“Let me,” I said. “I want to snuggle him.”
My flowing teal skirt swished and floated behind me as I left the party and jogged up the stairs. I passed the master bedroom and walked down the hall until I reached Asher’s nursery. Pushing open the door to the dimly lit room, I walked inside.
The soft light in the room washed out most of the bright colors, leaving only muted, somber tones. The yellow on the walls was barely recognizable with the black shade pulled taut, but I could almost make out the tiny star shapes I’d painted on the walls months before he was brought home.
My little peanut was standing in his crib as little tears trickled down his chubby cheeks. As soon as he saw me enter, his little hands flew up, making little pinchers, as he lost the last bit of patience he had.
“Okay, okay.” I laughed. “I’ll spring you free,” I cooed, lifting him from the crib and nestling him in my arms.
He smelled like baby shampoo, so clean and fresh. Whoever had invented that particular scent was a genius. I had no plans of making a baby anytime soon, but just a whiff of that stuff even made my chained-up ovaries constrict just the slightest bit.
After a quick diaper change, I brought Asher downstairs to the rest of the family. His grumpy attitude was completely forgotten as he set his sights on his birthday cake. Blue with brown and white polka dots, it had a giant number one–shaped candle on top. After setting his wiggly body in his highchair, we all sang as Mia carried in the cake. As she placed it down in front of him, his eyes widened in delight as Mia tried in vain to keep his little pincher fingers from diving into the frosting. She and Garrett helped blow out the candle, and then they cut a small piece for the birthday boy. Everyone watched in delight and horror as Asher demolished the cake, coating his face and high chair in frosting and chocolate cake.
“He made a big mess!” Lily said to her mother, Leah.
A quick snort followed, and Leah answered, “Baby, you did the same thing. I was cleaning chocolate out of your nose for days.”
Leah gave me a quick grin, and I laughed. I loved Leah. We’d grown really close over the years, and I considered her one of my closest friends. She was the best friend of Garrett’s sister, Clare Matthews.
Somehow, I’d been pulled into this crazy family, making me one of them.
The Finnegans didn’t define family as a last name or bloodline. Family was being with loved ones, and everyone in this room—whether the last name was Finnegan, James, Matthews, or even Prescott, like me—was considered family.
It was the only kind of family I’d had in years.
Jackson
“Good God, I forgot about the wallpaper,” I muttered as I passed by the hallway bathroom. I dropped another box into the room that Noah had declared as his during our first walk-through.
“I’m kind of digging the toilet wallpaper, Dad,” he said.
His young laughter filled the hallway as I found him leaning against the doorway, which led into the horrible bathroom.
“It’s awful. Who does that?” My eyes roamed the floor-to-ceiling wallpaper that predated even me. It had probably once been a brilliant white, but it had faded into a dingy cream. The old antique toilets ranged from dusty blue to wrought iron and covered the entirety of the bathroom.
“Great Grandma,” Noah answered. “Obviously.”
“Yeah. She must have thought it was a good idea…in 1955.”
He laughed again as I messed up his hair. Darting out of my way as he rolled his eyes, he did what I could only describe as a Justin Bieber hair flip to move his sandy blond locks neatly back in place.
I’d tried everything to talk him out of that ridiculous haircut.
I’d lost. The hair was cool, and I just didn’t get it.
Gotta love tweens.
Noah was in those special years of development when he would be torn between the simple life of a kid and the alluring complexity of a teen.
My son was just about to enter sixth grade. I wasn’t quite sure what had happened to him in the last few months of grade school, but it was as if the thought and anticipation of going to middle school had suddenly turned him completely upside down and backward.
That, or aliens had abducted my real son, and this was just a standin. I was still unclear.
He was constantly moody, going from one extreme to another. One minute, I’d find him in his room, playing Legos and singing to himself, and then the next, he’d be yelling and screaming over being treated like a baby.
We used to talk, from feelings to Sesame Street and everything in between. Now, I would get shouting and a door in my face.
Was it me? Was I coddling him? Or were these raging hormones that had suddenly infiltrated his body, and they were too much for him to handle?
Part of me always wondered if it had something to do with the lack of maternal presence in his life.
What if I’m not enough?