Chapter 11
Haven
We fall into a routine, my housemate and I.
Over the ten days we’ve lived with Alex, the jet lag has gone, and I’ve adjusted to UK time.
Everly is sleeping better. I am sleeping better. I’m still tired, but the past few nights, Everly has only woken up once to feed, and it makes all the difference.
Things feel less fraught. I don’t wake up in a panic. I don’t feel like I’ve already failed at the day before 7 a.m.
Because in the week since we’ve lived with Alex, I’ve regained a little of the confidence I lost when I gave birth.
And I don’t want to admit it, but a tiny part of me isn’t looking forward to heading back to Aspen.
Our days begin around six o’clock when I hear the church clock strike, and if we’re lucky, we get to FaceTime with Saylor before she goes to bed, so we can fill her in on everything we’ve done the day before.
And then we go downstairs, and if I’m quiet enough, I catch a glimpse of Alex before his sweater goes on.
For a few brief moments, I remember what it’s like to run my hands over the planes of his body, feel the warmth of his skin and the power of his muscles flexing under my touch, before I push it far into the recesses of my brain where it belongs.
Then I pretend to arrive as he’s feeding Blackberry and Dolly, who all fuss over Everly once they see she’s joined them.
There’s a calmness to it.
I get to enjoy the coffee Alex makes me in peace.
Everly is endlessly fascinated by her new friends. Every morning brings another game for them, which makes Everly squeal with delight while she lies in her bouncer on the kitchen table. A couple of days ago, Dolly learned to pull her socks off and lick her feet, eliciting the loudest reaction yet.
And Everly laughing always makes me laugh.
The bouncer is one of the many brand-new contraptions Everly has, which I now wonder how I lived without. On our second day here, we went shopping, where Alex proceeded to buy up the entire baby store. Anything they didn’t have, he ordered for delivery, no matter how much I protested.
I quickly learned that, as far as Alex is concerned, it’s easier not to get in the way of his parenting and to let him buy everything he wants for his daughter.
Providing for her is his way to feel better about missing out on the first six weeks of her life.
Something I’m feeling increasingly guilty about.
Halfway through the week, Alex had to go to his office, so obviously his mom and Clementine showed up unannounced with more baby clothes than Everly will ever be able to wear before she outgrows them.
I, on the other hand, wish I’d had forewarning because I wouldn’t have opened the door wearing a sweater covered in throw-up, especially as I hadn’t seen Victoria since the day of Everly’s paternity test.
However, one discovery I’ve made since being here is that offering an English person a cup of tea often defuses any possible tension. Alex arrived back home to find the three of us laughing our butts off, ten outfits into a baby fashion show, and Clemmie unpacking more boxes.
That’s the other thing I’m getting in spades. Help.
I’ve had little bits since I gave birth, but no one’s been around twenty-four seven, and Alex insists on doing anything he can with Everly, which is virtually everything.
If I’m not paying attention, panic creeps in at how amazing it is.
Because what am I going to do without it when I return to Aspen?
I now have a pump, so Alex can use a bottle, and I’m no longer a milking machine. When I stopped having to feed her on demand and didn’t have something else to do—like bust my ass to earn money—it dawned on me that this is the first time since my parents died that I’ve had any time off.
So we bundle up and take a walk.
Every day we visit the cows, all of whom are curious and come to the fences whenever we stop by. I watch on with fascination and soak up every new experience she has, while her eyes light in wonder and her tiny face scrunches together as she flashes them a gummy grin.
We’ve been to the house where Alex grew up—Burlington Hall—a couple of times. It has to be the biggest, fanciest place I’ve ever seen in my life. It’s practically palatial with his manicured grass, sparkling pool, and a vegetable garden to die for.
After I’ve shown her everything that’s growing, we head home via the horses, the donkeys, and the chickens. When we got back yesterday, the goat was waiting for us by the front door.
Everly smiles and coos like they’re the best thing she’s ever seen.
Apart from Alex, of course.
Because Alex is her big love. I don’t know his romantic past, but I’d be inclined to say she was his.
Watching them together sometimes feels like I’m intruding on the beginnings of a blossoming relationship. Every time she smiles at him, or he talks to her in that soft lilting voice I only hear him use with her, I know I made the right decision in coming here.
