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“You look nice.” Milly’s eyes move over my jeans and blue plaid button-up. “Where are you going again?”
“Out,” I reply crisply. I’m not telling anyone about my date with Amelia. The Beauregards are nosy motherfuckers, clearly. The second I tell them I’m going out with the girl we all fell in love with ten years ago, they’re going to start asking if we’ve set a date yet.
This thing is complicated enough without them meddling in our business. I need to go into it with clear eyes. The pressure they’ll put on me to make it something more may cloud my judgment.
Then again, I’m taking my kid’s nanny out for a date after kissing her in my kitchen this morning, so my judgment is . . . questionable at best.
Whatever. I’m excited. Excited to hang with Amelia one on one, and excited for Mom and Milly to meet my son.
“Y’all come on in,” I say, and lead them into the family room. I set the box on a console table behind the sofa, and then I fall into a crouch, gesturing to Liam. “Li, are you ready to meet Grandma and Auntie Milly?”
Liam, who’s been busy pushing his dump truck in manic circles around the room, pauses long enough to look up at me. His big, serious eyes dart to Mom and Milly, and he immediately abandons his truck and runs over to me, launching himself into my arms.
“Ooopf!” I smile and, settling Liam on my hip, stand and point at Mom. “That’s your grandma. Can you say hi?”
“Hi, Liam,” Mom says with a big, watery smile. “It’s so nice to meet you. Can I get a high five?”
I duck my head to whisper in his ear. “You know how to give high fives, buddy.”
Liam just stares at my mom and her outstretched hand for a full beat. I laugh, and so does Mom. I gently take Liam’s hand and guide it to Mom’s. Their palms make a neat little clack when they meet, and Liam giggles, burying his head in my chest.
“Aw, buddy, that was great,” I say, brushing my lips over the crown of his head.
“Oh my God.” Milly fans her hands in front of her eyes. “Y’all are, like, the cutest thing ever. I’m dead. Legitimately dead from the sweetness.” She puts one of those hands on my shoulder. “Rhett, he’s perfect, and so are you.”
Goddamn it, now my eyes are misting over.
“Thank you,” I say with a sniff. “Liam, this is Auntie Milly. She tells it like it is, which isn’t always a good thing, but today—well, today is one of those rare occasions where it is.”
“We don’t tolerate bullshit in this family, Liam,” Milly says, pointing at him. “You remember that.”
“Language,” Mama warns.
My sister has the grace to look sheepish. “Sorry. But now he knows.”
Liam stares at her too, clinging to me.
“Why don’t we blow that thing up?” I nod at the bouncy house. “That might get him to warm up a bit.”
“Should we go outside and play?” Milly asks Liam.
He finally smiles. “Ous-side.”
My trick works. I leave Liam with Mom and Milly while I blow up the bouncy house. They help him pick dandelions and ooh and aah when he shows them his water table.
When the bouncy house is ready, Liam lets Mom take his hand, and she helps him climb inside. He’s hesitant at first, testing out the floor, the walls. But then he gets the hang of it, small jumps that get bigger and bigger until he’s literally bouncing off the walls. He laughs so hard he poops.
We take him inside, and Mom and Milly fuss over him as they elbow me aside to change his diaper.
“Y’all sure you wanna do this?”
“We’re sure. Now make yourself scarce.”
But instead, I stay and watch, and later the three of us put Liam to bed together. Because watching the people I love, love up on my son?
It’s loud, and it’s messy, and it’s kind of the best thing ever.
I leave my house with a full heart and a smile that won’t quit.
I don’t do dates.
Not in the past year and a half or so, anyway. Our team was a Super Bowl contender last season, so I put all my focus into football, no distractions of the female variety allowed. When we didn’t make it past the playoffs, I jumped right into Hank’s not-so-little retirement bender, jetting around the world in search of . . .
Forgetting, I guess. I wanted to forget how high the stakes just got and how down I felt.
So, yeah. I’m nervous as fuck when I knock on Amelia’s door. I want a beer so bad I can taste it, but instead, I’m holding a bouquet of pink Gerbera daisies in one hand and my hopeful heart in the other.
Dear Lord, please don’t let me screw this up.
