Selene continued as Cayo snoozed away, “How is he doing?”
“Mmm, well. He’s six months old, but three adjusted. He’s hitting milestones slow and steady. In his own time, you know?” Flora wasn’t worried because their pediatrician wasn’t worried, and of course she’d read every book and article and blog and message board that had ever been published about both adoption and preemies. Gwen remained adamant that he was a rebel determined to do things his own way, and that worked for Flora.
“And how are—” Something crashed in the background on Selene’s end of the phone call. “Nyla! Outside with that!” During a brief back and forth, Flora watched Cayo’s little mouth curl and pout and suckle on nothing. “Sorry,” Selene said, “I cannot believe Dad thought it was a good idea to get her a bow and arrow set.” Flora laughed and Selene scoffed, “Just wait until he gets Cayo obnoxious presents, and then we’ll see how funny it is.”
“Oh gosh.” Flora groaned. “He’s already way too excited about having a boy to roughhouse with. I can’t even imagine...”
“Maybe Cayo will be a gentle and sensitive child like you, with an interest in fashion like Gwen, and you’ll be safe.”
Cayo grunted and kicked out his fat little legs, scowling the way he did when he was gearing up to scream for food. “I kind of doubt that will happen.”
His NICU nurse had called him a fighter, while he squalled thorough her demonstration of the specific way he liked to be swaddled and the exact angle to hold him for a minimum of reflux vomiting and how to keep him awake through a feeding without upsetting him so much that he’d scream instead of eating—take off his socks and tickle his feet; still not a guarantee.
Cayo grunted again, louder, fists balled and legs stretching. Flora dropped a bottle in the warmer and stroked his soft cheek. She hoped for Cayo that he’d have Gwen’s headstrong bravery and Flora’s unshakable faith, ending up with a fiery tenacity that would serve him well in his life. She hoped many things for Cayo. The whole world at his fingertips and a life stuffed to the brim with happiness wasn’t too much to ask, was it?
“It’s… I love it, being a mom. I do.”
Her hesitation must have given her away. “But…” Selene said, her tone nudging Flora to continue.
“But I—” Flora shook her head. She shouldn’t complain, she’s so lucky to have everything she does: Cayo, Gwen, this amazing little family of theirs. “Nothing. I’m just tired, I think.”
Selene tsked. “Flora. Come on.”
“I don’t know.” Flora sighed, hauling herself up with the phone tucked on one shoulder and the stirring baby on the other. “Every choice feels so monumental. Should I stay home with him in the fall even though I’m already going stir-crazy? Is he sleeping enough? Are pacifiers bad? Is thumb-sucking bad? Is swaddling bad now, too?” Once she started talking, all her fears and worries tumbled out as if floodgates were thrown open. “Is it too soon to start solid foods? But then if we wait it might be too late. And Selene, I nicked his little pinky finger when I was cutting his nails and he bled. I cried harder than he did; it was horrible. Then a few days ago this old lady at the grocery store yelled at me because he wasn’t wearing a hat, but it’s hot out. Maybe she meant a sun hat? Should he always be wearing a hat, Selene? I don’t know! I don’t know the infant hat rules!”
She looked down at Cayo as he blinked his eyes open. “I’ve failed the first tests of motherhood. I really thought I’d know what I was doing by now.” Flora’s eyes filled with tears just as Cayo let out his first cry for food. Selene laughed. She laughed.
“Oh, thanks.” Flora sniffed.
“No, it’s just. Oh, Flora. I have two kids, one in elementary school, even, and I don’t know what I’m doing. This is the secret to parenthood that no one tells you until you’re in the club: We’re all just making this up as we go along.”
“Really?” Flora checked the bottle, which was still a little cold. “Because Gwen looks at me like I’m some reincarnated Mother Earth and I keep thinking I should be. Shouldn’t I? I read books and articles and chatted in message boards. I babysat. I am a teacher, for heaven’s sake.”
“Not the same,” Selene said. There was another crash. “I swear to—listen, I have to run; my house is in shambles. I mean more so than usual. Just—parenthood is boot camp, Flora. You have to slap on a helmet and some waterproof boots and pray that no one gets a concussion. Do your best. Love him. There are no hat rules, I promise. You’re fine. Be kind to yourself when you mess up, because you will. And if you feel overwhelmed, tell Gwen. You don’t have to stoically handle everything without a peep of complaint, okay? You and Gwen are opposite sides of the same stubborn coin, I swear.”
