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I realize I’ve zoned out of our conversation when Miles guides me forward. His parents are leaving and I’ve hardly said anything to them.
“Maybe we could have dinner together,” I say suddenly, looking up at Miles. “Next weekend, when Miles is home?”
Katie’s smile could light the whole town. “We’d love that.”
“Absolutely,” Andy agrees. “We’d be happy to have you or join you here, whatever you like.”
“It was great to meet you both. I look forward to getting to know you more,” I say genuinely. They seem wonderful. They’re my baby’s grandparents and Miles clearly has strong relationships with them. I want to build relationships with them, too. “Oh, wait,” I say. Then I slip out Miles’s arm and hurry over to the kitchen. I pull one of the ultrasound photos of our tiny peanut out of a folder and bring it over. “Take this.” I hold it out to Katie. She takes it and looks at me with tears in her eyes.
“Thank you for this gift. For sharing this with us.” She forces out a breath. “Oh, I don’t want to start crying right here, but this means so much to me. Thank you, Amelia.” She gives me another hug.
As quietly as I can, I whisper in her ear, “Thank you for raising a good man.” I’m still figuring out how to trust him, but so far, he’s been better to me than I ever could’ve imagined. I would’ve done this on my own, but having him by my side makes this so much better.
She squeezes me tighter, then lets me go. “Next time, we’ll try for fewer tears and more laughter. Sound good?”
“Perfect,” I agree.
Miles quickly hugs his mom, and then his parents head out. As Miles closes the door behind them, I walk back to the living room, caught in a riptide of emotions, as one after the other pummels me and pulls me under until I can barely breathe.
Miles
Amelia stumbles toward the couch and I quickly cross the apartment to her and wrap an arm around her, then pull her onto the couch with me, holding her as she cries.
“I’m a mess,” she mutters.
Leaning down, I kiss her forehead. “You’re beautiful.”
“I meant emotionally,” she gestures to her tear-stained face.
“So did I. There’s nothing messy about feeling the way you feel. You’re facing the trauma of losing your father and I’m guessing in a different way, losing your mother, too. There’s nothing messy about that. It might feel raw and painful, but it’s beautiful, too. There’s healing in that pain.” I pull her tighter to me and she rests her head on my shoulder, wrapping her arm around my stomach.
“You can’t be real,” she huffs through her tears.
I chuckle at that. “We made a baby together, and as we already discussed, it was not immaculate. You know I’m plentyreal.”
“I’m not used to it.”
“What?”
“Being taken care of.”
“You’ll get used to it because I’m not stopping.”
She doesn’t answer right away, instead nestling even closer as I gently rub my fingers over her upper arm. “Good.”
My chest feels lighter and my heart warms. She wants me to take care of her. When she told me she wasn’t ready for more yet, I didn’t know what to expect. I wasn’t sure if she would put space between us or run from me. To my surprise—and delight—she’s pulled me closer. I don’t think it’s that she’s not ready yet. I think she wants to ease into it. That’s fine by me. I’m already treating this like we’re endgame because that’s what I want us to be. I was already falling for her before this, but seeing the more vulnerable sides of her has only made me fall harder. It’s also made me even more protective of her than I was before. I always want to protect the people I care about. The fact that she’s carrying my baby kicks that up about a thousand notches. But it’s more than that. As I learn more about her past and all the heartache she’s endured, I would do anything to protect her heart. I can’t heal it, but I’ll do everything in my power to keep it from breaking anymore.
She stays in the same position for a long time, and I don’t move either, other than my fingers still dancing up and down her arm. Eventually her tears subside, leaving her sniffing softly. A little while later she’s grown so quiet, I assume she’s fallen asleep, and I consider whether it’s better to settle into the corner of the couch or move her to the bed, but then her grip on my waist tightens.
“I used to snuggle like this with my dad.” Her voice is a haunting whisper, and she doesn’t move a muscle as she speaks. “When I was little, I was all over him. As an only child, I was close with both of my parents, but no question, I was my daddy’s girl. As I got older, if I had a bad day or just needed to unwind, I’d snuggle on the couch with him while we watched TV or we’d just talk.” She stops, her voice thickening with emotion again. “When he was going through chemo, he said that sitting with me like that was the only thing that made him feel better. My last memory of him was sitting like this in his bed when he could barely move. He died the next morning. I stopped seeking out any kind of physical touch from anyone after that—except my mom. Even with her, it was never the same level. But with you…” she trails off, and I shift slightly so I can see her face.
It’s red and splotchy from crying. Her eyes have turned an insanely gorgeous aquamarine color. Her curly hair is frizzing at the edges of her face. She’s stunning. Just like this, she’s fucking perfect.
“I’ll always hold you for as long as you want me to. I love having you in my arms.” I rest my hand over her heart. “And if it helps you heal, I’ll never stop.”
She snuffles and wipes her eyes again, letting out a shaky breath. “I’m sorry I started crying when I met your parents. I haven’t had a dad-hug in a long time.”
“You don’t have to be sorry. They understand, and they were just happy to meet you. Don’t worry, next time you can meet my sisters and go toe to toe with them and their snarkiness.”
