Chapter 4 #2
Savannah unlatches and lets out a satisfied little sigh. I shift her carefully and burp her against my shoulder. She lets out another surprisingly loud belch that makes us both laugh.
“That’s my girl,” I whisper, kissing her soft hair before settling her back into the carrier beside me.
“She’s definitely a New Yorker,” Sofie laughs.
Nalani pours a glass of wine for herself and Sofie, and sparkling water for me, then joins me on the couch. “Fearless,” she murmurs, almost to herself. “That’s what you are.”
I raise a brow. “Fearless?”
“Yeah. I think you earned it.”
Sofie curls up, “I’m calling it — girls’ night in.”
Nalani groans good-naturedly. “Sofie, we just survived an emotional hurricane.”
“Exactly. Which means comfort food and confessions are medically required.”
I smile, leaning back as I situate Savannah. “I don’t think I have much left to confess today.”
“Don’t worry,” Sofie says, dropping onto the armchair with dramatic flair. “I’ll talk enough for all of us.”
Nalani laughs and curls her legs beneath her.
Watching them, I realize how much they’ve both changed since the stories they told me about their college years.
Nalani is steady — the kind of woman who listens more than she speaks, but when she does, her words carry weight. There’s a quiet confidence about her, a peace I envy.
Sofie, though—she’s fire. Nalani said she’s grown into this boss bitch version of herself, no longer the bright-eyed girl chasing freedom for the first time she owns her space.
It strikes me then — this moment feels like freshman year when no one knew who I was, who I could become who I always knew who I wanted to be. All those late nights. Laughter. That feeling of being part of something without having to try.
God, how I wish I could go back to then.
I blink awake, realizing I must’ve dozed off. The apartment is dim except for the warm glow of the kitchen light. Savannah’s soft breaths come from her carrier beside me.
Nalani walks out of the other bedroom, straight dark hair falling loose over her shoulder.
“I’ll find a hotel tonight and—”
“When I was feeding the birds earlier, Paul gave me the comfiest cot,” she says, smiling. “You’re staying.”
Sofie grins and shakes her head. “And since that sounded like a challenge, I one-upped him.” She waves a hand toward a large box.
Still half-groggy I ask, “You ordered a pack-n-play?”
“For my niece,” Sofie says proudly, lifting Savannah into her arms and swaying a little. “She’s staying here till you leave for Houston, and she needs a place that isn’t a car seat or a lap. That’s non-negotiable.”
Nalani sits beside me, “You have a flight back to Houston in a few days. There’s no point in wasting money on another hotel when you have us.”
“I don’t want to impose—”
Sofie cuts me off immediately. “Please, were sisters.”
Nalani smiles, “And I really like having the company.”
I look between them — one fiery, one calm — and the corners of my mouth lift. “Guess we’re staying a little longer, huh?” I say, unscrewing the cap of my water bottle.
Sofie lifts her glass toward me. “To new sisters, and last-minute detours that brought us together.”
I smile. “To all of that.”
“Let’s set this up before I leave,” Sofie says, standing up.
I grab the box and start toward the other bedroom.
“Wrong way,” Nalani laughs.
“I’m not taking your bed again tonight.”
“Um, you sure are,” she laughs. “That room is smaller than my closet at home. No way that will fit.”
“I’m so sor—”
“Oh no, you don’t,” Sofie says and tugs on the other end of the box. “This way, ladies.”
The 5-in-1 baby crib is a bedside sleeper, bassinet, pack-and-play, and has a changing table attachment that comes with a sleek carry case, which Sofie insists on unboxing herself like it’s Christmas morning.
“She’s gonna be the most stylish baby in Brooklyn,” Sofie says proudly as she clicks the last piece into place and the built-in night-light hums softly to life.
Nalani smooths the fitted pad, the faint new-fabric scent still fresh in the air. “It looks comfy.”
She’s not wrong. The pink-gray crib looks cozy under the soft glow from the bedside lamp, tinting the mesh sides with warmth. “Savannah’s world has just doubled in size.”
Sofie crouches beside it, brushing a hand over the bassinet attachment. “Look at this setup — changing table, lullaby buttons, travel mode, the works. You could take it to Paris if you wanted. And when you do, I’m coming.”
“Noted,” I say with a tired smile.
She rises, brushes imaginary lint off her leggings, and looks between us. “All right, I’m out.” She looks at Nalani, “You’ve got the cot,” at Savanah. “You’ve got the Rolls-Royce of sleepers,” and to me. “And you’ve got two sisters, who have both of your backs.”
Tears fill my eyes, and she… hugs me, “Oh, oh, okay, we’re doing this.”
Nalani joins the hug, “We are.”
It doesn’t feel as awkward as I thought it would; it actually feels good.
