15. Nate
fifteen
Nate
“Happy birthday to you!”
Quinn cries as our closest friends and family sing to her.
Her teary blue eyes search the dining room until they lock onto Lucy, and she reaches for her.
Without a second thought, Lucy takes her from my arms and pats her back, soothing her and whispering reassurances to her.
Lucy turns Quinn around in her arms so that she’s facing me.
I hold up the small cake Mom made for Quinn—I think she called it a smash cake—and smile. “Blow out your candle, Quinnifer.”
Lucy points at the tiny flame perched atop the pink number one candle. “Blow it like this.”
Lucy blows a puff of air, purposefully missing the flame to show Quinn how to do it. Quinn watches her intently, then tries to blow like Lucy did, only to blow spit bubbles down her chin. Now I understand why Mom made Quinn her own cake and everyone else got cupcakes.
“Yes, like that,” Lucy praises. “Do it again, baby.”
This time, when Quinn blows, Lucy and I discreetly puff the flame out for her.
Camera flashes flood the dining room as Joanne Burke takes photos.
Everyone applauds Quinn’s effort, and she claps for herself with a sweet, dimpled grin.
I take the candle out of the cake and set it on the table.
Lucy holds Quinn in front of her, and I raise a brow at her as I hold the cake out for Quinn.
Lucy nods, wordlessly agreeing to be in the danger zone while I let Quinn attack her cake.
Quinn is hesitant to touch the cake when I hold it up for her. So, I scoop a little icing onto my finger and wipe it on her mouth. When she tastes it, her eyes widen, and she reaches for the cake as Joanne’s camera flashes and chuckles sound around the room.
As Quinn digs into her cake with both hands, my gaze meets Lucy’s over Quinn’s head.
In this moment, it strikes me how beautiful Lucy is.
Her deep blue eyes are filled with joy and amusement.
Her laugh rings clearly over the noise of the other people in the room.
I can’t help but smile and offer a silent prayer of gratitude for this incredible friend who has stepped up and helped me when I needed someone most.
My gaze drops to Quinn, whose face is now smeared with pink icing, and I chuckle. Vi would have loved this.
The thought sobers me immediately. I clench my jaw and draw a slow breath, trying to keep tears from building in my eyes as they do every time I think of the things Vi and Landon are missing.
I can’t break down now in front of everyone.
I can’t let Lucy see me weak again or upset Quinn on her birthday.
I roll my shoulders back and clear my throat. Lucy looks up from Quinn and frowns as her eyes roam my face. “I bet she’ll sit in her high chair now.”
I swallow, still fighting down tears, and nod. Lucy pulls Quinn away from her cake long enough to slide her into the high chair and buckle the straps. Quinn reaches for the cake and whines. I attempt a smile as I set it on her tray, and she squeals as she grabs handfuls of icing again.
I take a step back, joining the crowd around the birthday girl, and Lucy stands beside me.
She doesn’t say a word. She sets her hand on my forearm, gives it a gentle squeeze, and lets go, staying close enough that I can feel the heat from her body against my side.
I allow myself a slow blink to pull it together, but when Lucy’s little finger brushes mine, I cling to it, wrapping my finger around hers like kids on the playground making a promise.
She tightens her pinky around mine, and I draw a full breath.
As I watch Quinn eat way too much sugar and fling globs of pink icing all over my dining room, I offer a prayer of thankfulness for the strength God has given me to get through the last five weeks and for the good friends who have supported me along the way.
I sneak a glance at Lucy, only to find her already looking at me. As she squeezes my pinky, her small smile doesn’t feel like a pity smile. It feels reassuring.
I’ve officially decided that the worst part of hosting a birthday party is cleaning up afterward.
I can’t really complain about planning the party, since Lucy handled most of it.
Decorating was a hassle, but Lucy took care of that too, except for a few things she asked me to hang up.
Cleaning up the aftermath of the party with an overly tired one-year-old is not my favorite experience.
To be fair, Lucy’s parents, my parents, and all our friends offered to help me clean up, but I was too prideful to take them up on it.
Quinn whines, clinging to my ankle as she sits on the kitchen floor, and I set the stack of empty leftover bowls on the counter. Deciding to put the food away after I get Quinn settled, I pick her up and pat her back as she lays her head on my shoulder. “It’s okay, Quinndolyn.”
