Page 50 of You Fall First

Of course I’m barely twenty-seven. My hourglass for becoming a wife and mother has plenty of sand left. But I hate that I wasted any of it on Oliver.

Had we been together long? No.

But all my siblings and their partners had fallen so hard, so fast, I assumed marriage was on the horizon. The next logical step. That’s the way things went for everyone else in my family, including my mom and dad. Why not me? I figured my time had come to be loved like that, too.

Until Oliver picked someone else.

Amelia.

I can still picture her name on his phone.

That setback has proved to be harder to bounce back from than I expected. Especially with all the excellent wife-ing and mothering going on around me. Still, that’s what I always dreamed of. What I want more than anything else. A husband and children. A tight-knit unit.

My own full dinner table.

Speaking of which, I should probably get back to the FaceTime-ing Stadlers. I’ve been in the bathroom stalling for so long, Noah will probably think I’ve got digestive issues. So I quickly wash my hands and tuck back a few strands of hair that have fallen loose from my ponytail.

One more deep breath, and out I go.

The first thing I spot is Noah. He’s got one arm slung around Dutton, casual and comfortable, like they belong to each other. Because they do. The two of them are a tight-knit unit for sure. From here, I can’t see Paige, but I know she’s the reason for the grins stretched across their faces.

Party of three.

Within seconds, Noah lifts his head and catches my eye like he’s been waiting for me. The man pays attention; that’s for sure. Maybe too much. I drop one hand onto my shorts in a feeble attempt to cover the wet spot, and the other hand lifts of its own volition to wave at him.

Why I decided to wave, I have no idea. It’s not like I’m returning from war.

A flush creeps up my chest, and I approach slowly, wondering if I should return to the side of the table where I had been sitting, or take the empty seat next to Noah to say hi to Paige. Dutton’s on the other side of him, tucked safely into his armpit.

Where do I go?

Noah removes the option by gesturing with his free hand to sit by him. So I slide onto the bench and move closer in two awkward scoots. Meanwhile, Dutton’s blasting through a soliloquy for his mother, detailing our day down to the minute.

Paige is in a hospital gown with an IV bag hanging half in view. There’s a plastic pitcher and water tumbler on a tray beside her bed. Her features are so familiar, it’s like I know her already. An impossibility, of course. But there’s something about the arch to her brow, the wide-set eyes, and the way her mouth slants wryly that reminds me of Noah.

She’s listening to her son, rapt.

Another Stadler who pays attention.

“But I didn’t catch any ducks,” Dutton announces, as a grand finale to a harrowing tale at the lake.

“That’s probably a good thing, right?” Paige wrinkles her nose. “For the ducks at least.”

His face slips into a pout. “I have blood now.” He yanks at the phone, aiming the screen at his Band-Aid-ridden kneecaps. “See?”

Paige leans forward in a show of scrutinizing his wounds, then she nods. “Those are some pretty sweet Scooby-Doo Band-Aids. Where’d you get those?”

“Jo,” he says.

“Tell Jo nice job.”

“Tell her yourself,” Noah says, wrangling control of the phone and moving the screen up to my face. “She’s finally back from the bathroom.”

“Hi, Paige,” I say, offering up a tiny laugh. The word “finally” hangs in the air, doing a whole lot of heavy lifting.

Noah and Paige probably talked about me while I was gone, but I have no idea what he’s told her. For all I know, Noah was filling her in on my preferred tampon brand.

“How are you feeling?” I ask, and the space behind my breastbone tightens. Seeing any parent like this, so fragile, so far from her little boy, sends an ache straight through me. I already care about Dutton, and I’ve known him for about seventy-two hours.