Chapter 17 - Percy
Enya was six weeks old, and she ruled our lives and communicated with screaming, grunting, and the occasional smile.
“Your turn.” I nudged Larkin with my foot at five in the morning as Enya announced she was hungry, and her urgent cries told us she wasn’t waiting around.
Larkin was already up because, like me, he’d learned it was imperative the seconds between our daughter’s first cry and her suckling be as short as possible.
The moment he picked her up, her cries became muted as he padded down the hall toward our room and spoke to her about the weather and if she loved her crib as he brought her back to me and snuggled her into my side.
“Hello, hungry girl.” She latched on, and Larkin climbed into bed. We bookended our daughter, and my mate slung an arm over both of us.
As Enya suckled, I studied the room which was more cluttered than when I’d moved in. My books, our daughter’s toys, blankets, and burp cloths covered every surface, and even though we cleaned every day, we kept finding tiny pieces of the eggshell from Enya’s birth.
We were muddling along, learning how to be a family, parents, and mates.
Initially, Larkin had put everything away, even though seconds later, I'd drag it out again and leave it on the kitchen island or a nightstand in our bedroom.
It was a process of him getting used to everything not being in its place, but I also had to be more mindful of putting things away when necessary.
“Is it too early for coffee?” My mate put our daughter over his shoulder and patted her back.
“It’s never too early.” I made no move to get up, knowing my mate would make it for me. He preferred doing it, saying he understood the machine better than me. But I’d caught him chatting and patting it, which I refused to do. Urging it to be faster when I needed a shot of caffeine was my MO.
Larkin appeared as I was holding Enya, and he handed me a coffee. We'd perfected the art of one-handed coffee drinking and never spilled a drop, thanks to our shifter reflexes.
“Briggs texted in the middle of the night and asked if we're coming to the thing on Saturday.” It was a barbecue, not a competition, and it was being held at The Sidedoor.
Hallie and Janice were organizing it, having become great friends since the baby shower, and the guest list was the crews from both stations and their families.
“I’d love to go.” My mate glanced at me for confirmation, and I nodded.
The Lennox Cup had ended without a winner, and the trophy sat in a display case at The Sidedoor.
Joint training exercises had now replaced the competitiveness, which was Larkin’s idea.
There were monthly sessions where both stations shared skills and resources.
Station 12 had better equipment, while Station 9 had scrappier instincts and Tom.
By the third session, Colin and Briggs were arguing about pump pressure as though they'd been crew mates for years.
The Sidedoor’s back patio was strung with lights when we arrived. Colin was manning the grill, with Briggs as his supervisor. Hallie and Janice had set up a beanbag toss tournament.
My dads were sitting near the bar. My alpha dad was telling anyone who'd listen that Enya was the smartest baby he’d ever met, while my father patted his arm when he exaggerated.
Larkin's parents had driven down again, and when they could get a word in, they chatted to my father about baby milestones.
Tom had peered into the baby carrier and waved to our daughter who responded with a big smile. He asked if he could pick her up and proceeded to introduce her to everyone present, even though they’d already met her.
I wandered to the bar, and Harold poured me a lemonade.
“I should get a T-shirt saying, ‘It was all me.’”
Perhaps this was bar humor. “What’s that?”
He jerked his head at my mate who was standing at the barbecue. “Larkin came to me asking for your contact details.”
“Ahhh.” I was aware of that but had never spoken to Harold about it. He was so proud of himself for technically violating my privacy, but I forgave him.
We clinked glasses. “To bartenders.”
Harold nodded at Tom who was holding Enya at arm’s length and scrunching up his nose. But Larkin whisked her inside.
“Why did you do that?” Janice had her hands on her hips and was glaring at Hallie who’d altered one of the beanbag boards without informing her.
Dustin waltzed in wearing a “Station 12 is better than Station 9” tee, and Briggs demanded he take it off.
I ignored it and sipped my lemonade as the noise level grew, and my mate returned with our daughter.
He glanced around the gathering. “Things are going well.”
I shrugged. “Families are messy.”
“Just like ours. Yours, mine, and Enya’s.”
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