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And I have my sweet little Izzy to thank for that. She’s shown me there’s more to life than hitting career goals.
Remy’s shown you that, too.
“Maria, the car will be here in about four minutes!” Remy calls out from somewhere in the living room, and I quickly toss my lipstick and compact into my purse.
“Okay! But I want to call and check on Izzy before we go!” I answer back as I head out of the bathroom and down the hallway.
But when I reach the living room, I find Remy sitting on one of the big white sofas with his phone held up toward his face. He grins at me and turns the screen so that I can see his mom’s smiling face with a sleeping Izzy in her arms.
Aw, my sweet baby.
My heart expands and wants to crack in half at the same time.
“Izzy is an angel. I’m keeping her forever,” Wendy says, and I don’t hesitate to take the phone from Remy’s hands.
“Is she doing okay? Eating and sleeping like she should? What about diaper rash? Have you—”
“Maria, she’s doing fantastic.” Remy’s mom cuts me off with a soft whisper and a knowing look in her eyes. “She’s eating well, sleeping around seven hours a night, and hasn’t had any issues with diaper rash or gas.”
“I miss her,” I whisper, watching the way her little eyelids flutter in her baby dreams. “Goodness, is it normal to feel like half your heart is missing?”
“The first time I left all five of my kids with their aunt Paula and uncle Brad so I could enjoy a girls’ weekend, I sobbed for hours in my hotel room.”
“Okay, so I’m not crazy, then?” A self-deprecating laugh jumps from my lips. “This is normal that I feel like I’m a bad mom for loving that Rem surprised me with this trip? But knowing that, while loving it, I’ve left my baby behind?”
“You’re not crazy. And you’re a good momma.” Wendy pointedly meets my eyes. “You’re in the Bahamas, refilling your cup, enjoying a little relaxation, and that will only make you a better momma for Izzy when you get back. Self-care is one of the most important but often forgotten things with motherhood. It’s as if we’d rather run ourselves into the ground for our kids than take some time for ourselves.”
Her words hit the nail on the head.
“You’re saying all the things I needed to hear right now.”
“All the things you deserved to hear.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, and Remy comes up behind me to wrap his arms around my waist. We’re both on the screen now, looking at his mom as she holds a still-sleeping Izzy in her arms.
“Thanks for taking care of our girl, Mom.”
“That’s what grandmas are for,” she says through a smile. “Now, go enjoy yourselves. I’ll text you some picture updates tomorrow.”
At first, I don’t balk at Wendy calling herself Izzy’s grandma, but once we’re off the phone, it won’t stop rolling around inside my brain. Is she Izzy’s grandma?
Izzy does have living grandparents—Oliver’s parents—whom I still make a point to FaceTime fairly often so they can see Izzy. I even plan to visit them when I feel like Izzy is old enough to travel that far, but their health and international location make it impossible for them to be the kind of grandparents that are active in her life.
But Wendy? She’s very much become an active member in Izzy’s life.
So…is she Izzy’s grandma, then?
To truly answer that question, I’d have to know the answer to a much bigger question—what are Remy and I?—and I find myself quickly shoving it aside and trying to focus on the whole point of this vacation.
We’re here to have fun. To enjoy ourselves. To just…be in the moment.
But isn’t that what you’ve been saying you’ve been doing this whole time? Even before this trip?
“You ready to go enjoy some dinner, babe?” Remy asks, distracting my attention, and I turn to find him shoving his phone and wallet into the pocket of his linen pants.
I swallow down my doubts and nod. “Uh-huh.”
“Good.” He closes the distance between us, wraps his strong arms around me, and kisses me with a deep, exploratory kiss that fogs my brain in the best kind of way.
And by the time a honk alerts us that our car has arrived, I’m half aroused and solely focused on enjoying a date night with Remy.
Damn, he’s sexy, I think to myself as I watch the way his tight ass moves in his linen pants as he walks toward the front door.
And I just keep gawking at him, thinking about how I’m in the Bahamas with the sexiest man on the planet and the urge to say “Fuck the dinner” and rip his clothes off right now is becoming stronger by the minute.
