24. Ryan #3
He thinks — really thinks — then leans closer and starts telling the baby about his day.
The playground. Aire de jeux, he adds, because he knows that in French now.
The kartoshka Becca gave him. The ride Kaiden’s going to take him on, and the frog bomb Cat’s going to build, which costs Kaiden another dollar from across the room.
Every item lands and gets a fine and the whole thing dissolves into laughter, Tobias shaking with it against Ally’s legs.
Then he settles, cheek beside the bump, fingers still wrapped around mine.
“Baby? When you come out, I’m Uncle Tobias.
” Ally’s face crumples. He doesn’t notice.
“And I know frogs. And French.” Penny presses her lips together.
“And Russian.” Becca’s eyes shine. “And fishing.” He squeezes my fingers.
“And Mon Ryan knows where everything is. So if you lose something, ask him.”
A laugh breaks out of me even as it lands square in my chest. Ally wipes under one eye. “He does know where everything is.”
Tobias looks at the bump again, softer now. “If you’re scared, you can come get me. And Ally. And Mon Ryan.” I can’t breathe. He rubs his cheek against her stomach. “We all live here.”
Ally makes the smallest sound. I reach for her hand and she gives it to me at once, so now Tobias has two of my fingers and Ally has the rest and my other palm is over our baby. All three of them touching me. All three of them here.
Tobias yawns, then says into her stomach, very seriously, “Bonjour.”
He lifts his head. “How do I say baby?”
“Bébé,” Bella tells him.
“Bonjour, bébé.”
Ally’s tears spill. He gets malysh and privet from Becca and puts them together against the bump. “Privet, malysh.”
Danny’s arm tightens around Becca; her fingers find the butterfly. Penny’s crying. Cat’s crying. Ally’s crying. I’m not doing great myself.
Bella looks around at all of us. “You all cry way too much.” Her voice cracks on the last word. Iz turns his head. She wipes under one eye and points at him before he can say anything. “Not one word.”
Then Tobias’s hand comes up off Ally’s stomach and lands, palm open, in front of her.
“One dollar.” The room goes quiet. Bella stares at him — then laughs, actually laughs, and digs a dollar out of her bag and puts it in his hand.
“Worth it.”
He pockets it, drops his cheek back to Ally’s stomach, curls his fingers tighter around mine, and whispers, “Ya tebya lyublyu, baby.”
Ally breaks. I lean over both of them and kiss the side of her head.
And for the first time in my life, I don’t need to know what happens next. Everybody I need is right fucking here.
The nursery looks like a baby store threw up in it.
Boxes everywhere, a crib in six pieces against one wall, bags from every place Cassandra dragged Ally into this week, a stack of tiny clothes Cat brought over because she “couldn’t fucking help herself,” two paint samples taped by the window — and nothing where it’s eventually supposed to go.
We’re lying in the middle of it, on the floor, because Ally got tired sorting a box of blankets, stretched out on the carpet, and announced she was taking a break.
That was twenty minutes ago. Her head is on my arm, one leg tangled between mine, and I’m tracing slow lines along her back under her shirt.
The house is quiet. Walter and Cassandra took Tobias for ice cream, which turned into a walk around the block with some other parents and kids.
He announced before leaving that he needed two scoops because he “did a lot of French today.” Cassandra told him language acquisition doesn’t increase ice cream requirements.
He disagreed. Strongly.
Ally laughs against my chest. “I’m still thinking about him.”
“Which part?”
“All of it. He was so cute today.”
“He made like twenty dollars.”
“At least.” Her fingers play with the edge of my shirt. “He loved Bella.”
“Immediately.”
“Princess pretty.”
“I’m never letting Iz forget that.”
“Leave him alone.”
“Did you see his face when she said frog?”
Ally lifts onto her elbow, already laughing. “I thought he was going to stop breathing.”
“I think he did.” She drops her forehead to my chest, laughing harder. “And then he asked her to say it again.”
“For verification,” I say. “Very academic.”
She smacks my chest, and I catch her hand before she can pull it back and kiss her palm. She rolls her eyes but doesn’t take it away, so I thread our fingers together instead.
For a while we just lie there, her smile softening into something quieter. “I liked today.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Her eyes move around the room. She does this now — stops, thinks, takes her time finding what she actually wants to say instead of reaching for whatever answer she thinks someone wants from her. I love watching it.
“It felt full. Not crowded. Like there was always somebody talking, or laughing, or arguing.” Her mouth twitches. “Mostly arguing.”
“Occupational hazard.”
