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“It’s after eight,” I call to him.
“I know.” He swings Joey down from his shoulders so our fifteen-month-old can wobble his way toward me.
Joey took his first steps a month ago and has become increasingly mobile ever since. Based on the way he literally bounces off our furniture, our son inherited Holden’s reckless tendencies.
“I thought they were coming over at eight thirty. I haven’t started anything yet and there’s—”
“I texted Syd last night, told her not to come until ten. You’re exhausted. You deserved to sleep in a little.”
Joey’s little arms wrap around my legs, fisting the cotton fabric of my pajama pants in his tiny hands.
I bend down and blow a raspberry on his neck. He laughs and lets me go, walking over to the sand table set up in one corner of the deck. His favorite yellow shovel immediately gets picked up to tunnel through the sand.
I refocus on Holden, who’s taking another shot. Theswishis audible over the sound of Joey’s digging as the ball drops through the net.
“Sydney was okay with that?”
“Of course. She knows how hectic your schedule is. She offered to make food and bring it over, but I told her you’d already stocked the fridge with enough to feed twelve.”
I roll my eyes. “Well, you eat about as much as three adults and half of Joey’s food ends up on the floor for Milo, so…”
Holden chuckles but doesn’t deny it.
“Are you sure Sydney was okay with coming later? Lana usually wakes up even earlier than Joey does. Sydney will have to feed her two breakfasts.”
“Then she’ll feed her two breakfasts.”
I nod, gnawing on my bottom lip.
I feel guilty, I guess. I found out I was pregnant with Joey during my final year of vet school, about six months after me and Holden got married. We weren’t trying, but we weren’t doing a whole lot to prevent a pregnancy either.
Holden was ecstatic. So were my parents and my siblings. And my soon-to-be-stepmother, Elena. She and my dad are getting married next summer. I’m not sure it’ll ever not be weird for me. If I’ll ever get over wishing my parents’ marriage hadn’t ended. But they both seem happy, and that’s what I try to focus on.
Sydney was the person I was most nervous to tell about my pregnancy. She never finished college. Never dated her child’s father, much less married him. Didn’t have her parents to rely on for support.
I knew she’d be thrilled for me, but I was—am—hyperaware of how different our parenting journeys have been.
Harrison stepped up. He and Sydney share custody of Lana, alternating weekends and holidays. He pays child support. But they’ve never lived together. Sydney has never been able to sleep in on a Sunday she has Lana because someone else has already taken care of everything. I wouldn’t blame her for resenting how much easier I have it.
Holden is an amazing dad and an incredible partner. He made the decision to retire from basketball when he could have continued playing so he could support me and not miss any of Joey’s childhood. He’s a stay-at-home-dad, and also assistant coaches the high school’s basketball team. I can’t imagine what these past couple of years would have been like without him, and I’m in awe of Sydney’s strength.
I drain the rest of my mug. A quick glance at Joey confirms he’s still happily shoveling his sand, so I set the ceramic cup on the railing and descend the deck stairs. The cold pavers that lead from the deck to the edge of the driveway wake me up more than the hot coffee did.
Holden takes a shot, watching me approach. It was the first thing he did when we bought this place, installing a hoop above the garage door. It reminds me of his driveway across from mine, and I know that was exactly his intention.
He makes the shot, of course.
But I catch the rebound, approaching him with the basketball clutched to my chest.
“Thank you,” I tell him.
He grins. “For what?”
I mean to saytaking care of Joeyorcleaningorletting me sleep in. But what comes out is “This life.”
His smile softens. “You never have to thank me for that, flower.”
The doorbell rings at ten on the dot. Sydney is nothing if not punctual.
