Page 61 of Downforce

“Did I show you this?” Alyssia asks, holding up a fire engine red bib with Travis’ face on it.

“No way.” I laugh. “Did he have that made for him?” I watch as Alyssia secures the velcro around the back of Lucky’s head.

“Of course he did,” she says. “He showed up with it one day last week.”

“It is kind of adorable,” I say.

Alyssia nods, smoothing the bib over Lucky’s chest.

“And it comes in handy.” She uses the edge to wipe a line of drool that’s dripping down my nephew’s chin.

“How’s the teething going?” I ask.

“Terrible. Poor guy was up until midnight last night crying and rubbing his gums.”

I shake my head. “I don’t envy you at all. He just got over the flu it seems like.”

She nods. “We both did. But your mom says it’s normal and that Trav had a pretty hard time teething.”

I smile, knowing Alyssia has my mom to talk to about baby things since she can’t talk to her own mother about it.

“But while thinking about his teething, I actually started to cry last night.”

My eyes widen in concern. “Was it that bad?” I look over at my nephew, who’s now using one of his fists as a chew toy.

“No.” She shakes her head. “It was all me. He’s teething, which means he’s getting bigger. I’ll blink and he’ll be in kindergarten. Then he’ll be graduating high school and going off to college. He’s almost out of the door.”

I can’t stop the grin that spreads when I see her eyes actually watering.

“I think we still have a few more days before he’s out of the house and married with a kid of his own on the way.”

“Oh my god, he’s going to get married one day,” she whines.

“How about we just make it through lunch?”

Alyssia laughs at herself, and I tickle Lucky’s belly.

“Can you let your mom and me make it through lunch before you find the love of your life, little man? Huh?” He gives me a gummy, drool-filled smile and my heart melts.

“I suppose we might have a little more time,” Alyssia says.

“Right? He’ll probably have to learn how to use a knife and fork before he leaves the nest.”

“And be potty-trained.”

“That too.”

Our laughter is broken up by our waitress approaching with menus and a plate of bread and dipping oil for the table.

“Can I?” I hold up a piece of bread and gesture to Lucky.

“Of course.” She waves me off and begins taking a look at the menu.

I start to hand Lucky the piece of bread, but when his chubby little hand reaches for it, I tug it back. It’s not on purpose or one of those cute little games one likes to play with babies.

Did you remember to wash your hands? What if your fingers have infected the bread and he gets sick?

The thoughts start.