Page 146 of Freefall

I look at my husband, then at our daughter, who is talking to her baby brother through my stomach like they're already best friends, and my heart swells.

“Yeah,” I say. “I’m ready.”

Nate

Daisy snores softly against my shoulder as I bring her into the house. She stopped letting us carry her a couple of years ago, but I didn't have the heart to wake her.

“Night, Dad,” she mumbles as I set her on the bed and bring the blanket up to her chin.

Three years ago, if someone had told me that I would be carrying my ten-year-old daughter to bed while my pregnant wife waited downstairs, I would have laughed in their face.

But life doesn’t always follow the plans you set out for yourself.

I kiss the top of her head. “Night, Daisy girl.”

Harper smiles when I get to the bottom of the stairs. “Today was nice.”

“It was.”

I was skeptical about this whole baby bloom at first, but somewhere between the awful themed games and watching everyone argue over who had to eat the cupcakes Skylar made, I got it.

Watching Emory balance a sleeping newborn on one shoulder while Luke chased after their eighteen-month-old spitfire of a little girl, all while Rowan attempted to climb the diaper cake, should have filled me with anxiety. If anything, it made me excited for what's to come.

Despite being five months pregnant, Skylar spent half the afternoon insisting she wasn't showing yet while everyone politely ignored the very obvious bump under her dress. Meanwhile, Declan followed her around the restaurant like a bodyguard, only for her to swat him away every five minutes, insisting she’s merely pregnant, not infirm.

Where have I heard that before?

Allie insisted on catering everything herself, which meant Ash got dragged into the kitchen as her unwilling sous chef. We could hear them bickering from the dining room until the kitchen suddenly went quiet.

Ten minutes later, they walked out looking thoroughly disheveled, Allie with flour in her hair and Ash wearing a smug grin.

At the end of the night, Jace stood to make a toast. He has been sober for two years and three weeks. I watched Harper wipe away tears while he thanked everyone for believing in him when he couldn’t believe in himself.

Even Harper’s parents came. Things are still a little rocky with her mom. I don’t know if she will ever truly get past what happened, but I caught them laughing together while they folded tiny baby onesies, so that’s got to count for something.

A knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts.

Harper looks over from the living room. “Were you expecting someone?”

I don’t answer as she narrows her eyes and opens the door.

Harper takes the grease-stained brown paper bag and thanks the delivery driver. The smell makes her eyes widen.

“No way!” she says, peeking inside. “You ordered disco fries?”

“With extra gravy.”

She shakes her head as if she’s having trouble believing her eyes.

“You barely ate today,” I say. “Thought you might be hungry when we got home.”

Harper opens up the Styrofoam container and steals a fry as we both sit at the island. She grabs a fork and keeps eating, dipping her mozzarella-covered fries into the gravy every so often. “Want some?” she says between bites.

I laugh and let her feed me a forkful.

They’re a little soggy from having been in a takeout container, but they still taste exactly like I remember.

Once we’ve made it a third of the way through the pile of fries, Harper stops eating and stares into the container. “You know…” She drops her fork. “We didn't meet for the first time that night.”