much shorter than mine. I remember how it felt to grip that thigh, how she wrapped them both around my waist and tugged me close.
The round lights above the vanity hum and the only other sounds in the bathroom are the soft splatter of rain against the windows and us breathing in time.
“What’s her name?” A watery laugh follows my question. “Please tell me you didn’t name her Autumn.”
Winter snorts and her head drops. “Fuck. I would never.” Then she turns her face up to mine, sadness etched into her beautiful face. “Her name is Vivienne Hamilton. But we all call her Vivi.”
We all.
Those two words hit me like a ton of bricks. We all. Everyone here knows her. Has seen her grow. Got to be there when she was born.
And I’ve had no idea.
“Does she have a middle name?”
“No.”
I nod. Who cares about a middle name? God, I’m an idiot.
“What day is her birthday?”
“September twenty-second. Would have been stupid to name her Autumn with a birth date like that.”
I chuckle, but it’s strangled. “How was labor?”
She blinks up at me. “Labor?”