Elias
Olivia looks sleepy as she rests on Bridget’s lap while she runs a brush through my niece’s wet hair.
Dinner ended with pasta sauce all over Olivia’s face and in her hair, much to the amusement of us both.
Bridget smiled the whole time, giggling at the stories Olivia would share and watching every little movement with keen interest. I wasn’t paying attention to anything but her and as we sat, eating and talking, I could visualize it then.
Her seated at a similar table, looking down at a child of her own with the warmest of smiles that would rival the morning sun. Her blonde hair twisted up on the top of her head messily and lines carved permanently into her cheeks from years of laughter and happiness.
Years I want to be spent with me.
My niece holds on to her plushy as Bridget’s long fingers weave Olivia’s strawberry blonde hair into a braid.
Bridget’s knee brushes against my own as she ties a band around the ends of Olivia’s hair and she shoots me an apologetic smile, but I don’t miss the blush that appears on the tops of her cheekbones.
Knowing that us touching has her as flustered as me makes me feel better, like I’m not the only one going feral over the thought of touching her—being inside her—again.
Last night was otherworldly, and I’d be lying if I said I haven’t thought about it every waking minute since. I clear my throat, in an attempt to get rid of the images in my head and she looks over at me, tilting her head to the side.
Olivia slides off Bridget’s lap and moves into the space between us, curling into my side with her plushy tucked under her arms and her thumb in her mouth. My brother has been trying to get her to stop it, but I guess it hasn’t worked yet.
I sling my arm around Olivia’s small body and sigh as Bridget pulls a blanket over the three of us. Bridget pulls the footstool toward us and we stretch our legs out in front of us, and I smile when Bridget curls around Olivia.
I’m sitting here with two of my favourite girls and this sense of belonging fills me. And suddenly, I can’t imagine my life any other way, and as she reaches behind me, cupping her hand around the nape of my neck, something becomes apparent.
She feels like home.
I reach across Olivia and rest my head on Bridget’s thigh and she softly squeezes the back of my neck in response.
Olivia is a pretty tough nut to crack, so to see her feel so comfortable around Bridget has me smiling to myself.
The two of us look down just as Olivia turns and rests her head on Bridget’s lap and suddenly I feel jealous that my niece gets all her attention and I don’t.
I pout at Bridget and she rolls her eyes. Big baby, she mouths.
I’ll show you big, I mouth back.
She scoffs and turns her gaze back to the TV, but I see the smirk on her face.
Her gaze drops to her lap and her smile warms. “I think we might be able to skip the bedtime story tonight,” she whispers, nodding toward Olivia, who is fast asleep on her lap.
I nod and slowly lean forward, making sure I don’t disturb her. She stirs slightly and sleepily crawls onto Bridget’s lap, her head resting on her chest. “I guess you’re the one putting her to bed,” I say, pointing to the way Olivia clings into the front of her cardigan like her life depends on it.
She smiles as she scoops Olivia up into her arms, who doesn’t even bat an eyelid as she gets moved. Bridget holds her close to her chest as she rubs small circles on her back and looks up at me expectantly. “You’re going to need to show me to her bedroom.”
I put my hand on her lower back—because not touching her is becoming an issue—and guide her toward the staircase.
The two of us quietly make our way up the stairs, down the hall, and into Olivia’s bedroom.
It’s mostly dark aside from the wall closest to her bed where a small nightlight is plugged into the socket.
I step into the room and walk over to her bed where I pull the duvet back so Bridget can lay her down with ease.
Olivia lets out a soft sigh as her back meets the mattress and she snuggles down, curling herself in her duvet as I pull it over her.
The two of us look down at her, watching as she pouts her lips and sleeps soundly.
“She’s so precious,” Bridget whispers as we walk out of her room.
I keep the door ajar and follow Bridget back downstairs, chuckling as she flops on the couch. “When do you want kids?” I ask as I sit down next to her.
She immediately stretches out over me and rests her head on my chest as we snuggle down into the plush cushions. She intertwines our fingers together and rest our hands on my stomach, her thumb brushing over my knuckles.
“I’m not sure.” she says softly. “When I meet the right person.”
I take advantage of her in this mellowed state and hesitantly ask, “What qualities do you look for in a man?”
She yawns, her body melting into mine, and I feel her shrug. “Someone who’s kind and patient, and who can understand emotions well. Kids are emotional little beings so having someone who is secure and connected with his own emotions is important to me.”
“Anything else?”
“If I have a son, I don’t want his father to tell him to be tough and to be brave—I don’t want my son to struggle with emotions. I want him to feel comfortable crying and I want him to see us as his safe space, you know?”
I nod. “What if you have a daughter?”
“She’ll be brave and fearless and she’ll have everything she wanted, but not spoiled. She will be in touch with her emotions and someone who trusts her own instinct.”
“Do you think you’re ready to start looking for him?”
Bridget’s body becomes limp as her tiredness overcomes her, but I don’t miss the way she subtly nods. “Yeah.” She snuggles into my side. “But I think I might’ve already met him.”
I wake to the sound of the front door creaking open.
It’s light outside, and Bridget and I are still stretched out on the couch.
She’s stirring slightly, but her eyes are still shut as she curls around me like she’s chasing sleep.
Oscar pokes his head around the front door as I lift my head to look over the back of the couch and he smiles sheepishly at me.
