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“Like you’re waiting for me to disappear.”
I tighten my grip on the stroller handle. “I'm trying not to.”
She looks down, her thumb sliding over the condensation on her cup. “I’m sorry that I don’t know how to make any of it better.”
The honest answer is that I don’t either. I don’t know how to fix years of damage, abandonment, addiction and all the choices that led us here. If she were a car, I’d know where to start. I’d strip everything down and assess the damage. Then sand out what can be smoothed and replace what’s too broken to trust. But people don’t come with manuals and my sister isn’t something I can rebuild with tools. So I say the only thing I can.
“One day at a time, Liv.”
Livia nods and blinks quickly before turning her face toward Tilly. “She looks peaceful.”
I glance down. My niece’s mouth is slightly open, one hand curled against her cheek. “She is. What a sweet baby.”
My sister’s gaze lingers on her daughter a little longer, and for a brief moment, all I see is a mother looking at her child.
“I'm glad,” Livia whispers, her voice hoarse. She doesn't say anything else as we continue walking beside each other, but every now and then, I catch her glancing toward the stroller.
We walk through Dumbo and Brooklyn Heights without any destination in mind. Livia tires faster than she likes to admit, so we take breaks whenever I can come up with an excuse that doesn’t make her feel watched. Chase catches on quickly. He asks to stop for water. Then claims he needs to sit because his shoes are new. They aren’t, but Livia doesn’t call him out on it.
We end up in a park where families have spread blankets across the grass. Chase takes Tilly after I feed her, holding her against his chest with more confidence than he had this morning.
“You’re not terrible at that,” I say with a reassuring smile.
He looks down at her. “Thanks for the glowing review, old man.”
“I could put it on a mug so you can see it daily with your morning coffee.”
“Please don’t.”
Livia sits beside me on the bench, all quiet. Her gaze keeps drifting to Tilly and then away again, like looking too long hurts. Every instinct tells me to ask what she's thinking, if she's okay, if she wants to hold her. But I don't. I want my sister to come to Tilly on her own terms.
After a few minutes, Livia speaks. “She’s bigger.”
I swallow past the sudden pressure in my throat. “Yeah.”
“Her hair is getting a bit darker too.”
“A little, but not much.”
Livia nods, worrying at her fingers. She’s done that since we were kids, whenever the words got too big for her to push past her lips. “Does she sleep okay?”
“Tilly has better nights and worse ones like babies do,” I answer. “But she’s doing okay.”
Her eyes shine, but no tears fall. “Good. That’s really good,” she whispers.
Chase glances at me, and I know he heard it too. Neither of us says anything. We don't have to. The question wasn't really about sleep anyway.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, breaking the moment. I already know it's Peyton before I even check.
Peyton: How are my favorite Braxtons doing? *heart emoji*
Ollie: Alive. Mostly fed. One of us is wearing glitter headwear…
Peyton: If it's Chase, I'm going to need a picture.
I lift my phone and snap a picture of my siblings and Tilly on the bench next to me. Chase is mid-laugh, still holding our niece, and Livia is looking at him, the glittery stars on her headband catching the sunlight.
Peyton: This makes me so happy, handsome. It looks like you’re having fun!
