“Sometimes reading her a book calms her down,” Annabel says. “There’s plenty on the table beside the chair up there. First door on your left. Oh! And her sleep suit should be on the bed.”
“Got it. And don’t you dare come up. I got this. Finish your dinner.”
I don’t ask if I need to change the baby because I already know the answer. I head upstairs and change Maisie on the bed, where Bel has a makeshift changing station set up, complete with foam pad and a caddy of diapers and wipes.
Seems counterintuitive because changing poopy diapers is the pits. But I find myself smiling. “Okay, Miss Maisie. Just so you know, we had a running joke slash competition in my house over how many wipes it took to clean up my brother Rhett after a blowout. So although this is taking four…welp, make that six wipes, it doesn’t bother me.”
Maisie blows out her lips at that. I swear, you can’t not smile at this kid.
“All righty,” I say, zipping up her onesie. “Mommy said you’d like me to read a book. I love that you’re into reading already. I’d invite you to our book club, but it’s a little racy for someone your age. Honestly, I can’t even tell you the name of it without getting in trouble. Let’s see what books we have here.”
Settling in the chair by the window with Maisie in my arms, I grab a book from the little table to my left. It’s a story about a koala, each cardboard page featuring a different texture for the baby to touch.
Maisie actually pays attention as I flip the pages. I brush my lips against her downy angel fuzz. She curls into the crook of my arm, and I revel in the weight of her, her warmth, the way she fits perfectly in my lap all snuggly and sweet in her pajamas. It’s like the best kind of hug you can imagine, times infinity.
I bring her hand to the book to feel the koala’s furry ears, and she giggles, leaning forward in an effort to put the book in her mouth.
She’s enjoying this. Me, sharing one of my great loves with her.
The ache in my chest turns into what feels like a full-blown cardiac event.
It takes work to get the baby down. But I’m grateful for the distraction as I rock and shush. Bounce and sway.
Maisie finally falls asleep, head lolling over my forearm. And goddamn if the beauty of the moment doesn’t bowl me over.
I didn’t mean to fall in love with my best friend.
I definitely didn’t mean to fall in love with her little family.
But here I am, head over heels in love with a life that isn’t mine.
To: John Beauregard ([email protected])
From: Annabel Rhodes ([email protected])
June 12, 2014 7:57 AM EST
Subject: Sooooooo
I think I met someone. I haven’t told you about him because it was all so new, and I didn’t want to jinx it. But we went on our third date last night, and Beau…I’m pretty sure he’s the one.
Before you call bullshit, let me explain. His name is Ryan. We’ve moved in the same circles in Charlotte for a while (the finance world here is pretty small), but we only met face-to-face a month ago at a bar. We started talking. 3 AM rolls by, the bar is closing, and we’re still chatting. I got butterflies!
He works in syndicate and is apparently quite the rising star over there. Really smart, with the résumé to prove it. He’s from New York of all places. Did you ever see me ending up with a Yankee? Me neither!
Best of all, he wants kids. Three, just like me. Would it make you gag to say I think Ryan and I would make beautiful babies?
I don’t mean to gush, but I legit can’t stop smiling. We’re sneaking off to Charleston for the weekend. Gonna hit up this spot called The Pearl we keep hearing great things about. Ryan’s a foodie too. Sorry not sorry for the terrible line, but we really do get along like peas and carrots.
You were right about saving my perfume for the right guy. I can’t wait for you to meet him. Come visit us!
XO,
Bel
PS: I’ve been asked TWICE by co-workers about these rumors you’re retiring. Obvi I don’t say anything, but I am thinking of you and hope you’re okay.
PPS: If you are retiring, then maybe you, me, and Ryan can take a trip somewhere fun. Cabo again?
Chapter Twenty-Two
Annabel
Beau’s wearing a funny expression when he comes back downstairs.
“You okay?” I ask, wiping my hands on my napkin. “I was watching y’all on the monitor, and I saw she was still fussing for a bit there. She didn’t, like, scar you or anything with her screaming, did she?”
He looks at me, running a hand through his hair. His eyes—they’re full.