What the Hell are Zowies? #2
I also know that hair like hers requires different care than mine does. So, once her hair is washed with her baby shampoo, I dare a peek at Google on my phone about how to care for her hair.
Oil, comb, leave-in conditioner. Got it.
Lottie is easy to get out of the bath. Even snuggly.
She burrows into her towel, feeling like a sweet squishy package in my arms as I carry her to the bathroom countertop.
My god, she feels so good in my arms. I hold her for a moment, looking at the two of us in the mirror.
I’m a total mess. My hair is all over the place and my face definitely looks tired.
I don’t think I’ve even had a drop of water to drink today, and my skin will let me know tomorrow.
But holding Lottie, I like the way we look together. I squeeze her closer, and she fits into me like she’s returning the embrace—even swaddled as she is.
“I love you, baby girl,” I murmur. For the second time today, tears spring to my eyes.
It feels like I’m not just saying it to her, but to the baby I lost—and to the girl I’d been in that hospital room, to the girl I was when my engagement ended, when I booked a flight to Italy, and when I opened the door to my New York apartment for the first time.
Even to the girl I was when I stood on Main Street in Lahoma Springs, wondering how the hell I was going to cross that picket line.
“We can do hard things,” I say, this time to Lottie as I sit her down. But then I look at my reflection in the mirror again, look myself right in the eye, and nod.
We can do hard things.
I watch about a half dozen TikToks on textured hair until I feel confident. Lottie doesn’t act like I’m doing anything wrong as I comb through her hair. It’s so much longer than I expected, but once the curls take shape in my hands, it shortens up into these sweet little spirals.
The sun is shining bright through the windows, so I dress us both in shorts and t-shirts, plus sweatshirts to make up for the lingering fog.
My shoes are soaking in soapy water, but I find a pair of women’s shoes in Ashton’s closet that are only a half size too small.
“Thank you, Sasha,” I whisper.
We head outdoors just as Bec is walking up with a plate of cookies.
“There’s my girls,” she coos. Lottie reaches for her in my arms, and I trade Bec for the cookies. “How’d the morning go,” she asks.
I shrug, not sure I want to reveal all the disasters. But one look at Bec, and I know I can’t keep it from her.
“Well, she screamed for half the morning. Then tossed Cheerios, which I discovered are actually Zowies, all over the floor. She also threw my shoes in the toilet.”
“Oh no, poor you,” Bec says, landing a hand on my arm.
“But we turned it around. I gave her a bath, and now that it’s warmer, we’re headed out to see the cows.”
“Well, that sounds about standard,” Bec says with a laugh.
“She’s thrown your shoes in the toilet?”
“No,” Bec says. “But she tried to flush the cat. She’s lucky she didn’t get scratched.”
“Oh no, that’s terrible!”
I put the cookies in the house, and the three of us walk towards the fenced in field where the cows are grazing. Halfway there, Lottie turns in her grandma’s arms and reaches for me. I widen my eyes with surprise.
“Well, someone has good taste,” Bec says, handing her off to me. Lottie curls under my chin, and my heart nearly explodes at the preciousness of it all.
Bec stays with us for a short while, but when she sees Ashton heading our way, she says something about needing to check something in the oven. She greets Ashton on her way back to the house, touching his arm, and then looking back at me with a smile before taking the path to her front porch.
“Well, this doesn’t look so scary,” he teases. He starts to reach for Lottie, but she burrows deeper into my arms. Both of us catch eyes, and I laugh.
“If you knew the morning we had, you’d recognize what a miracle this is.” I look down at her, then kiss the top of her curly head.
“I can imagine. Looks like you won her over.”
There’s something in his smile, though. In his eyes. Something that says so much more than his words. Something like maybe I won him over.
I dismiss the thought—the wish—as soon as it comes.
“Her hair looks great. Have you done this before?”
“Never,” I laugh, peering down again at my handiwork. I’m proud of what I did. “Not bad for a first timer, huh?”
“Not bad at all. How many YouTube tutorials did you watch?”
I laugh. “None.”
He raises an eyebrow.
“TikTok videos,” I say.
“Brilliant.” He looks at the house, then back at me. “I’m heading back to the house for an early lunch. Is it all right if I hang out for a while?”
“It’s your house, silly. And we’ve only had toast and Zowies.”
“Ah, the famous Zowies.”
“Yeah, that one took a while to figure out. Thank god she’s patient.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Is she though?”
I shake my head. “Not at all.”
Back at the house, Ashton fixes sandwiches for both of us, and for Lottie, some cut up cheese, turkey, and bread. I’m really loving this whole carb thing. Who knew bread could taste this good?
When Lottie starts to drift in her highchair, I wave Ashton off and carry her to the bedroom.
She doesn’t even fuss as I kiss her little cheek then lay her in the crib.
I linger for a moment, watching the way her lashes brush the tops of her cheeks, how her lips purse into tiny petals, how her hands curl in fists above her head.
She’s so damn precious. Once again, I’m bursting.
I leave the room, closing the door behind me. When I turn to Ashton, there’s a soft look on his face.
“What?”
The corner of his mouth turns up. “You know.”
Yeah, I know.
I didn’t think I had it in me to love a child, not after what happened. But here I am, my heart out of my chest for this little girl. Even with our rough morning, I know I’d do anything for her.
Maybe kids aren’t so scary after all.