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“Fresh air also contains sunlight and other horrors.”
He snorts. “You’ll survive.”
“Fine. But if I pass out, that’s on you.”
“I’ll carry you home.”
“Like a princess?”
“More like a sack of potatoes.”
I glare at him. “Rude.”
“Accurate based on your current state,” Ollie points out not-so-kindly.
Shaking my head, I pretend to be offended, but the warmth in my chest refuses to cooperate. I take another sip of water, then glance at the bassinet. “I wish I could sleep as soundly as Tilly.”
“She sleeps better when there’s noise. I think she likes the sound of the city.”
“That’s because she’s a Brooklyn baby, meant to be here,” I murmur.
Ollie’s expression softens. “Yeah.”
Something flickers behind his eyes, a feeling I can’t fully name. Pride? Fear? Both? It makes me want to reach across and squeeze his hand. But I don’t. I keep my hands wrapped around the plastic bottle like it’s a lifeline instead.
“Okay,” I say, pushing myself up. “Give me fifteen minutes to not be green.”
“Take your time. I’m all packed.”
That makes me pause. “Packed?”
Ollie’s grin turns smug. “You’ll see what I mean.”
When we step outside a half hour later, he’s got a cooler, a backpack and stroller. My only job was to bring Tilly down. The weather is cloudy, thank fuck, because let’s face it: hangovers and July in New York City don’t go too well together.
We amble along, Tilly snoozing happily in the stroller, completely oblivious to my misery. I envy her, wishing I could curl up next to her.
“Feeling any better?” Ollie asks after a few blocks.
“Marginally. My head still hates me, but my stomach is no longer threatening mutiny.”
“Good. Turn left here.”
As we get closer to the park near the Brooklyn Bridge, the view opens up, and I stop short. The bridge stretches in front of us, massive and elegant. The water glints in the sunlight and boats move past us. People lounge on the grass, enjoying the summer weather. We settle on a patch of grass once Ollie lays out a checkered blanket. He hands me a granola bar and a bottle of water as we sit side-by-side.
“You’re spoiling me again.”
“Someone needs to.”
I take a bite of the granola bar and immediately regret it because chewing is too much effort. Still, having food in my belly helps. I can feel my body slowly climbing out of the pit of hangover hell.
“Here.” Ollie hands me another bottle, the color of the liquid faintly yellow. “Electrolytes.”
I squint at it. “Thanks. You aren’t half bad at this parenting thing.”
We sit in comfortable silence and my headache fades into the background, replaced by calm. There’s a dog chasing a tennis ball. A couple sharing iced coffee. A group of friends laughing over a joke. The breeze off the water lifts the edge of the blanket and cools the back of my neck.
Tilly sleeps beside us in the stroller bassinet that we removed from the frame. Every so often Ollie leans over to check on her. Once she wakes up with soft little noises, he lifts her out carefully and settles her between us on the blanket. The change in her mood is immediate. Her legs kick excitedly while she blinks up at the sky above us.