He looks as exhausted as Isobel does as she waddles into the room behind him. Her dark blonde hair is piled haphazardly on the top of her head, and she holds on to her stomach as she makes her way into the room.
Bridget hums and slowly peels her eyes open, blinking up at me, a dazed look on her face.
As soon as she looks at my face, her eyes light up and she leans up to press her lips against the underside of my jaw.
She lets out a small yawn and looks up over the edge of the couch and blinks a few times to clear her eyes when Oscar and Isobel come into her line of vision.
She puts her hand on my chest and pushes herself up right, and I laugh when I see the markings on her cheek.
She stayed glued to my chest last night and the creases of my sweater imprinted onto her cheeks are proof of that. Bridget lifts a hand and rubs at her face, feeling the sleep lines.
“Good morning, lovebirds,” Oscar says as he closes the door behind him, a car seat hanging from his other hand. “You could’ve slept in the spare room, you know.”
I roll my eyes and push myself up. Bridget follows suit, the two of us still pressed against each other.
As Oscar sets down the car seat on the coffee table, I hear Bridget gasp as she takes in the newborn who’s no bigger than my forearm.
She moves away from me and sits on the edge of the couch to get a closer look.
“How gorgeous,” she breathes out. “Boy or girl?”
Isobel smiles tiredly, yet proudly, at her creation. “Girl. Her name is Freya Sara Cohen.”
Freya, after our paternal grandmother, and Sara after Isobel’s late sister. Oscar helps Isobel lower down into the armchair and then perches on the arm, his hand squeezing her shoulder.
“She’s beautiful,” I say, unable to tear my gaze away from her scrunched up face. “She’s a Cohen, all right.” I laugh when I see the frown etched on her face.
Oscar chuckles and nods, and I can’t remember the last time I saw him this happy. While Olivia was a happy surprise, she was still a surprise and childbirth hadn’t been easy. There were some complications so my brother didn’t have this youthful glow on his face the last time.
“Olivia is going to lose her mind,” Oscar says. “They’re going to be as thick as thieves.”
Isobel hums. “They’re going to be a handful.” She looks at Bridget and watches in interest at how transfixed she is on Freya. “Os, get her out of the car seat and give her to Bids.”
Bridget looks up from where she sits and smiles widely. “Are you sure?”
Isobel nods, leaning back into the chair. “Of course.”
Oscar unbuckles Freya, gently lifting her, and Bridget quietly squeals as Freya scrunches that little newborn scrunch. He lowers her into Bridget’s arms, and I watch as Freya stretches out, her little hands clenching into small fists.
Bridget looks down at her like she’s never seen something so small, and when her eyes meet mine, they twinkle. She looks back down at Freya and gently rocks her side to side and as she whispers to the baby, I feel everything click into place.
This is it.
This is where I want to be—this is what I want.
I want the cuddles on the sofa with little ones and I want that with her.
I want her to look down at our children with that look of adoration.
I want to spend time as a family, with my favourite people.
I want her to be in every one of those places.
I want her to be everywhere, all at once.
I want her in every lifetime.
She looks down at Freya and my heart could burst as Freya smiles, all gummy and sleepy. Bridget shifts closer to me until our sides are touching and she gives me a better view of my niece.
“Here,” she whispers as she places Freya gently in my arms. “She looks so small when you’re holding her.”
Bridget rests her cheek on my shoulder as we look down at baby Freya. My gaze flickers up and I see Oscar and Isobel look at each other with knowing smirks. I feel understood—like they see that with Bridget is where I belong.
We sit in silence for no more than ten minutes when the sound of Olivia’s feet hitting the carpet on the landing breaks us out of our trance.
She bolts down the stairs and when she sees her parents she rushes over and jumps into Oscar’s arms. Olivia doesn’t notice Freya at first, but when her baby sister whines quietly, her head turns toward us and down at the baby.
“Mommy’s baby!” She giggles, squirming in my brother’s arms. “Let me down, Daddy.”
Oscar walks over with her still in his arms and sets her down on the sofa next to Bridget. Olivia puts her hand on Bridget’s leg and smiles up at her. Oscar takes his youngest daughter and places her in the arms of his eldest.
“Be gentle, okay?” he says calmly as Olivia pats Freya’s stomach. “She’s very fragile, so you need to be careful.”
Olivia nods, her braid falling over her shoulder. I watch as she looks down at her sister and then at Isobel with wide eyes. “She looks like me!” She beams, touching the tip of Freya’s nose with her finger. “Look, Aunt Diddy, she looks like me!”
Bridget stiffens, looking over at me over her shoulder, a confused frown on her face. I place my hand on her leg and give it a reassuring squeeze. I try not to let the panic in her eyes worry me, but the more I think about it, I find myself mimicking her feelings.
This facade is getting out of control, and if we’re not careful, people are going to get hurt and that includes the two of us.
“Diddy?” Isobel repeats. “Who’s Diddy, sweetheart?” she asks Olivia.
She points at Bridget.
“Biddy?” I ask my niece.
She nods. “Yeah, but I like Diddy better.”
Bridget smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes and as she pulls away to help Olivia hold Freya, I can feel the shift.
She’s pulling away, and I want nothing more than to pull her back and hold her tight, but deep down I know that she’s trying to make a wall.
She’s trying to keep herself from getting hurt, and I’m starting to think that maybe I need to start doing the same.