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“Yeah, they load him up on sugar and send him home to us for the crash.”

“One day we’re going to splurge on ice cream and send the littles back to Owen.” She rubs her belly. “And this little one.”

“Yeah,” I tell her as warmth swells inside me at the thought of growing old with this woman. “We’re going to be great grandparents.”

“The best.”

I nod toward her belly. “Have we decided if we want to know whether this one is a girl or boy?”

“Elise is dying to know.” Faye sighs. “My mom is, too. But I think the one we’re really killing is my dad. He sent me another photo of the cutest little dress today.” She lets her head fall to the headrest. “Mom said he bought it.”

I chuckle. “Doug wants a granddaughter.”

She nods. “In a perfect world, he’s got one of each, he says.”

“And if we give him another grandson?”

Her lips curl into a grin that would bring me to my knees if I was standing. “Then I guess we’ll just have to try again, won’t we?”

I groan. “You’re killing me.”

She laughs. “I want it to be a surprise. It was the best surprise last time.”

I shake my head through the remnants of my grin and breathe, “Killing me.”

35

EVERYTHING I’VE EVER DREAMED

OCTOBER 2017 – 28 YEARS OLD

Atiny pink face, heart shaped lips, hair like spun gold tarnished by the sunset and eyes like the water under a foamy sea, cloudy green.

My heart explodes.

I run my finger gently under the rim of her pink knit toque, feeling the warmth of her new skin. Mabel Wilder. My little girl.

My daughter.

I’m a father. Again.

Her little chest rises and falls with a quick breath as her eyes drift open. She begins to wiggle, a little worm in the cocoon of her blanket, popping one arm and then the second free.

She’s strong.

“Look at you,” I murmur quietly so as not to wake Faye. “Already breaking free from restraints.” Mabel makes a noise—a small baby gurgle. “You’re going to take this world by storm, aren’t you?”

As though in reply, she lets out a louder noise. It’s not quite a cry, but it’s enough to make Faye stir.

I stand from the hospital chair, carrying Mabel toward her mama. “I think she’s hungry again.”

Faye takes her daughter, popping her onto a breast and I watch as Mabel’s little hand kneads Faye’s chest as she drinks. Owen did the same thing.

My heart feels like it might very well burst. Emotion stings my nose, and I sniffle.

“She’s so perfect,” Faye marvels. “I can’t wait for Owen to meet her.”

Faye went into labor around midnight on October fifth. Unlike Owen, Mabel did come early. By three am, she was here, howling at the full moon where it spilled into the hospital room.