42. Amanda
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
AMANDA
Iwake up, startled by an unfamiliar sound.
The lights are dimmed but still carry that fluorescent, sterile tilt of a hospital.
Eric is hovering over the bed, smiling, shirtless.
Beckett is on his chest, also shirtless but wrapped in a blanket.
His mouth is open as he roots and bucks his head against Eric’s right pec, pouting his lips in frustration. He’s so upset he’s turning purple.
Eric’s hand cups my cheek, and I cover it with my own, nuzzling against his palm.
“Are you okay?” he asks softly. “I tried to let you sleep as long as I could, but he needs to eat. I don’t have the right assets. Someone can get us a bottle if you want to sleep more.”
“No,” I sit up, wincing. Everything hurts.
Eric helps me unsnap my gown, then hands me the baby awkwardly, supporting his head. I struggle to find the right way to hold him, but when I hold my breast and poke his lip, he latches on, and his loud swallowing fills the quiet room.
I pat the space next to me. Eric sits without hesitation, one arm around my shoulders, his hand cupping the back of Beckett’s head protectively. I run a finger down Beckett’s cheek, and his chin wobbles.
“He’s falling asleep.”
“You should do that thing they told us,” Eric says. “Massage your breast so there’s more flow.”
I do, and Beckett swallows. I feel like a mess. Embarrassed. Unattractive.
Eric’s eyes flick over my face like he’s checking for damage. “You’re okay,” he says quietly. “They said it was just a deep tear, and it’s all repaired.” He tries to sound casual, but there’s a tremor in his voice.
“How did you guys do?” I ask, needing to break the intensity of his gaze—the one that says he thought he might lose his whole world.
“We were getting to know each other,” he says, rubbing my hip under the blanket. “So far, he enjoys screaming at me.” He chuckles softly. “You should switch him before he falls all the way asleep.”
“Do you remember how to unlatch him?”
He nods and shows me. It upsets Beckett, but he’s happy enough when he latches onto my other breast.
“I get it less and less, you know,” Eric says after a moment. “How, as a father, you’d just check out. Miss out on everything. Make him feel like a failure.”
I let my head rest on his shoulder. “You’re rewriting the narrative already, Eric.” I kiss his jaw. “He’ll never have to wonder if he’s wanted.”
There’s a knock on the door, bringing in a revolving door of visitors, in pairs due to hospital rules.
First, it’s our moms. My parents, then just Eric’s mom again.
We use their visit to take turns sleeping while they hold the baby.
Next, it’s Diego and Val, then Diego’s sisters.
Diego shows up again with another onesie, in dark blue this time.
My uncle played matchmaker, and here I am!
Eric scoffs at it. But when they hug before he leaves… Eric’s eyes fill with tears he doesn’t let fall.
When we’re finally alone, Beckett makes a small noise, more whimper than cry, and Eric leans in instinctively, brushing a thumb along his tiny temple.
Another knock. We stare at each other in question.
We’ve seen everyone we’d expect. One more knock follows, the door creaking open before a head pokes in.
Daray. He steps in halfway without asking. His eyes catch mine first, then Eric’s, then finally land on the bundle in my arms. The muscle on his jaw ticks before he drags a hand over his neck, then looks away.
“I don’t want to intrude.”
But he pulls a chair closer to the bed and does anyway. Eric steps protectively in front of the bed. Daray, of course, ignores it.
“Can I talk to Amanda for a minute?”
No please. No I’m sorry. No thank you for being here for my child, Eric.
Still, this Daray doesn’t carry the disdain he wears so naturally.
He’s in a white T-shirt stained with god-knows-what, hanging loose over his thinner frame.
He looks under-slept, worse for wear than he did five weeks ago when we saw him with Cassie.
Eric glances at me. Talking to him is not something I want, but I need to.
Eric steps back, leaning down to kiss Beckett’s head.
Then he presses a chaste but firm kiss to my lips.
Daray will think it’s a hands-off statement.
That’s how his mind works. But I know Eric.
It’s support, it’s strength. He trusts me to be left alone with Daray.
“She’s had a rough thirty-six hours. Don’t do anything that’s going to keep her up at night,” Eric says as he passes him. He doesn’t need any macho display—that’s Daray’s style. “I’ll bring us some food. I won’t be long.”
As the door clicks shut, I realize Daray’s eyes are locked on Beckett.
He swallows thickly. “What did you name him?”
“We named him Beckett.”
Daray’s shoulders twitch at the We. “We, huh? For how long?” There’s a hint of sadness in his voice.
“We’ve planned to parent together for a while. The other… We…” I don’t owe him this, but I want him to know. “Since late summer.”
Daray steps forward and sinks into the chair. “Cassie’s left me and the baby.”
My eyes widen. I’ve loved Beckett since he was just cells in my belly. I can’t imagine leaving him. The thought makes bile rise in my throat.
