“Sam,” I said, “this is my son, Tommy.”
Sam stuck out his hand. “Hey, man.”
I held my breath, panicking for a moment that Tommy would ignore it. For all my complicated feelings about Sam, I wanted this to go well.
Finally, Tommy tentatively took Sam’s hand. He shook briefly. Maybe he was nervous too. But Sam seemed to have passed at the first gauntlet, because Tommy wasn’t being a dick to him, at least not yet.
I let out a breath. “And of course, this is Henry.”
Sam swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat.
“Do you want to hold him?” I asked.
Sam opened and closed his hands, at his side. “Is that okay?”
My heart softened, just a little, and I realized that for all my nerves, Sam must have them tenfold.
I hadn’t known what to expect. It really could have been anything—from Sam not showing up, to him throwing some kind of custody plan at me. I’d heard horror stories of prolonged battles and wonderful stories of coparenting, and everything in between. But I just needed to take this one day at a time. To have faith that Sam was the person I pegged him for when I went to bed with him. When I sent that first email to him after. A decent, kind person who’d do the right thing. Even if that meant staying out of our lives, which quite honestly, would be the easiest scenario.
I took Henry from Tommy, turning him around to face his father.
Sam’s eyes were wide, his face pale. “I’ve never held a baby before,” he confessed.
“It’s okay.” I adjusted my grip so I was holding Henry alittle lower down his ribs, making room for Sam. “Just put your hands above mine, under his armpits.”
Sam reached up, sliding his fingers around his son’s ribcage. The rough of his palms grazed over the backs of my knuckles, and the tiniest skittering sparks skipped over my skin. These ones weren’t angry.
Sam’s eyes zipped to mine, and for a moment, we held our son together, looking at each other.
“Got him?” I whispered.
Sam nodded.
I pulled my hands away and stepped back.
Sam gazed at his son, his expression still and deer-like, as if he was worried any small movement might startle Henry.
Then Tommy said, “You can like, hold him against your chest.”
“Right.” Sam brought Henry to him, sliding an arm under his son’s bottom and bracing his back with his other hand. He looked back at Tommy. “Is this good?”
“Yeah,” Tommy said. “That’s good.”
Sam’s eyes went to me, and his lips ticked up on one side.
For a moment, none of us spoke. It occurred to me that anyone passing by might mistake us for a family. Which was hilarious, truly, when you considered how we were all connected. Strangers and mistakes and feelings and blood.
I looked back at the group off to the side, my mostly still-new friends, who’d welcomed me into their lives with open arms only a couple of weeks ago. Most of them were pretending not to look. Kit stared, her eyes watery. Winona, too. If Sarah were here, she’d probably sob openly.
I felt my throat grow thick with gratitude. No matter how weird this was; how much I’d dreaded this moment, they’d been in my corner.
When I looked back at Sam, he’d pulled his face back and was once again staring at his son.
“I’m gonna see if that donut guy is here,” Tommy said. Then he abruptly strode off.
“Keep your phone on!” I called after him.
Tommy lifted a hand but didn’t turn back. His other hand was in a fist at his side.
