This is Chase’s apartment. Well, it’s their apartment now. It’s been their apartment for a solid six months. More even.
But it is a one-bedroom. Yes, there are signs of Ariel everywhere—the framed movie posters, the bold purple blanket, the math pun pillow—but it’s a lot smaller than her dad’s place.
I fix tea for us. Chai, since it’s all Ariel has. Thankfully, she does have some almond milk stocked.
I love Charlotte too, but I have to agree with Ariel. The adorable four-month-old is a sleep thief. If we’re babysitting, we’re going to need the energy to stay awake.
Ariel needs the night of sleep. I’m glad to do it.
Besides, there’s something about watching Forest with his niece. He lights up.
He’s happy, sure, confident, completely in his element.
A family man, plain and simple.
I’ve always wanted to have kids, but it was an eventually, someday kind of thing. After watching the two of them—
They’re just so perfect together.
“Come on, Charlotte, let’s say hello to Aunt Skye.” He brings my, uh… I guess she’s more or less my niece, to the couch. Slips her into my arms.
Charlotte stares up at me with those wide blue eyes. They’re the exact same shade as Chase’s eyes, but they’re always—always—full of joy and curiosity. (Okay, the days of Chase’s misery are pretty far in the past. He’s not exactly happy-go-lucky, now, but he is… he’s not miserable. And he is happy. Just in his way).
God, she really is the sweetest thing. So tiny and adorable and in need of protection.
I offer her my finger.
She wraps her hand around it. Slips. Does it again.
“She likes you,” Forest says.
“I like her too.” I laugh with Charlotte. She’s a happy baby. Always laughing.
Don’t get me wrong. She cries plenty. And God those cries—she has the lungs of an Olympic swimmer. The girl can scream.
“You want one?” He rests his head on my shoulder.
“This one? Are you going to steal her?”
His laugh is big, hearty. “We wouldn’t get away with it.”
“She looks too much like Chase.”
“She does.”
She shifts in my arms. Her eyes close. Her movement slows. She falls asleep.
As gently as I can, I stand, bring her back to her crib, lay her down.
She stirs for a second, but she stays asleep.
I return to the couch.
Forest pulls me into his lap. He turns me so I’m facing him. Brushes my hair from my eyes. “Do you want one?”
“One day. But not for a while.” Whiny ovaries be damned. I have too many things to do. Sure, lots of Moms maintain high-powered careers, but that’s not what I want.
I want to slow down when we have kids. To take six months off. To cut my workload in half. At least for a little while.
I’m lucky that I can do that. I still work for myself, set my own hours, make my own rules.
But that also means I’m the one in charge of everything. All the decisions, responsibilities, ideas fall in my lap.
It’s a lot.
It’s the greatest thing in the world, but it’s a lot.
In the last few months, my career as an “influencer” really took off. I started getting weekly offers for posts.
Then daily.
There was even a bidding war over my Halloween costume. Two companies were very, very keen on having me promote their plus-size costumes exclusively.
I made more in October than I made… ever before.
It’s still new. Tenuous. Hard. But it’s expanding. Blossoming.
It’s taken over my life. So much so that I haven’t found time to move out. Finding a place, packing my stuff, signing the paperwork—
It’s too much.
Sure, my parents drive me bonkers, but they’re actually kinda sweet. And Dad’s cooking is the best. Almost worth watching my parents sneak upstairs after dinner, turn on their Prince album and—
Okay, it’s not worth avoiding listening to my parents have sex.
But Forest is next door. He basically lives at his Dad’s house now. Which is nice. Even if it means dealing with Holden more often.
(Besides, he has his hands full with Daisy. That’s a can of worms I’m absolutely not opening).
“You can advertise maternity clothes.” He presses his lips to my neck. “Then baby clothes.”
I stifle my laugh. He’s right. It would be a huge business opportunity. But that reminds me—”Will Ariel kill me if I change Charlotte’s onesie?”
“If you wake her up.”
True. I motion to my purse.
He reaches for it. Hands it to me.
I pull out the tiny wrapped present. Leave it on the coffee table in front of us. “Poor Charlotte is always in those math puns.”
“Maybe she likes them,” he says.
“What if she’s terrible at math?”
“Maybe the puns will inspire her.”
“Maybe.”
He stares up into my eyes. “I guess I can’t tear your clothes off here.”
“We’ll wake her up.”
“That’s a tragedy.”
“It really is.”
“Worst news I’ve had all day.” He pulls me into a tight embrace.
I kiss him softly. Then harder. Hard enough I have to fight my groan.