Flora sniffled again. “Thanks, Selene.”
“Anytime.” Selene, already in the middle of sending someone to timeout, ended the call.
Finally the bottle was ready, and it was once again back to the rocking chair. He ate quickly, one hand gripping her braid tightly as usual, legs kicking, feet digging into her stomach. The view outside the window behind him was a boat, getting ready to undock and head out to sea; the flaps of sails unfolding, rudders flapping and making little rippling waves on the flat surface of the water.
Cayo didn’t like being put down. He seemed to need twenty-four-hour physical reassurance that someone was there. But after a meal he was usually satiated enough for Flora to use the bathroom or eat or, if she were very fast, shower.
Today, however, Gwen only had one fitting later in the day, and Flora had a leisurely morning for once. She took a bath and ate hot food, called her dad and mom, and then called Selene. So she was content to hold Cayo after the first bottle, marvel at him, and smile at him when he looked up. He smiled back at her, and she could float right away into the clouds at the surge of love she felt every time he did.
She didn’t know. She had no idea. She’d had plenty of love in her life. But this. As if her heart could crack down microscopic fissure lines from the intensity. “I love you. Always. Forever.”
Cayo grinned another drooling, gummy grin: the most beautiful smile to ever be smiled.
“Okay, hand him over.” Gwen rushed in with a racket of dropped bags and the double slam of the door rapidly opening and closing. Flora was thankful the baby wasn’t sleeping, because he certainly wouldn’t have been after that, but she couldn’t fault Gwen for being so anxious to see him.
In fact, the look on Gwen’s face when Cayo directed a gummy smile her way made Flora’s chest tight with joy. Watching Gwen fall head over heels in love with their son had brought a surprising new depth to their relationship; she got to watch the person she loved fall in love.
Flora stood for a quick kiss, and then passed Cayo into Gwen’s impatient hands. “We’re doing okay. The three of us?” Her voice wavered, wanting to be sure it was true.
Gwen sat down and set Cayo across her legs so she could make funny faces at him and circle his little legs as if he were riding a tiny, invisible, upside-down bicycle. “I think so.” Face pinched with concern, she looked up at Flora.
“I just—” Flora picked at a scratch in the rocking chair as she confessed. “I’m so afraid of messing it up.” She’s supposed to be the one who was ready for this, who would take to mothering naturally as if she’d finally fulfilled her destiny. And here she was, crying over not putting a hat on her baby when she should have.
“Aw, Flor, hey.” Gwen tilted her head to the side, indicating she wanted Flora to sit on the couch with them. “We’re gonna mess up,” she said, once Flora tucked herself against Gwen’s side and let Cayo grasp her finger. “I mean, that’s why some people have more than one of these, right? Practice kid.”
Flora scoffed, shaking her head and sniffling a laugh.
“The fact that it matters so much to you to get it right means you’re an amazing mom. And I know that no matter what, you will love him and accept him fo
r who he is, and always stand by him…” She ran her hand down Flora’s braid and smiled. “But I already knew that.”
“We’re doing okay,” Flora said, this time without the waver of uncertainly in her voice.
“Well,” Gwen said, pumping Cayo’s fist in the air like he’s at a rock concert, “we do make a pretty kickass team.”
35
“I hope none of you were expecting a home-cooked meal,” Gwen says, carrying a stack of pizza boxes from the kitchen into the dining room. She passes Nico and Grady, who are at the front door wiping their feet and removing light coats. She plops the pizzas on the table where Flora and Clementine—who is on a brief stopover in Nashville before she begins her international tour—are chatting and making goofy faces at Cayo.
“Bubba’s been teething and not sleeping very well.” Gwen ruffles Cayo’s wild hair. “Bah!” he says and bounces like a jack-in-the-box in his high chair. “And with Flora back to work now, we’re eating all of our meals from takeout containers or while standing in front of the fridge.” And usually with the baby on her hip while he tries to grab anything within reach.
Clementine is in a delicate white lace sheath dress that is expensive and dry-clean only, and she’s dangerously close to Cayo with his fists that go from his drooling mouth to whatever he can get at.
