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“I need to get down there to help with the baby! And I’m not taking no for an answer.” Her face is about as fierce as I’ve ever seen it.
“We’d love the help, Mom. Thank you.” Ford smiles at his mom and so do I.
“Yes, your help would be amazing, Mrs. Remington.”
Truthfully, her kindness is a little overwhelming. While my mom wants nothing to do with me, Ford’s mom jumps at the chance to help us without us even having to ask. I should’ve known she would, but it still surprises me anyway.
She waves a hand. “No more of this Mr. and Mrs. Remington nonsense. You’re family. Call us Gordon and Sally, please.”
I laugh. “Okay, deal.”
“I’d come too,” Mr. Remington—er, Gordon—says, “but I can’t take off work on such short notice. I bet one or both of your sisters would love to join your mom for the trip though, if you’re brave enough to host multiple Remington women,” he teases, earning a playful shove from his wife.
“I think one Remington woman is enough for now,” Ford says, and his mom shakes her head in dismay.
“Well, Nella is my grandbaby now, so I’m afraid you’ll have to get used to me being there! A six-hour drive can’t keep me away!” She smiles.
I choke back tears. A grandma for Nella. And a grandpa…and aunts. One piece of paper from the courthouse, and now my daughter has so many people in her corner. But what happens in two years when Ford and I amicably separate? Will Nella have to say goodbye to people she will come to adore? In my head, she wasn’t going to remember any of this, she’s just a baby. But what about two years from now? Will she have a cute name for Ford’s mom, like Gigi? Will she call Ford Daddy?
My eyes begin to burn, my vision blurring. I close my eyes, shoving down the tears, and all of these heartwarming and also terrifying thoughts. I push them far from my mind, to keep myself from breaking down in tears during a Facetime call.
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
FORD
The morning after announcing our marriage to my parents, I wake up early, unable to sleep any longer. With how fitful my sleep is, I tend to sleep in late on the mornings I don’t have practice. But how does one sleep in when they suddenly remember they have a wife and a baby?
Grabbing the phone from my nightstand, I see a text from my dear mother telling me she’s arriving tomorrow.
I sit up straight in bed, fully awake now, and run a hand down my face with a loud groan.
Tomorrow.
And she’s bringing Farrah with her. Felicity wanted to come too, but thankfully she has a wedding to plan. I love my sisters, but both of them together is…a lot.
Two house guests, a new wife, and an infant.
Cue the panic attack.
I do not enjoy unexpected things, and yet, all the unexpected things are happening. The marriage was my choice, but everything is happening at a rate I can’t slow down. The snowballs just keep being thrown at me, and I can’t duck to avoid them. Instead, they’re pelting me in the face repeatedly.
Knowing I need to warn Amber of the onslaught of Remingtons coming at us in the next twenty-four hours, I stumble out of bed and into the hallway. I’m about to put my ear against her bedroom door to see if she’s awake, but a wail beats me to it. The wailing is coming from downstairs. I rush in that direction, a little concerned about the screaming and why it’s happening this early in the morning. I raise the phone in my right hand, double checking that it is, in fact, only seven in the morning.
I stumble unceremoniously down the last two steps, only to find Amber on the couch, in another little nursing nightgown. This one is pale blue, trimmed in white lace. It makes her skin look angelic, and her dark brown freckles stand out from the pale fabric. One of her breasts is freed from the garment as she tries, unsuccessfully, to contain a wailing and flailing, Nella.
I’m out of breath as I come near the couch and realize I’m still making eye contact with Amber’s areola. My chin raises and my eyes move up to the ceiling of my home. There’s an interesting light fixture up there. The designer called it a modern Sputnik chandelier. A wonderful, fascinating ceiling. Honestly, people don’t appreciate their ceilings enough these days, you know?
This platonic husband thing is already harder than I imagined it would be. And not for any of the reasons I expected it to be challenging.
“Ford, it’s just a boob. You don’t have to pretend the ceiling is so interesting. Could you hold her for a second?” Amber asks, her voice tense.
I look at her, her nightgown fastened again. “Yeah, of course.” I reach out and take the infant from her grasp, settling her on my bare chest and bouncing up and down. She liked that last time I did it. But she is not liking it right now.
“I’m sorry,” Amber says, her voice wobbly like she’s about to cry. “She was up most of the night. I don’t know what’s wrong.”
“You were up all night?” It comes out louder than I wanted it to. “Why didn’t you come get me? I could’ve helped.”