“I know,” he says. “Some mother.” Daray sounds defeated.
He reaches into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulls out a folded manila envelope.
“This is my official relinquishment of parental rights to Beckett.” I hate the way my son’s name sounds in his mouth.
“All you need to do is write down his name so it matches the birth certificate.” He exhales.
“There’s an acknowledgment of paternity that Eric can sign here in the hospital.
I assume he wants to be on the birth certificate? ”
I nod. I wanted this. I asked for it. But I still can’t believe Daray doesn’t want him—his own son. Tears spill for Beckett.
“I’m sorry, Amanda,” he adds. “I just can’t do this with two.”
I swallow hard, steadying myself. After a moment, I nod again and take the envelope.
“You’ll have to make a court appearance to ratify it,” I tell him.
“And I will,” he says. “This doesn’t make him a bad kid. I just can’t keep him.”
A dark, broken laugh slips out of me, making sleeping Beckett blink his eyes open. Daray’s breath hitches. Yeah, we know that.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say. “We’re going to make sure he never feels that way a single day of his life.”
Daray stands up. “Will you please just tell him he’s Eric’s? It’ll be easier that way.”
My anger lashes out. “You’re asking me to lie to him?”
“It’s not a lie. Eric’s going to raise him anyway.”
“Still,” I say firmly. “When he’s ready, we’ll tell him everything. And if he has questions, we’ll send him your way.”
Daray swallows and nods. “I may not want to talk to him.”
I hold his gaze, my voice calm but cold. “That’s your prerogative.”
He nods again and turns to leave. Just as his hand is on the door, Eric walks back in, carrying a large pizza box. He doesn’t bother knocking. Daray startles. Eric’s expression is defiant.
“Hey,” Daray says awkwardly. “I just dropped off some paperwork for you guys. Will you… Please take good care of him.”
Eric squares up, stretching the couple of inches he has on Daray. “He is my son.”
With that, Daray nods once and steps out of our lives.
It’s been a few days since we came home.
Maybe more. Time blurs between naps and diaper changes.
It’s been the three of us, with some quick visits to drop off food.
Eric’s on leave, soaking up our new normal.
We’ve decided on no winter cabin trip for us this year.
No point in dragging a month-old baby there.
I’m almost asleep when Beckett cries. Again. This one’s hunger—I know the different sounds now. I shift to sit up, but Eric’s already at my side, gently placing Beckett in my arms. He knows his cries as well as I do.
Eric fluffs the pillows so I can sit up while I unsnap my nursing cami. Beckett launches at my breast, and I wince in pain. Eric spots it immediately and breaks his latch. Next time, it doesn’t hurt. Then we’re quiet. All we can hear is Beckett hungrily swallowing in the dark.
Eric lets his head rest on my shoulder. He’s just as exhausted as I am. Still, he always stays up for as long as it takes to put Beckett back in the sleeper, and boy does he like to eat. I kiss Eric’s temple and feel his smile against my skin.
“You’ve always been the person I couldn’t wait to wake up to.”
“What do you mean?” Eric asks.
“Over the summer, when we were eating gelato, you said you wanted to be the person I couldn’t wait to wake up to,” I reminisce.
“Truth is, I can’t think of a time when I didn’t think of talking to you first thing in the morning.
Even in Italy,” I add. “You’re already bringing him to me at night for him to nurse.
” I smile at Eric. He shifts his head so we are looking at each other.
“And you’ve gotten more than a shot with me.
You have me. What else do you have up your sleeve? ”
Even in the night, I can tell that Eric’s eyes are darkening with emotion. His nose skims my jaw.
“I have a lifetime to come up with ideas. I’ve even made some promises you haven’t even heard of yet. But you will.”
He leans down to kiss me, soft at first, then deeper, his tongue brushing my bottom lip until I let him in. I taste him, all warmth and sleep as he holds me with the steadiest touch I’ve ever known.
I pull back, suddenly, painfully aware of the milk stains, the mess of my hair, how raw I still feel.
But Eric’s eyes soften, warm and dark and full of devotion.
No doubt he’s never seen anything more precious than Beckett and me.
I realize, in my sleep-deprived delirium, that he looks at me—at us—this way all the time, even when I’m this half-awake disaster.
“I love you.” Eric doesn’t say these words. Even to his mom, he’s a love ya person.
And even though we’ve built everything around it, this home, this child, this quiet kind of reverence, there’s newness and firsts between us.
“I’ve loved you for a long time,” he murmurs, kissing my nose. “But I love how motherhood’s changing you the most. And I’ll love every version of you.”
I cup his face with my hand, his lips find my wrist. “I’ve loved you when you were everything but mine.” His breath is shaky on my forearm. I wait for his eyes to meet mine again. “I love you now that you’re his. And I’ll love you through everything you become.”
Eric answers with another kiss—slow, sure, and full. In the hush between us, I hold everything that almost wasn’t mine.