Page 71 of Trial and Error

I take advantage of her in this mellowed state and hesitantly ask, “What qualities do you look for in a man?”

She yawns, her body melting into mine, and I feel her shrug. “Someone who’s kind and patient, and who can understand emotions well. Kids are emotional little beings so having someone who is secure and connected with his own emotions is important to me.”

“Anything else?”

“If I have a son, I don’t want his father to tell him to be tough and to be brave—I don’t want my son to struggle with emotions. I want him to feel comfortable crying and I want him to see us as his safe space, you know?”

I nod. “What if you have a daughter?”

“She’ll be brave and fearless and she’ll have everything she wanted, but not spoiled. She will be in touch with her emotions and someone who trusts her own instinct.”

“Do you think you’re ready to start looking for him?”

Bridget’s body becomes limp as her tiredness overcomes her, but I don’t miss the way she subtly nods. “Yeah.” She snuggles into my side. “But I think I might’ve already met him.”

I wake to the sound of the front door creaking open. It’s light outside, and Bridget and I are still stretched out on the couch. She’s stirring slightly, but her eyes are still shut as she curls around me like she’s chasing sleep. Oscar pokes his head around the front door as I lift my head to look over the back of the couch and he smiles sheepishly at me.

He looks as exhausted as Isobel does as she waddles into the room behind him. Her dark blonde hair is piled haphazardly on the top of her head, and she holds on to her stomach as she makes her way into the room.

Bridget hums and slowly peels her eyes open, blinking up at me, a dazed look on her face. As soon as she looks at my face, her eyes light up and she leans up to press her lips against the underside of my jaw. She lets out a small yawn and looks up over the edge of the couch and blinks a few times to clear her eyes when Oscar and Isobel come into her line of vision. She puts her hand on my chest and pushes herself up right, and I laugh when I see the markings on her cheek.

She stayed glued to my chest last night and the creases of my sweater imprinted onto her cheeks are proof of that. Bridget lifts a hand and rubs at her face, feeling the sleep lines.

“Good morning, lovebirds,” Oscar says as he closes the door behind him, a car seat hanging from his other hand. “You could’ve slept in the spare room, you know.”

I roll my eyes and push myself up. Bridget follows suit, the two of us still pressed against each other. As Oscar sets down the car seat on the coffee table, I hear Bridget gasp as she takes in the newborn who’s no bigger than my forearm. She moves away from me and sits on the edge of the couch to get a closer look.

“How gorgeous,” she breathes out. “Boy or girl?”

Isobel smiles tiredly, yet proudly, at her creation. “Girl. Her name is Freya Sara Cohen.”

Freya, after our paternal grandmother, and Sara after Isobel’s late sister. Oscar helps Isobel lower down into the armchair and then perches on the arm, his hand squeezing her shoulder.

“She’s beautiful,” I say, unable to tear my gaze away from her scrunched up face. “She’s a Cohen, all right.” I laugh when I see the frown etched on her face.

Oscar chuckles and nods, and I can’t remember the last time I saw him this happy. While Olivia was a happy surprise, she was still a surprise and childbirth hadn’t been easy. There were some complications so my brother didn’t have this youthful glow on his face the last time.

“Olivia is going to lose her mind,” Oscar says. “They’re going to be as thick as thieves.”

Isobel hums. “They’re going to be a handful.” She looks at Bridget and watches in interest at how transfixed she is on Freya. “Os, get her out of the car seat and give her to Bids.”

Bridget looks up from where she sits and smiles widely. “Are you sure?”

Isobel nods, leaning back into the chair. “Of course.”

Oscar unbuckles Freya, gently lifting her, and Bridget quietly squeals as Freya scrunches that little newborn scrunch. He lowers her into Bridget’s arms, and I watch as Freya stretches out, her little hands clenching into small fists.

Bridget looks down at her like she’s never seen something so small, and when her eyes meet mine, they twinkle. She looks back down at Freya and gently rocks her side to side and as she whispers to the baby, I feel everything click into place.

This is it.

This is where I want to be—this is what I want. I want the cuddles on the sofa with little ones and I want that with her. I want her to look down at our children with that look of adoration. I want to spend time as a family, with my favourite people. I want her to be in every one of those places. I want her to be everywhere, all at once.

I want her in every lifetime.

She looks down at Freya and my heart could burst as Freya smiles, all gummy and sleepy. Bridget shifts closer to me until our sides are touching and she gives me a better view of my niece.

“Here,” she whispers as she places Freya gently in my arms. “She looks so small when you’re holding her.”