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It’s too big. Too wide. Too white.
I like Dylan’s place, with the sensible furniture and splatter-type paintings on the wall.
“The kitchen is just this way,” she says after letting go of my hand, bringing me further into her space.
“I like it,” I say truthfully, taking in the way she’s decorated. I drop the bags off on the only kitchen counter and look around. The kitchen is mostly white, with stainless steel appliances and stained-wood shelving.
“Make yourself at home. I’m going to check out the baby’s room.” Dylan leaves before I can offer to go with. I give her her time though. I let her go and try to figure out where things go in her cupboards and fridge.
Hard to do, when there are the bare necessities; the few non-perishables she still has around.
Once the groceries are put away, I decide to try and find her.
Not hard to do.
The place is small enough. The kitchen is in the back; the living room right when you walk in. There’s a small hallway just off the living room and the first door on the left is what appears to be Dylan’s room. The first door on the right is a bathroom, and just beyond that is one more door.
It’s in there that I find Dylan sitting in a chair that seems to glide more than it rocks. Her hands are rubbing the arms up and down, slowly, and her face is wet with tears that fall slowly.
When I walk into the room, she moves her attention from the grey-washed crib and to me. “I’m not ready to be a mom,” she says, shaking her head. “I’m going to screw him up. He’d be better off if I put him up for adoption. I can’t give him what he needs. I can’t—”
I step further into the room. “Dylan.” One step, two steps, three, and then I’m kneeling in front of her. “I’m pretty sure every first-time mom thinks those things.”
She shakes her head again, and I nod.
“I think you’ll be an awesome mom.”
“I don’t even have a job,” she says on a sob, bringing her hand up to her mouth and I know it’s the wrong thing to do, but I chuckle.
“Dylan.”
“Oh, what do you know?” Dylan waves her hand out in front of me and I grab it, bringing it to my lips.
It’s first time I’ve kissed her hand.
It’s the first time I’ve kissed her in the middle of the day.
I think it startles her.
It’s different when it’s first thing in the morning, when you can blame it on sleep. But I don’t want her blaming something on sleep, or lack thereof.
I push to a stand, and pull her up from the chair, too. She stands directly in front of me and I pull her closer, bringing her hand to my chest as I put the other on her hip. “You’re going to be an awesome mom,” I say again.
She still shakes her head, so I take her face in my hands, stopping her from the movement but also angling her face upward.
I see it in her eyes.
She knows what’s next.
Good.
I’d hate to startle her.
I lower my mouth to hers and take her lips in a soft kiss.
Her sigh echoes the thoughts in my head.
Finally.
