“No, I mean. She’s amazing. I love her. But...holy hell, Willa. I have no clue how you do it. There were three of us and, Christ, look at this place. We had it under control, finally, but then Ty and Phoebe went up to bed and baby girl decided to wake up and party and I pulled out every trick and toy and book and holy Christ! Her bottle. She never finished her bottle!”
The look of sheer panic in his eyes both warms and breaks my heart. “It’s ok,” I rush to assure him. Despite being crabby, Rose is perfectly fine.
“It’s not ok. Who the hell forgets to feed their kid? Jesus. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I tried, but, God. Things were barely under control when I had help, but once Ty and Phoebe went upstairs, all hell broke loose. I thought Rosebud would fall asleep, but nope. And no matter what I did, I couldn’t calm her down. I wasn’t enough.”
Suddenly I realize this is more than just being exhausted from caring for a fussy baby. “Knox, it really is ok. Look at her. She’s fine. A little rumpled and grumpy, but that’s how it is sometimes. And trust me, if she’d been hungry, she’d have let you know.” On cue, Rose starts fussing and rooting around.
“You sure? She sounds hangry.”
“Yea, she probably is. If she wakes at this time of night, I usually nurse her, but...”
“Right. Of course. You wanna head upstairs and feed her?” He looks toward the door. “I don’t know when Whit and Booker are coming back. I mean they won’t care, but you might.”
“Sure, I’ll feed her quick, and then we’ll get out of your hair.”
His fingers encircle my wrist. “You’re always welcome here. Go ahead up. I’ll take care of some of the damage down here.”
Knox
It takes a few minutes, but I gather everything and sort it all back into the baskets Booker’s mom insisted we need now that Rose will be spending time here. I lock up, grab water from the fridge, since Willa drank that last time, and head upstairs.
I’ve known Willa Forsyth was beautiful since the moment I laid eyes on her in our high school auditorium. But nothing could have prepared me for the sight of her half naked from the waist up in my bed. Granted, it would be ideal if Rose were tucked into her crib next door, but just the sight of Willa laid across my pillows is enough to make me damn near lose my mind.
“Sorry—I… I can go back downstairs, if you want.”
She shakes her head. “They’re just boobs. You’ve seen them before,” she jokes, but it doesn’t land. I have seen them before. And I’d like to see them again. And again.
Maybe it’s the exhaustion of today, but I have no inhibitions left, so I flop down on the bed next to them, knowing I look wrecked, but not having the energy to care.
“Something tells me tonight was rougher than you let on?”
“Were you spilling all our secrets, baby girl?” I ask Rose, rubbing her back. It’s then I realize just how intimate this moment is. We’re lying here, like a family, my hand is inches away from Willa’s bare flesh. There’s nothing sexual about it because Rose is between us, but we’re closer than we’ve been in a long time.
“There were tears, there was puke, and we think she’s teething?”
“Mmm,” Willa nods sleepily. “Sounds like it. I’m sorry, I—”
“No, I’m the one who’s sorry. God, I feel like such a fuck-up. Shit. Shoot. A screw-up. Go—gosh. I can’t even go a day without swearing. How can I be a good dad? And Phoebe’s the one who found the magic pink cream. And Ty’s the one who got her ice cubes to suck on. And Whit sang to her. All I did was pace and worry and try to soothe her the best I could.”
“Knox,” the sweet look on Willa’s face is my undoing. “I need you to listen to me, ok?”
I nod, unable to do anything else, except recite my endless litany of flaws in my own head.
“You are not a fuck-up. And I don’t want to hear you say those words again. I’m serious. Not just because they’re no-no words, but because they’re your mother’s words. Am I right?”
Again, I shake my head yes.
“Her words have no meaning here. You get me? You are the furthest thing from a screw-up. Look, I know it’s taking me a minute to wrap my head around all of this, but I have to be honest—most guys would have run out of that coffee shop and never looked back. That’s honestly what I thought you would do.”
My laugh is brittle. “That is what I did. Ran out of there like a freaked-out coward.”
“No,” she corrects. “You left and sorted yourself. Booker was texting Ian within the hour, telling him you were a wreck and were desperate to make things right.”
I look her in the eye as our daughter nurses at her breast. “I was. I am, but God, I’m so afraid I’m going to mess everything up. I just feel like such an a-hole. I made this big deal about being all-in, and I failed miserably.”
Willa turns her head toward me and reaches her free arm out. “Knox, no. Being all-in doesn’t mean being perfect. It means being present. God, I’m so far from perfect most days, but I’m always present. That’s something I never had as a kid, and when I found out I was pregnant, I promised myself that my baby would feel how much I loved her every day. I can’t aim for perfection. That’s not even real. But I can promise her that I’ll be present every day—that no matter how much of a mess I am, I’m her mess.”
“Well, then, I guess I’m her mess, too. But I think you and I both know that you have your shit way more together than I do.”
