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“Tell me about it. I’m from Anaheim, and the summers here feel like a punishment.”
“A fellow Californian.” I smile, happy to have met someone from my state. “I’m from San Diego.”
“No way! I love meeting other Californians this far away from home. So, how old is your daughter?”
My stomach tightens again briefly. I peek down at Tilly sleeping peacefully against me before answering. “I’m actually her nanny.”
Lucy’s expression brightens, no hint of awkwardness to be found. “That honestly sounds amazing.”
“Really?”
She hums in agreement. “You get baby cuddles without permanently destroying your pelvic floor.”
A few months ago, the comment would’ve ruined my entire day. I would’ve smiled politely while privately mourning all the things my body might never experience. But sitting here surrounded by paint stains, exhausted moms and babies chewing on their own hands, it lands differently. It’s hilariously honest and exactly what I needed right now. A startled laugh bursts out of me, catching the attention of a few of the other parents.
“I’m serious,” Lucy continues solemnly. “You’re basically winning.”
The instructor claps her hands at the front of the room. “Alright everyone, welcome back!”
The class begins with simple sensory painting activities. Small paint-covered footprints appear on paper across the floor. Beside me, Lucy helps Axel slap both hands directly into yellow paint. Meanwhile, Tilly seems deeply fascinated by the paint brush nearby. I hold her while the instructor demonstrates ways babies respond positively to colors, textures and music.
Later, while helping Tilly press paint-covered feet onto paper for a keepsake print, a wave of tenderness sneaks up on me unexpectedly. I stare down at the little blue footprints, so small and temporary. One day she’ll grow up and this afternoon will blur into nothing more than a distant memory.
For years, I imagined moments like this differently. But sitting here now, the ache inside me doesn’t feel quite as sharp as it used to. Nobody cares that I’m not a mother. Nobody’s examining my relationship status or asking why my life doesn’t look the way it was supposed to by now. I’m simply a woman holding a baby she cares deeply about while sitting in a room full of people trying their best.
Tilly wiggles against me with a squeak and I smile down at her. “You’re kind of changing my life, you know that?”
9
OLLIE
By ten Saturday morning, I have already explained to Gio that sanding faster doesn’t actually mean sanding better and listened to Heather verbally destroy a supplier over the phone with such terrifying politeness that even Boone muted his music to listen. I’m glad the part-time receptionist who works two days a week wasn’t the one dealing with the issue.
Between tasks, my attention keeps drifting upstairs. I check my phone once more before shoving the device back into my pocket. No missed calls or texts. Nothing. The lack of emergencies should reassure me. Instead, my brain starts supplying increasingly irrational scenarios.
What if Peyton couldn’t find the extra formula? What if Tilly started crying and wouldn’t stop? What if Peyton realized after another morning alone with a newborn that this entire arrangement was insane and decided to drive back to California before lunch?
I know their first full day together went well yesterday. I even saw the photos of their art class and the cute little paintings. But I still worry. I have a feeling that won’t go away anytime soon.
“You gonna marry that phone or what?”
I look up to find Boone leaning against the side of the Challenger with a grin pulling at his mouth. His dark hair is tied back messily today, colorful tattoos disappearing beneath rolled sleeves stained with grease.
“Shut up,” I tell him, annoyance clear in my tone.
“You’ve checked it like six times in twenty minutes.”
“I’m making sure things are okay upstairs.”
“They’re fine.”
“I know.”
Boone raises an eyebrow. “Then why do you look like something is going to go wrong?”
I open my mouth, fully prepared to tell him to mind his own business, but honestly I don’t even know how to explain the feeling myself. Until Tilly came to live with me, my life was predictable. Now there are baby bottles in the fridge, infant-sized socks in my laundry basket, and a woman I jokingly call Miss California living in my apartment and watering plants in my kitchen sink. It’s actually wild how much can change in such a short period of time.
Before I can answer Boone, Heather’s voice cuts through the garage from reception. “Ollie, come here.”
