Page 10 of Worthy of Sunsets and Second Chances

Me.

“Welcome home!” Lainey says cheerfully as we all amble into my small, one-room, open apartment.

The kitchen and dining area take up the left side of the space. A small round table houses two chairs and a pile of junk mail. The cabinets are white, filled with easy-to-make food and very little space for extras like bottles and baby things. There’s no couch or rocking chair, just my bed on the right side of the apartment, which has a bassinet set up next to it now. Then there is the bathroom with a shower—no tub.

Where am I going to give her a bath?

“I need to move!” I exclaim, looking at the tiny baby, still in the carrier, sound asleep.

“What?” Rem asks.

“This fucking place. Look at it!” I wave my arms about, aghast. Shocked they can’t see what I do. “I can’t have my daughter in this place! There is no room for her here. I don’t even have space for her things. Bottles? Toys? I can’t give her a bath for fuck’s sake! AND those stairs out there are a damn death sentence. We can’t be here.” Not only am I out of breath, but now there are tears in my eyes.

Sutton takes the baby carrier from me, gently getting the baby out and holding her as she starts to fuss. Swaying her perfectly in that womanly way that I will never be able to replicate. Guilt swamps me knowing I upset my baby’s peaceful sleep.

“It’s all going to be okay, brother. I promise.” Rem pulls me into a hug, tight and sure. That’s the minute I allow myself to feel it all.

Spiral.

Panic.

Let it all sink in.

I cry on my best friend’s shoulder, and he just holds me. Two huge, grown-ass firefighters, hugging and crying, and allowing this life-changing moment to finally hit me.

Pulling back, I wipe my face with a calloused hand. “I’m a dad . . .”

“Hell yeah you are.” Rem looks right into my eyes, knowing exactly how terrifying this is for me. “And that is the luckiest little girl on the planet.”

“Now you have to decide what you are going to name her,” Sutton says, looking down at the precious miracle in her arms.

“Mom, I’d like you to meet your granddaughter.”

My mother’s shocked face takes us in, standing on her porch the next afternoon. The yellow dish towel she was drying her hands with as she answered the door stills, and her eyes sweep down from my own face to the baby carrier in my hands.

“I’m not sure if I’m going to go to heaven right now out of happiness or the pure heart attack you are givin’ me, Eli James Hargrove! Get in here right now and out of the heat with that baby.” She quickly ushers us into my childhood home, snapping the door closed behind us.

“Sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean to spring this on you, but it was a total surprise to me too. And I didn’t exactly want to share this news over the phone,” I say sheepishly.

“I would think not! You best tell me all the details right now. Well”—she side- eyes me and crinkles her nose—“not all of them, but you know what I mean.”

Groaning, I follow her to the living room where she has comfortable green couches with pillows that she changes with the seasons; today they are covered in sunflowers and birds. A rocking chair with time-tested blue cushions and wooden legs that glide smooth as butter is placed in the corner, a perfect spot to sit with a newborn. Unclipping my baby girl from her seat, she wiggles and fusses a bit. I kiss the top of her head and let her nuzzle into my neck the way she likes. We figured that out last night. She loves to be close, smushed up like a little ball where she can feel the beating of my heart and the humming vibration of my throat while I whisper-sing lullabies to her in the dark. And by lullabies I mean all the different hip-hop, pop, and country songs I have in my head from my jump rope routines.

“There was a woman I, um, hooked up with a while back,” I start uncomfortably. “It was only a one-time thing, but I guess she got pregnant. She never came to me or let me know anything about it. Yesterday, she put her”—I nod down to my daughter—“into the baby box at the station.”

“The Safe Haven box?” my mom questions.

“Yeah.”

“But how do you know she is really yours?” she asks, worrying her lip.

“Skylar, the mom, left me a note, a letter, saying I’m the father. I brought it with me so you can read it. And then we went to the hospital to get her checked out to be sure she was healthy, contact the social workers, and all that. They also did a rapid DNA test, which confirmed it. She’s mine, Mom,” I say, feeling tears fill my eyes.

Directing my mom to the front pocket of the diaper bag, she withdraws the envelope from Skylar and takes her time reading the letter. Wiping her own tears away once she’s done, she looks up at me from her spot on the couch, so many emotions playing over her open face at once.

“Please say something.” I can’t stand it if she is disappointed.

“This baby is a tiny miracle, Eli. Just look at her. You may not have planned for her, or known that she was coming to you, but here she is. She fits, doesn’t she? I look at her wrapped up in your arms, and I don’t know, honey, it just feels right.” A mother’s love drips from every word that pours out of her, and it makes my heart twist. No judgment or anger, just instant acceptance and grace.