“Josiah,” Brock says, his smile white against his dark skin. “Great event last night. Thank you guys for planning it.”
“That was all Yas, but yeah, it was great.” I nod to the stroller. “Is that Skyland’s newest heartbreaker you got there?”
Both their faces light up and Brock turns the stroller to face me.
“That’s right,” Clint says. “Come meet our Lilian.”
I climb their front steps and peer down into the stroller. Dark eyes set in a perfectly round face with smooth brown cheeks stare back at me. She has a patch of dark, curly hair, looks like she might have gas, and is just about the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. I stretch my finger out, and she grabs it, squealing and kicking.
“She likes you!” Clint says. “She never greets anyone like that. You charmed her.”
I smile, but that sharp pain pinches in my chest again.
“Wanna hold her?” Brock asks, his voice eager.
I don’t want to hold her. Not because Lilian isn’t adorable. She absolutely is. I just avoid babies whenever possible. And of course, it’snotalways possible, but holding one…I’m about to refuse, but the happiness and anticipation sketched on both their faces has me stretching my arms out to take her. This was their third time trying to adopt. These guys often keep an eye on Kassim and Deja for us. They’re over for dinner and have our family over all the time. They’re good friends and I can’t dim their light because I have shit I’ve never dealt with—at this rate, probably won’t ever deal with—that makes it hard for me to hold a baby.
So I take her.
On instinct, I tuck the swaddling blanket around her tighter when it loosens. She fits perfectly into the crook of my arm, the same way Kassim and Deja did. The memory of when I last held a baby comes rushing up at me like the ground when you trip and fall. There’s nothing warm or sweet about that memory, and I tense my jaw against the emotions it stirs in me, the ones I spent the last three years shoving away.
The front door to our house opens, and Yasmen walks out wearing her yoga pants and a fitted top that crops just above her waist, revealing a narrow strip of smooth skin that rich shade of Kelly Rowland brown. She stops short, her gold-flecked eyes dropping from my face to Lilian cradled in my arms. Something arcs between us in the small space separating the two porches, a tension that requires no explanation. I know it’s because of the little girl cradled in my arms.
“Yasmen,” Clint greets her. “Morning. We were just telling Josiah what a great job you did with Food Truck Friday. Everyone on the association is glad to have you back.”
Brock is one of Atlanta’s most prominent architects, but Clint owns Fancy, a pet grooming shop on Sky Square, and is an active member of the Skyland Association.
“Thank you.” Her smile is stiff when she shifts the yoga mat slung over one shoulder by its strap.
“I guess the association’s next big event is Screen on the Green?” Brock asks.
“Yup, next week,” she says.
“Uh, here you go.” I carefully hand the baby back to Brock. “She’s gorgeous. Congratulations again.”
“Thanks, man.” Brock takes the baby and holds her against his shoulder, patting her little back. “We’re taking her and Hershey for a walk down at the dog park. You and Otis wanna come with?”
“Maybe another time,” I tell him. “I’m taking the kids to the Old Mill.”
Hershey yelps and tugs at the leash, straining toward the steps.
“Looks like someone is eager to get out of here,” Clint says. He carries the stroller down the steps, Brock trailing behind with Lilian in his arms. “Good seeing you, Josiah. I know you’re around all the time, but we’ve been busy. Our anniversary is next week, and we want to make it in for some of Vashti’s famous shrimp and grits.”
“We still need to find a sitter,” Brock reminds him.
“I can watch Lilian,” Yasmen offers.
All the air is sucked out of the silence that follows her offer, and it’s like we’re standing in a vacuum, frozen.
“Yeah,” Clint says, uncertainty dragging out the word. “If you want…if you’re sure?”
Brock and Clint know how everything fell apart. They saw firsthand how it affected Yasmen.
“I can watch her,” Yasmen says, splitting a level stare between the two men. “Really. I’ll be fine.”
Her last words, an acknowledgment that there was a time when shewouldn’thave been fine watching a baby, seem to lift the net of anxiety that fell over the two porches.
“That’s awesome, Yas. Thanks,” Clint replies with a smile. “We better get on, but we’ll talk deets.”