I carry her into the living room, bouncing and shushing as I walk. I stand by the bay window overlooking the street, as I sway her back and forth. My gaze snags on the extra car in my driveway, and I frown. Why is Lucy’s car still here? Everyone left about twenty minutes ago.
I slide my phone out of my pocket and tap Lucy’s contact information as Quinn continues to whine against my shoulder. The call rings a few times before going to voicemail, and panic settles in my chest.
Moving on instinct, I close the baby gate to the dining room and slide Quinn into her walker. As I step into the foyer and close the baby gate, Quinn cries and reaches for me. I hate leaving her alone, even for a minute, but I have a feeling that Lucy needs me.
I dash out the door and into the driveway, opening Lucy’s door to find her slumped over the steering wheel and breathing heavily.
I kneel beside her and brush her hair back from her face, noting her pale and clammy skin, beads of sweat on her upper lip, and wide eyes.
I slide my finger down to the pulse point at her jaw and feel her heart rate thrumming too fast. “Talk to me, Luce. Your sugar is crashing, isn’t it? ”
A shiver runs through her shoulders, and she nods.
“Have you taken anything yet?”
She shakes her head. “I can’t…” She closes her eyes and blows a shaky breath. “My hands.”
She lifts a hand from her diabetes kit in her lap, and it trembles violently. I nod and set a hand on her back. “Let’s sit you up and get some sugar in you, okay?”
She nods, eyes still closed. Gently, I grab her shoulders and lean her back against the seat.
She slumps like she doesn’t even have the energy to hold herself up.
I sift through the items in her diabetes kit—taking stock of the contents automatically—and find a tube of glucose tablets.
I pop it open and shake them onto my hand, but only three tablets slide out of the case.
I search for a new tube in her kit, clenching my jaw as I come up empty.
Her hands shake in her lap. So, I lift the tablets to her mouth myself. “Lucy, look at me.” Her deep blue eyes seem out of focus when they land on my face. “Can you chew and swallow these?”
She nods and opens her mouth so I can drop the tablets in. She chews slowly and grimaces. “Gross.”
I smirk as I pack up her diabetes case, glad that this sugar drop hasn’t robbed her of all her sass. I spot her purse in the passenger seat, reach across her to grab it, and set it on her lap. “Those were the last glucose tablets in your case. Do you have more somewhere?”
She frowns, blinking slowly at her purse on her lap. “At home.”
I nod. My eyes meet hers, and I brush the hair back from her face again. “I’m going to carry you into the house and get you a snack to help stabilize your blood sugar. Okay?”
She gives a weak nod, and I slide one arm under her knees and the other behind her shoulders, lifting her from the car with her purse and diabetes kit balanced on her lap.
I push the car door closed with my foot and make my way, quickly but carefully, up the porch steps.
It takes a moment, but I pull the front door open and carry Lucy inside.
Quinn’s cries fill the space, and Lucy’s head swivels toward the sound. “S’wrong?”
“She’s tired.” I set Lucy down on the second step of the staircase and lean her against the railing. “Stay here for a minute.”
I dart back to the front door and close it, then open the baby gate and return to Lucy. I slide my arms around her and cradle her against my chest again. “Up we go.”
Her breath rushes out in a whoosh, and she balls my shirt in her fist.
I frown as I carry her into the living room and aim for the couch. “Are you okay?”
She clears her throat and nods. “Just dizzy.”
Nudging a throw pillow into place with my foot, I lay her on the couch and set her purse and diabetes kit on the couch cushion at her feet. I sweep my gaze across her face, checking for any changes. She still looks so pale and weak. “How are you feeling?”
She runs her shaking hands over her face as I lift Quinn out of the walker, patting her back and trying to soothe her. “Same. It takes a few minutes.”
I kiss Quinn’s head and set her on the floor beside some of her new toys. “I’m going to grab you a snack, Luce. I’ll be right back.”
She nods and drops her hands from her face. She blinks a few times as her eyes search the room and land on Quinn, who is crawling across the room toward the couch. “It’s okay, baby. Don’t cry.”
Turning, I open the baby gate to the dining room on my way to the kitchen. I toss a little of everything from the party food stash onto a pink plate, grab a soda from the fridge, and hurry back to the living room.