“You should have said! I’d have had something catered.” She tickles Cayo’s belly, and he flaps his arms and giggles.
“Catered dinner in the three hours you’re in town?” Gwen passes plates around.
“I’d have handled it,” Clementine dismisses.
Gwen doesn’t doubt it. Nico and Grady join them, and there’s chatter and updates: they’ve been gone and Clementine’s been on tour; Grady’s been in the studio and Nico’s been here and with Clementine and back out to New York and L.A.; and finally they’re all in the same place at the same time. The weirdness with Clementine has faded to a wisp of a memory. Gwen looks around the table, at this odd hodgepodge of people, of family, and is content that Gwen and Flora’s home is the beating heart in the center, not because of where it is, but because it’s where they all are.
“Oh, I finished little man’s blanket, finally.” One arm draped over the back of Nico’s chair, Grady is working on a slice of pepperoni. “It’s in the truck if you want it.”
“Uh, yeah.” Gwen takes a bite of her veggie pizza, then spoons a blob of sweet potato mush into Cayo’s mouth while she chews. “About time,” she teases. Grady makes at face at her and pops back outside.
“How’s the house-hunting going?” Flora asks, taking a turn feeding Cayo.
Nico scrubs a hand through his hair; he’s frustrated. “I think at this point we’re going to end up with more than one. Which is insane.” He shakes his head. “My life is insane.”
“I have more than one,” Clementine points out, nibbling her artichoke and sun-dried tomato slice.
“Making my point for me,” Nico dismisses with a jut of his chin. “But you know, Grady needs room to roam, and I need to be around civilized people, and we need a home but—”
“Sometimes you just get a little bit restless, a little more reckless.” Gwen finishes.
Nico dips his head as Grady bangs back into the house, wipes his feet, unfurls a blanket, and says, “Isn’t that a song lyric?”
Clementine raises her hand. “It’s mine.”
“Oh, Grady, the blanket is beautiful!” Flora says.
Cayo smacks his hands on his high chair tray and yells joyfully.
The blanket is zigzagging blocks of colors: brown, dark green, and light blue, repeating toward the center and ending with a bright, bold strip of orange. It matches Cayo’s room, it matches their house, it matches them.
“Memaw always made a blanket for new babies in the family. Felt right to keep up the tradition.”
Gwen takes the blanket and presses it to her cheek. It feels as if it were made from fairy wings, it’s so soft. “You’re gonna make me cry, you jerk.”
Grady winks, settles next to Nico, and places a kiss behind his ear.
“Bubba, look!” Cayo reaches for the blanket when Gwen gets close enough, but then she thinks better of it. “I’ll show it to him later. When he isn’t covered in sweet potato.”
Clementine leans over Cayo’s messy tray carefully. “He is a sweet potato, isn’t he?” Cayo slaps one wet, orange mush-covered hand on the pristine sleeve of her very expensive dress. She bolts back. “Oh!”
“Oh no! I am so sorry.” Flora dips a napkin in her water, frantically dabbing at Clementine’s sleeve. “We’ll pay for your dry cleaning!”
“It’s fine. I knew I was in the danger zone. Not like I’ve never been around babies.” She glances up at Flora, then Gwen, then over to Cayo. “I might even want one of my own someday.”
“Is that so?” Flora says, looking up from Clementine’s sleeve with a knowing grin. “Haven’t given up on love after all?”
“Eh, we’ll see.” She waves her other arm dismissively. “Maybe after I’m the top-selling country artist of all time and get that spot in the Hall of Fame, I’ll fall in love and other such nonsense.”
“Ah, romance isn’t dead after all,” Nico deadpans.
“Sure isn’t.” Grady kisses his cheek, his jaw and down his neck. Nico’s prominent ears go red.
“Anyway,” Clementine continues, “not like I’m all alone or anything.”
Gwen chews a bite of pizza. “Kevin, right? A real-life Whitney Houston and Kevin Costner bodyguard love affair, I knew it.”
“More like that three-headed hellhound she calls her hair and makeup team,” Nico chimes in.
“Or she really is with that one actor she stood next to that one time. The tabloids are never wrong, you know,” Grady says with his half-cocked grin.
“All right,” Clementine says with an imperious purse of her lips. “I was going to say I’m not alone because I have y’all, but I’m changing my answer now.”
