49. Graham
GRAHAM
B en and Gemma arrive at our house the next afternoon, politely saying nothing about what a disaster it is at present—that’s what happens when you’ve only lived somewhere for two weeks and you have a four-month-old, but it certainly doesn’t help to have your wife simultaneously discover that some designer once made tiny baby shoes and they can still be bought new in the box on eBay if she enters auctions rather than helping you unpack.
Gemma sighs as her phone buzzes. “Your mother is already asking if we’re sure we don’t want her to come over,” she tells Ben, showing him the message. “If I can take care of a puppy, I can take care of a baby.”
Keeley’s smile fades and Ben laughs. “Gemma, save those jokes for after they leave or he’s going to have to drug Keeley to get her out of here.”
He isn’t wrong—Keeley’s love for our daughter is a staggering thing, and I suspected it would be.
It’s a big part of the reason she’s only going back to work half-time when she starts at the hospital in a week.
The other part is that she just realized there are eight seasons of Love Island UK and she and Daisy have only watched two of them.
She told me and Daisy last week that Jonny from season two is a douche and if Daisy brings home a guy like that, she’ll make sure he’s dead by morning. Our daughter gave me a big toothless grin when she said it—Daisy looks like me, but she’s an O’Keefe through and through. I’m in so much trouble.
“I typed up some instructions,” Keeley says, handing Gemma the packet.
“You’re only going to be gone for one night, right?” Gemma asks. “Because this has me worried you’re actually taking off for Europe.”
“Just one night.” Keeley pulls Daisy close. “We’ll be back first thing in the morning.”
“We’ll be back late tomorrow afternoon ,” I correct, pressing my lips to the top of Daisy’s head. “And we’re not going to get any surfing in at all if we don’t get out of here.”
Keeley concedes, placing Daisy into Gemma’s outstretched arms. “Just make sure you put her on her back when she’s asleep, okay? And you can’t put breast milk in the microwave. Use the bottle warmer. Are you sure you remember how to—”
“I’ve used your bottle warmer at least ten times,” says Gemma. “Stop worrying. We’ll put her on a leash and take her for loads of walks and she’ll be fine.”
“Just so we’re clear, you know she can barely support her own—”
“Keeley,” I groan, “she knows . And I’d really, really like to get on the road.”
We exchange a glance, and her lashes lower in the way they do when she’s thinking about sex. Which is surprisingly often, even for Keeley. I’m a lucky man.
We say our goodbyes and head out. Keeley doesn’t notice there are no surfboards on the roof, and she’s so busy telling me about some couple she likes on Love is Blind that we are well into town before she even notices we’ve gone the wrong way.
“Hey,” she says, “you realize we’re not on the PCH, right?”
“Yeah, we’re making a pitstop.” I pull into a parking lot. “We’re here, by the way.”
She frowns at the building’s shiplapped facade. “I’m hoping it’s a sex club, but I doubt it because it’s too early for that. Why are we here?”
I take a quick breath. “This is where I proposed. I figured this was a good place to tell you how it all happened.”