27. Daire
27
DAIRE
Thank fuck for winter break. Getting used to taking care of the every need of an infant while attending classes and practices would’ve been a nightmare.
I unload the stroller from the trunk while Rosie takes Sammy out of his car seat.
I tested out the stroller when we bought it, to make sure I could get it to open up and fold down fairly quickly, but for some stupid reason, I’m struggling.
The whirl of the sliding door closing on the minivan signals Rosie’s approach.
She’s got a blanket wrapped around him to shield him from the cold on the quick journey from the car into the mall. My dad and brother left this morning, and we decided it would be good practice to get out with Sammy and practice parenting away from the comfort of home for a while.
“Did we bring the diaper bag?”
I blink at Rosie, my stomach sinking. “I didn’t grab it.”
She groans, biting her lip. “I didn’t either. We’re idiots.”
“We’re new at this,” I argue. “We’re going to f—mess up.”
She rocks Sammy, watching me struggle to open the stroller. “Need some help?”
“No.” Hands on my hips I glower at the folded-up monstrosity. “I can handle this.”
I push the buttons on either side and lift, then shake it, but it doesn’t release.
She cocks her head to the side, lips pursed. “I’m pretty sure you’re doing it wrong.”
“No. This is right.” I shake it again, and the thing stays locked.
Sammy gives out a small, irritated cry.
“Shh,” Rosie hushes sweetly. “I know you’re cold. Your daddy is being stubborn.”
“I’m not stubborn,” I bite out between my teeth. “I just know I can do this.”
“Mhm. Sammy and I will head on in and wait for you where it’s warm.”
“Good idea.” I lean over, pressing a kiss to Sammy’s beanie-covered head. “I won’t be long.”
She gives me a skeptical look, one brow raised, that I ignore.
It takes me fifteen minutes and the help of a guy walking by who says he has the same stroller to get it opened up. I try not to think about what kind of struggle I might have folding it up again. That’s a problem for future Daire.
Inside the mall, I text Rosie to ask where she is.
Rosie: Food court.
Heading that way, I scan the people I pass, looking for anyone I recognize. I don’t know why I care—after my recorded meltdown, practically the entire campus knows I have a kid.
My stomach roils at the memory of all the alcohol I drank that night.
Never again.
The mall is packed with people shopping and returning Christmas gifts, so it takes far longer than it should to navigate the empty stroller to the food court. I search the crowded tables for Rosie and find her waving her arm to get my attention.
Parking the stroller beside the table, I pull out a chair and plop down.
“Took you long enough,” she snickers. There’s a cup of Auntie Anne’s pretzel nuggets in front of her.
I snag one and pop it into my mouth with a grin.
“Hey, those are mine. Get your own.” She swats my hand when I reach for another.
“Nice try.” I bite into my successfully stolen second piece. “I forgot how good these are.”
Laughing, she puts Sammy in the stroller and straps him in. “I always get them when I’m at the mall. It’s a tradition. Right, Sammy?” She taps the baby’s nose.
He giggles and reaches for her finger. She smiles at him as he holds tight, but when he tries to bring it to his mouth, she gently pries his fingers loose.
I take a third pretzel bite, earning myself another glare. “I can get you more.”
She perks up. “Before we leave?”
“Sure.” I make a mental note to swing back by here and get another order to take with us.
“Will you FaceTime my mom with me?”
The idea of telling her mother about Sammy fills me with dread—not because of what she might say or think about me, but because there’s a good chance she’ll say something hurtful to Rosie. I won’t be able to hold back if she does.
“Tonight?”
She puckers her lips and crosses her eyes at Sammy. He squeals with delight.
And me?
Fuck, I fall a little more.
Love.
That word echoes in my brain.
I’m falling in love with my fake wife.
It was the one rule I gave her—no falling in love.
I never expected to be the one to break it.
“Are you okay?”
The question snaps me back to reality, the sounds and smells of the food court coming back into focus.
“Sorry.” I clear my throat. “I zoned out. What did you say?”
“I said tonight is probably as good as any.”
“For what?”
She tosses a pretzel nugget at me, but I catch it and pop it into my mouth. “To talk to my mom, you idiot.”
“Oh, right.” I rub the back of my head. “Yeah, we’ll call her tonight.”
“Good.” She stands and unlocks the wheels of the stroller. “Well, don’t just sit there,” she scolds when I stay seated. “We have to get Junior some more clothes. I didn’t get enough. Who knew a baby could poop through so many outfits in one day?”
“Right, clothes.”
That’s why we’re here, after all.
That and there was some designer purse Rosie wanted to look at.
I scoop up the trash and toss it. Then I fall into step beside her and peek over at my son.
Three of us.
A family.
My family.
I like the sound of that way too much.