“I like to solve problems,” he says. “And it made me crazy that I couldn’t fix a fussy baby. It felt out of control, and I hate feeling out of control.”
“Oh. Yeah.” He does hate that. And I do remember his frustration sometimes.
“I thought I was ready to be a father, because I’d been like a surrogate parent to my sisters, but it was nothing like that. Holy shit, the pressure. Not only keeping him alive, but knowing that how I interacted with him would influence his development. Like, one mistake and he could become a serial killer.”
A laugh breaks free of my throat. “Oh my God.”
“What were you afraid of?”
“Oh my gosh, everything. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to breastfeed, or if I did, how would I know he was eating enough? I was afraid he’d get sick and I wouldn’t know what to do. I was afraid he would die in his crib one night. I was afraid I would do all the wrong things—hold him too much, or not enough, or put too many clothes on him or not enough, or—well, lots of things. But a lot of that was from postpartum hormones, which I didn’t even realize until so much later. They can cause anxiety and depression. Worry. And… I was still breastfeeding Kane when he died. I still had all those hormones and—” My voice catches.
“Yeah,” he says slowly. “I remember you were still breastfeeding. And how hard that was when he was gone.”
My eyes sting as I remember that phase of our life. On top of my grief… I couldn’t feed my baby. It was agony, mentally and physically. My breasts were engorged and painful. More dropping hormones affected my mood, making me anxious and depressed and weepy all the time.
“Hey.” He touches one corner of my eye. “It’s okay.”
I nod. “I know.” I pull in a breath. “Anyway. We were both afraid. But I knew I was okay because I had you.”
“And I should have known I was okay because I had you. Because you were an amazing mother.”
He kisses my forehead, then my nose, and then, softly, my mouth. My chest is brimming with emotion and I kiss him back, pouring all that emotion into it.
He rolls me to my back, and slips from my body. I’m wet and sticky and I don’t care, because his kisses are making me hot again and I’m emotional.
“Want me to clean you up?” he whispers.
“No. I want you to fuck me again.”
“Yeah.” His cock stirs against my leg and he kisses my throat. “I wanna do that, too.”
* * *
“Aren’t you coming?”
I’m applying lip gloss in front of the mirror in the morning, getting ready for breakfast with Nonna.
“I thought you might want to have solo time with Nonna.”
“No! Come with me. She’ll want to see you, too.”
“Okay.”
There are no scheduled activities for today. Some families are staying until later; some have probably already checked out and left. We first stop by the cottage where Nonna is staying with Uncle Vince and Aunt Melissa, and we walk with her to thepavilion. It’s snowing lightly again and I want to make sure she doesn’t slip and fall.
The pavilion is quiet this morning. A buffet breakfast is set up so we first find a table and get Nonna settled, then Carson and I go fill plates, including one for her.
“Make sure I get pancakes!” she calls to us. “With extra butter! And lots of bacon!”
I grin and give her a thumbs up.
“How is she still alive when she eats all that butter and bacon?” Carson asks in a low voice, amusement tugging his lips.
“We’re not sure what the secret of her long life is. I’ll ask her.”
So I do.
“Oh, I love it when people ask me that! Well, I’ll tell you.” She leans forward. “The secret to a long life is to not die.”