Sofie steps back and heads to the door. “Night, sisters,”
Nalani smiles, “Goodnight, Sof.”
“Goodnight, and thank you.”
When the door closes behind Sofie, the apartment feels suddenly still.
“She’s a lot, but honestly, the best.” Nalani adjusts the lamp so the light is soft and low.
“I am so grateful to you, Nalani. I hope you know that.”
She just shrugs, “I’m pretty sure you’d do the same for me.”
“Without pause. Anytime, anyplace.”
She smiles as she looks down at Savannah and whispers, “She’s out cold.”
I smile and lift my daughter from her carrier. Her body is warm against my chest, her tiny fists tucked under her chin as she stirs. “Let’s see what Aunt Sofie bought you, huh?”
I ease Savannah onto the soft fitted pad.
She stretches, then curls one leg up again, her mouth puckering in her sleep.
I tuck the light blanket around her middle and press the power button on the small music box.
A gentle melody fills the room, soft and twinkling — not too loud, just steady and low, the kind of sound that fills all the cracks left by a long day.
Nalani stands beside me, arms folded loosely, smiling. “She looks like she’s always belonged right there.”
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “She does.”
I linger, watching her tiny chest rise and fall, her lashes fluttering as if she’s dreaming already. I reach in and brush a fingertip along her cheek — warm, smooth, perfect.
“Goodnight, my sweet,” I whisper.
Nalani touches my shoulder gently. “I’m wiped. You good?”
“Thank you.” I nod.
I change into a tee shirt, turn off the light, and crawl into bed. The faint lullaby still plays, looping quietly through the small space.
For the first time in months, I don’t think about what’s next or what could go wrong. I focus on this. The softness of her breath. The faint tune from the music box.
The feeling of finally being safe enough to close my eyes.
And as the lullaby fades, so do I — slipping into sleep with the steady heartbeat of my daughter’s new beginning beside me.
I’ll never get over how much peace she brings me, how watching her sleep is the most euphoric feeling in the world.
And the pure happiness I feel when Savannah stirs in her pink-gray sleeper, stretching her arms overhead, her mouth opening in a tiny yawn, untouchable.
“Morning, sweet little one,” I whisper as I lift her out. Her body melts against me, warm and soft.
I settle back onto the bed and adjust my shirt.
She latches easily, sighing through her nose, her little hand gripping the fabric of my sleeve.
Feeding her empowers me and gives me a greater sense of purpose than the many degrees I have collected over the years.
And mornings with her, I sigh, it’s the best part of the day.
It’s purely good—no noise, no doubts, no one asking for more than I can give.
Even when outside, I hear sounds of the city.
A siren in the distance. A car horn. The muffled bass of life moving on. But in here, it’s just the two of us.
When she’s done, I shift her upright, patting her back gently until a soft burp escapes her. “Good one, sweet little one,” I murmur with a tired laugh, kissing the crown of her head.
I lay her back in her new bed. She blinks up at me, one dimple deepening in her cheek as she gives a half-smile that feels almost deliberate.
That’s when my phone buzzes beside the cot.
A text. From Kyle.
Kyle
Breakfast? 9 a.m. The Coffee Room on MacDougal.
Then another, seconds later.
Kyle:
Don’t be late
Me:
I have nothing to say to you. I have plans.
Kyle:
Then just listen. I won’t take up much time.
My chest tightens. Same tone. Same entitlement. He doesn’t ask—he instructs. Always has.
I stare at the screen a moment, then glance back at Savannah. “What do you think, sweet little one? Sounds like someone woke up still being himself.”
She kicks her legs and makes a soft coo that almost sounds like agreement.
After a shower, I pull on jeans and a cream sweater, twisting my hair into a loose braid. I move through the motions—packing her bag, her blanket, her favorite pink teether—because that’s what mothers do. Routine keeps your hands steady even when your heart’s not.
When I come out, Nalani’s in the kitchen, sleek dark hair falling over her shoulders, coffee steaming in her hand. She looks up, surprise flickering across her face as I clip Savannah into her car seat.
“I thought your flight wasn’t until Monday,” she says, setting her mug down. “Is everything okay?”
“Kyle wants to meet for breakfast,” I say quietly. “I’m hoping to get a sense of what’s really going on with him.”
“Do you want me to come with you?” she asks gently.
I shake my head. “I won’t be too long. I told him I had plans.”
“Then don’t lie,” she says with a soft grin. “Let’s make plans.”
That pulls a smile out of me. “Okay, cliché question, but would you want to do one of those bus tours?”
Her eyes light up. “Um, heck yes.”
I laugh. “You’re serious?”
“Completely serious. I want to see everything, but not freeze. It’s perfect.”