Page 164 of The Trouble with Flings

His voice floats into my dream, warm and enticing, easing me out of it.

It’s the low, quiet voice he only uses with her, softer than his regular tone, slower, like he has all the time in the world and nowhere else to be at three in the morning. I lie still for a moment, listening, and that now-familiar feeling that I get every time I hear him loving her washes over me. The one that’s almost otherworldly, like I’m floating and my heart is expanding.

The soft sound of her utching—a term my mother coined when we were babies for what sounds like a repetitive precursor to a cry that never quite makes it out—is the sweetest background to his voice. Only three weeks into motherhood, and I’ve already learned there are a hundred different sounds our baby makes while sleeping. She grunts, sighs, cries, makes these adorable little squeaks, and more.

The room glows with the blue-gray light of early dawn, the ocean beyond the windows a dark silhouette against the horizon. The house is quiet save for the steady rhythm of the waves and the soft murmur of Fitz’s voice.

I roll onto my side and find him in the dim glow of the night-light, standing at the bassinette in the T-shirt and sweats he fell asleep in just a couple of hours ago, Viviana Joy cradled against his chest. She’s so small. Six pounds, seven ounces of pure will and fury, and he holds her like she’s made of glass, one big hand spanning her entire back, her tiny fair head tucked under his chin.

Our little angel graced us with her presence September fourth at 2:37 in the morning, after an excruciating labor, during which I could not get the epidural fast enough, but Viviana was worth it. She was the picture of absolute perfection with ten tiny fingers, impossibly small toes, a dusting of light-brown peach fuzz on her beautiful head, and lungs made for being heard. Her name came easily once we met her. Viviana means full of life, and in the end, I couldn’t abandon my family’s ridiculous J-naming theme. Choosing Joy was easy, too. She fills us with it.

“I know,” Fitz whispers to her. “I know, Little Bean. I’ve got you.”

She doesn’t know yet that he means that in every possible way, but she’ll learn.

I did.

He places her gently on the changing table without inciting more than a whimper, which is nothing short of a miracle since Viviana Joy Stone-Silver did not inherit his patience. He talks her through the diaper change, low and steady, one hand resting on her belly while the other snags a diaper, and she quiets under his voice the way she quiets under nothing else.

I watch him, this incredible, patient, loving man who held my hand through eight hours of labor and cried the second he saw our precious little girl, the natural-born daddy who has gotten up every single night for the past three weeks to change her and bring her to me to nurse without ever being asked, and I think about how I’m supposed to pack her up and take her back to New York in a few weeks.

I often think about those moments after she was born, when they placed her on my chest and I had the overwhelming sense of finally feeling whole, like the three of us had created our own little universe, and looked up through the blur of tears to find tears streaming down his face, too.

The girls were right when they said having a baby changes you in unexpected ways, because I still cry sometimes when I’m holding her or watching Fitz hold her or watching her sleep or thinking about her. I cry from the sheer depth of my love for our little girl…and for Fitz. I don’t understand how I went from being someone who never shed a tear to this person who can’t hold them back. I’m hoping they’re hormone driven, and they’ll eventually level out. I even get choked up when I catch myself looking around this beautiful life we’ve built and realize it’s actually mine. Ours.

Fitz says it’s my softer side feeling safe enough to come out to play. My mother says it’s love.

My parents stayed for the first ten days after Viviana was born. They fell in love with her instantly. I walked into the nursery one morning and found my father holding her in the glider with tears in his eyes, telling her stories about all the places he planned to take her someday, while my mother stood by, interjecting the reasons our little bean needed to see those places.

The rest of my family came to visit, too, but they stayed at the resort and took approximately four million pictures of Viviana. Since then, the texts, calls, and video chats haven’t stopped. Mia came back from Santorini with a diamond ring on her finger and love shining from every inch of her. Reggie still looks at her like he won the lottery.

Honestly, he probably did.

I’m sure we’ll see a lot more of them.

Fitz’s family has been wonderful, too. Margot and Alexander have mastered the balance between showing up and giving us space. They check in often, never overstay, and always seem to know exactly when we need help and when we need to figure things out ourselves. Victory and Wells are using us as a how-to guide, as they’re now trying to get pregnant. Keira keeps us supplied with fresh pastries, and Bellamy took so many videos, she could have a second career as a baby-life influencer if she doesn’t fall head over heels while she’s on InstaLove and forget anything else exists. She left for Los Angeles a week after Viviana was born. Fitz has called her every single day. I can’t imagine how overprotective he’s going to be with our little bean.

Then there’s Grant and Jules. As newer parents, they understand exactly what this fog of love and exhaustion feels like and have never once made us feel like we should have it more figured out than we do.

The Remingtons and Steeles have rallied, too, along with Holden, Erin, and half the community, bringing gifts, casseroles, stories, and offers to babysit. Deirdra calls it the baby parade. I can’t believe her baby girl, Ava, is almost three months old already.

It turns out babies don’t just create parents. They create communities, and ours has made these first weeks a little less overwhelming.

This summer, I’m not the only one who found their community.

Holden found his people, too.

He’s been hanging out with a group of kids who love art, sailing, and just enough mischief to keep life interesting. He and Roddy really clicked, and Roddy has been teaching him how to sail. After Holden finished painting the map at the marina, Roddy insisted on throwing a ribbon-cutting ceremony, complete with a dedication from Mayor Osten and entirely too much fanfare. Holden pretended to be nonplussed by every second of it, but the pride in his eyes told the truth, and the best part was that he invited his old friends, and they were there to see him and his new stomping grounds.

Next month Holden and his island friends are starting a new project I coordinated for them. They’re going to paint a mural at the community center. Watching him come into his own and embrace the island was like witnessing someone going from merely surviving to fully living.

I feel like that, too.

Life has a funny way of helping us find exactly where we’re supposed to be. It keeps moving forward, paving new paths, new lenses through which we see the world…and ourselves. And somehow, through all of it, I ended up here, in this bed, on this beautiful island, watching the sunrise creep across the Atlantic while the man I love swaddles our daughter.

In just a few short weeks, I’m supposed to return to New York, to my apartment and my job. Back to the life I fought tooth and nail to build. Fitz is fully prepared to move and start his new life in the city. He bought a beautiful brownstone near Victory and Wells weeks before Viviana was born.

Lenore was right. He really is a prince, willing to give up this slice of paradise he knows and loves and move away from his family and lifelong friends whose love and support are waiting for him—for us—around every corner. He’s uprooting himself from the very community he’s worked so hard to take care of and honor through the resort, to relocate to a city that couldn’t care less if we existed.