Page 188 of My Unfinished Heart

“I think you can do a lot better than someone like me, but no matter what, I know you’ll love him with your whole heart.”

These little girls have become so special to me. To all of us. Even Tristan. We know we can’t shield them from the world that will try to shred their self-esteem, or lock up their hearts to keep them from getting broken, but we can be there for them. We can be their steady horizon for their seasick eyes to stare at until the waves let up—until they find a safe place to come ashore.

I think for most kids, their moms are who they look toward while the rough waters of life toss them around. Not realizing I had one—a mom—left me seasick a long time.

In the end it was someone else’s mom and some very special people with their own steady horizons to guide them who gave me the love I needed to become the man who could love them back.

That’s the nature of unconditional love.

It pays itself forward. It’s gotten, and then it’s given—without expecting a thing in return. It’s in our nature. It lives in our hearts.

Tristan walks over and bravely puts his hand on Eliza’s shoulder. “Helen’s ready to go.”

Eliza jerks up her head to see her nemesis. “I’m in the middle of something.”

“I’m just the messenger,” Tristan says, hands up and backing off. He rolls his eyes like he’s the one who’s eleven.

Eliza turns her full attention back to me. I work to transform my amused grin into something more befitting her serious expression. “I sure hope he appreciates you,” she says.

“He does. I promise. Good night, E.”

“Good night, Archer.” She puts her skinny arms around me and plants a kiss on my cheek.

Tristan takes the seat Eliza vacates as soon as he’s out of her line of sight. “I recognized that look on her face,” he says. “It’s like looking in a mirror at myself when I was her age.”

I take his hand. “Archer plus Tristan equals love?”

“I’m pretty sure my name’s not the one written in her diary.”

“I think it’s funny that an eleven-year old makes you jealous.”

“That’s only a few years shy of seventeen,” he says, teasing, never missing a chance to bring up my naive logic from years ago.

“Guys, come on. Let’s go see the baby.” Connor says from across the room.

Tristan is up like a shot, hurrying over to Connor while I pick up the rear.

They hold hands as I follow behind them down the hall. Their arms swing as they walk. Connor is hyped on caffeine and has a lot of bounce in his step. These two are closer than I’ve ever imagined—maybe closer than they’ve ever been. I think about how jealous it used to make me, but right now, all I feel is a sense of correctness—order—like things are as they should be. Maybe it’s just that kind of day.

In Joey’s room, West is already wearing tracks in the floor, walking the baby around.

Joey is sitting up in bed. She’s had some time to sort out her hair, and her colorful tattoos make her drab hospital gown look cool. I wait for Tristan and Connor to hug her first before I make my way over to her. “Congratulations,” I say, hugging her too.

She pulls away from me, teary and sentimental. She touches my cheek. “Thank you so much. I’m so glad you’re here.”

I called it getting choked up before. I think they call it that because the lump in my throat when it happens makes me feel like I’m actually about to choke.

“West, give me the baby.” Joey reaches her arms out, her fingers beckoning.

West opens his mouth to protest, but then he sees the stern look on Joey’s face. He hands her what looks like a bundle of blankets wearing a hat.

“Here.” She holds the baby out for me.

“No, no—it’s okay. You can give someone else a turn first.”

“Archer, I want you to hold him first. Here. Hold the baby.” She’s offering him to me like he’s a Christmas present that will be perfectly fine if it drops to the floor. I think it’s that—the fear of her dropping him as she casually dangles him in front of me—that has me reaching out to grab him.

The blankets are swaddled tightly around him, leaving no need to support his head. The only thing visible is his face. His big eyes are wide open and staring at me. His forehead wrinkles like he wants to ask me a question. He’s insanely cute. I hold him in front of me, straight up and down, unable to comprehend how quickly he’s able to tie his string to my heart.