Because the idea of her not having this is too painful to think about.
A couple of days ago, I came downstairs after having a bath to find them asleep together on the couch, Everly lying on his chest. When I tried to move her, she protested with a loud, dream-filled cry, so I left them there and made dinner instead.
That’s another thing, I rediscovered my love for cooking.
I used to love cooking. My mom taught me, and we’d always cook dinner together.
Then, when she died, and it was just my dad and me, I took on the bulk of it, but it wasn’t the same.
After he was gone, and I discovered the debt I’d been left, cooking stopped being a priority because I was too busy working to think about what I could be eating, and I spent most of my time either scarfing down microwave meals between jobs or eating at the Old Saloon.
But when I learned Alex ate most of his meals at the main family house, I started making dinner for us. I cook, and he cleans.
It’s mundane but comforting, and now that the nights are almost fully drawn in, I can feel that familiar annual excitement building within me, as Christmas is around the corner.
Over the past few days, the decorations have started going up on Valentine High Street, and if I were at home, I’d be in the attic packing up my fall decorations and switching them out for my light-up Santa, reindeer, and all the baubles.
I haven’t asked Alex whether he decorates his house for the holidays because I’m fairly sure I already know the answer.
I haven’t seen one decoration in all the closets and cabinets I’ve opened, and with every box that gets delivered, I know without opening it that there are more things for Everly, rather than anything Christmas-related.
In fact, my task for this evening, while dinner’s cooking, is to open the boxes that arrived today. The first one I rip open contains a bunch of light-up shapes that stick to the side of the bath and has me grinning widely.
Everly’s squeals of delight are echoing off the bathroom tiles when I jog up the stairs to where Alex is bathing her. I’ve tried to give them as much alone time to bond, so bath time has become his thing.
Every night, an internal battle takes place between my head and my heart. I don’t want to intrude, and I don’t want Alex to feel like I’m hovering, but I frequently find myself a voyeur in these moments. Tonight is no different.
I lean against the doorframe, breathe in the warm lavender scent, and take in the sight.
Alex kneels on the floor in front of her, while she flashes a toothless smile at him from the bath seat she’s propped up in. She was smiling a little right before we left, but since we’ve been here, it’s like she’s discovered she can do it and now practices it every chance she gets.
And while my eyes should be drawn to my daughter enjoying her bath, they first find her father.
I obviously never meant to get pregnant, but of all the people I got pregnant by, I can freely admit I picked a straight-up hottie.
I gawk. Then gawk some more.
I don’t know if it’s because Everly is so tiny that Alex appears larger by comparison, but watching the muscles along his forearms flex and the veins on the back of his hands pop as he squeezes a sponge should not be as attractive as it is.
And while I’m all for my confidence starting to return, my sex drive has come back as a force to be reckoned with. And it likes to remind me that the last person I slept with was this guy. The one I agreed to be friends with.
What kind of dumbass move was that?
Friends with the guy who literally makes my ovaries explode every time he smiles at Everly. Or like now, holding the washcloth over a rubber duck to play peek-a-boo even though she’s too little to have much of a clue.
But he soaks up every smile and bubble she blows his way.
“You guys sure sound like you’re having fun.”
Alex’s head snaps around, his gaze hitting the floor where I’m standing barefoot. In the second it takes for his eyes to travel up and find mine, my body heats. Then he adds a, “Hi, Mummy,” and I’m done for.
Disintegrated into a puddle on the floor.
When did Mummy become a sexy word? Or maybe it’s just the way Alex says it, all deep and rumbling and English, that has a shiver zipping down my spine and pooling between my thighs. I will never get used to it.
“Hey.”
“We’re playing peek-a-boo. Our daughter’s a genius.”
“She is?”
“She is. I asked her what she wanted to play with, and she pointed at the duck.”
“That sounds like a genius to me.” I bite down my smile and scooch in next to them, holding my hands open. “These arrived.”
From the way Alex’s smile breaks wide, I wonder if the blocks were more for him. “Excellent.”
Wetting the suction pads on the back, he presses each one to the side of the tub. Immediately, Everly’s focus is taken with the way each color glows.
“Everly, which one is blue?” he asks her, only to receive a big smile in response and a kick of her leg, which splashes his face. “Okay, we can do colors another day.”