Cayo interjects with a loud string of babbling. Flora wipes him off, cleaning his face and hands and the soft folds of his neck, which he loudly protests. She unties his bib and lifts him from the high chair. “What about you two? Kids?”
Nico clears his throat and shifts away from Grady to gulp some water. “I think we’ll just live vicariously through you guys.” He lifts his eyebrows at the sweet potato massacre left behind on the high chair, at Cayo squirming and squawking in Flora’s arms. “On occasion.”
Grady takes a big bite of pizza and says, “Oh, you should let us babysit! Have a night out. Or a nap. Alone time.” He winks again. “Whatever you need.”
Gwen has a brief, indulgent, sexy fantasy of her and Flora in some absurdly soft hotel bed with high-thread-count sheets and a feather duvet, of her body curved into Flora’s body with the late morning sun blocked by heavy curtains. They sleep and sleep and sleep. For hours.
“Oh my god,” Gwen groans. “That would be amazing, Grady.” Then she adds, joking as she starts to follow Flora to change Cayo before his bath and bedtime. “Nico, if you don’t marry him, I will.”
Flora laughs and hikes Cayo higher on her hip. “I never thought I’d say this, but I could be into that.”
“Grady’s insidious charm knows no gender or sexual orientation,” Clementine adds with an undignified snort.
“Okay, okay,” Grady drawls, his crooked smile and graveled laugh joining in.
Nico sits silent, his face neutral, thinking. This is the way he looks when he’s carefully considering a client’s request to go braless and strapless when it’s ninety-five degrees out and humid. Is the stunning gown worth the risk of letting melting double-sided tape be the only weapon against a sweaty nip-slip?
He tilts his head as he does when he’s made a decision, sips his water, and says, mildly, “You’re right, I should.”
Everyone stares
at him. Even Cayo goes quiet.
“I’m sorry,” Grady says slowly. “What should you do now?”
Nico places his glass back on the table, turns to Grady, and takes both his hands tightly in his own. He dips his head to catch Grady’s eyes. “How does a fall wedding next year sound?”
Grady’s mouth flaps without sound; his eyes blink as if he can’t quite believe Nico is sitting there in front of him. “Did you—are we—are you really—” He shakes his head and laughs, then tugs their joined hands to his chest. “Lord Almighty, you are gonna end me one of these days.”
Gwen recognizes the look of thrilled incredulity on Grady’s face. She’ll never forget that night she stopped and thought and realized for herself what it meant to make a choice, to be in charge of her own life and her own destiny. How it felt to put herself on the line, to take a risk even if it meant being rejected. What it was to look into her own future and know for sure that whatever else happened, it was Flora she wanted right there, walking it with her.
“Well?” Clementine finally broke the silence. “Don’t just leave us hanging! I have a flight to Toronto in one hour, boys. Chop, chop.”
Gwen can’t wait until Clementine starts dating. So much drama, so much passion, so many juicy details.
“Of course I’ll marry you,” Grady says. They stand and kiss and hug, and then everyone hugs in a big clumsy circle, and then Cayo cries because he needs a fresh diaper and sleep.
Maybe the key to a good relationship, Gwen thinks as she steps around the cats to get upstairs, is not only teamwork and compromise and commitment, but just enough reckless gambling to keep things interesting.
What could be crazier than love, after all?
“Hey, Small Fry!” Grady calls up the stairs after them. “I got three words for our next Vegas weekend: Swimming. With. Sharks.”
The End
Acknowledgments
Thank you to my family for putting up with my long absences, both mental and physical, and giving me the space I need to chase after my dreams. To my parents for their unwavering support. Thanks to my best friend for her enthusiasm; you’re probably the only person who thinks I’m cool, and I appreciate that. And to my siblings who definitely do not think I’m cool: thanks for keeping me humble. A special thanks to my IP family: the incredibly talented artist behind my beautiful cover, Victoria S, and my fellow authors who make my writing life so much richer. If writing is an island, I like to think that we’re all on it together, and that someone brought cocktails. To Annie, Candy, Choi, and Lex, too. There isn’t enough gratitude in the world for the belief, support, and encouragement you’ve given me, so: Thank you. I hope that’s a good start. Finally to every reader: Thanks for reading along, this journey would certainly be much lonelier without you.
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