“Danny and Becca were fighting and kissing. Cat was stealing Kaiden’s food. Penny wanted to bury Xander under the guest house. Iz and Bella were trying to emotionally disembowel each other.” She laughs softly. “And Toby just ran through all of it.”
That gets me, because I know exactly what she means.
“He didn’t think about it,” she says. “He just knew everybody. Except Bella. And he fixed that in thirty seconds.” Then she goes quiet again, and when she speaks it’s softer.
“He knew where to go. With everyone. He knew Becca would hug him. He knew Cat would say yes to something ridiculous. He knew Penny would want him. He knew X would run with him. He knew Iz would play with him.” Her fingers tighten around mine. “And then he knew you’d catch him.”
Fuck. I look at the ceiling.
“Ryan.”
“I know.”
I turn my head back. She’s watching me. “It felt like — like this is what home is supposed to sound like.”
There it is. Not silence. Not everybody being careful. Not waiting for a door to open, or listening for footsteps, or wondering who’s angry. Just laughter, and arguments about shoes, and Kaiden swearing because Cat promised a six-year-old explosives for a Nissan.
“Yeah,” I say, and it comes out rougher than I meant. “That’s what it felt like.”
She moves closer, forehead under my chin. “Our baby gets that.”
“Yeah. All of them.”
“That’s kind of terrifying.”
I laugh. “Imagine learning how to be a person from those assholes.”
She snorts. “Our kid’s first word is going to be fuck.”
“Hundred percent. And then Tobias is going to charge them a dollar for it.”
She laughs, and I roll onto my side to see her better. “Think about it, though. This kid is fucked. In a good way,” I add, before she can object. “They’re going to have everybody.”
That wipes the smile off her face, so I keep going, softer.
“Cat with a spreadsheet for every milestone. Penny making sure nobody ever makes them feel weird. Xander teaching them how to throw a punch. Becca teaching them Russian, Danny teaching them how to swear in it. Kaiden and his cars. Iz teaching them French, and Bella fixing his pronunciation.” Ally’s eyes sparkle, then fill.
“And Tobias.” I don’t finish it. I don’t have to.
My hand moves to her stomach. “Tobias is going to love the shit out of this kid.”
“Ryan. I was doing really good.”
“You brought him up.”
“You finished it.” She covers my hand with hers, and for a few seconds we just look at the little bump. Almost four months. Our baby. Still insane.
“Do you really have no feeling?” she asks. “Boy or girl.”
“I said I didn’t in there. I was surrounded by lunatics.” I rub my thumb over her stomach. “But… Girl.”
Her whole face changes. “Really? Why?”
“No idea. I’ve just thought about it. A fucking lot.”
Her smile goes enormous, so I give her the rest before I lose the nerve. “Tiny. Your eyes. Hopefully your hair, because if she gets mine, Cassandra will spend eighteen years complaining she can’t do anything with it.”
Ally reaches up and runs her fingers through my hair, tells me she likes it, and I tell her I know, and she calls me smug, and I don’t argue.
“What about you?” I ask.
“Boy.” She shrugs. “I picture you with a little boy.” My chest does something stupid. “Not like Toby — Toby’s Toby, he’s always going to be his own thing with you. I mean a little version of you.”
“That’s horrifying.”
“I think it’d be cute. I want your dimples.”
“I don’t have dimples.”
“You do when you really smile.” She presses a fingertip into my cheek. “Right there.”
I catch the finger between my teeth and she squeals and yanks it back, accusing me of biting my pregnant girlfriend, and I start laughing, and so does she.
And fuck. This. This is the thing I wanted without ever knowing how to name it.
Lying on the carpet of a half-finished nursery, talking about whose eyes our baby might have, hearing her laugh, knowing Tobias is coming back sticky from ice cream — and knowing nobody’s going to call and tell Ally she has to go home. Because she is home.
I look at her. Really look. Her smile fades. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“That’s not a nothing face.”
I push a strand of hair off her cheek. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“No — I know you do.” My fingers slide into her hair. “I’m just still getting used to being allowed to say it whenever the fuck I want.”
That gets her; I watch it happen, her eyes going bright. “As much as you want,” she says.
“Dangerous thing to tell me. I’ve got years to make up for.”
Her mouth trembles into a smile. “Then you’d better get started.”
I kiss her anyway like I might run out of time. Habit. Then I catch myself, laugh into her mouth, and do it again slower.
“What?” she says against my lips.
“Nothing. I just remembered I don’t have to hurry.”
“Tragic for you. I’ve been waiting for you to get to the good part.”
“This is the good part.”