8. Eli
Eli
“So I really get to take her home?” I ask the social worker, Bonnie, sitting in the hospital room with me.
“Yes,” she chuckles. “You are her father, Eli. It’s proven with the DNA test. You’ll have to go to court to be legally placed on the official birth certificate.
The state generated one for her today, like they do for these cases.
Usually it’s based off a lot of assumptions and measurements, but we have more information than normal.
We know for sure the day she was born, and instead of giving her a placeholder name for a foster care situation, you can decide what you want her name to be—other than Baby Girl Hargrove of course.
The judge will make it all official once things are finalized.
There are a few other things we have to deal with like a home visit, most likely from me.
But for now, we are going to sign all this paperwork and you’re being granted custody of your daughter. ”
“What about her mother?” I ask, worried.
“When she placed your daughter in the Safe Haven box, she gave up her rights essentially. Most babies placed in those safe spaces are sent to foster care, adopted after the approval and appropriate amount of wait time passes if a biological parent or relative doesn’t come forward, but honestly very few are reunited with the parent that gave them up.
Also, we have the letter she left, giving you a strong legal case for sole custody if she ever shows up again.
She expressed that she doesn’t want your daughter and believes you are the best fit for the child.
” Her kind face warms. Eyes with years of experience and some pain glance at the baby I’m feeding.
“I just don’t want her to be taken from me,” I admit quietly.
Now that I know for sure she’s mine, I feel so deeply protective. Whenever someone steps into the room, I pull her tighter to my chest, shielding her from so far what has only been warmth and kindness. But what happens when it’s not?
“I can tell she is already in very good care, Eli. It’s going to be okay.
I know this is a lot to take in all at once, but please know that I’m on your side.
My job is to keep you two together to the best of my ability, not split you apart.
” Bonnie pats my knee. “That sweet girl, I can see, is already well on her way in this world with you and the support you have.”
“Thanks, Bonnie,” I say with a smile.
Sutton thought of everything. I have no idea what I would do without her, Lainey, and Rem. While I was dealing with everything at the hospital, they installed Sutton’s extra car seat base in my truck, brought the newborn things to my apartment, and set it all up.
“You’re doing great,” Sutton says from the back seat of my truck next to the baby girl.
“This is the most terrifying drive of my fucking life,” I mumble. “Are drivers always this stupid?” I ask her, white-knuckling the steering wheel as I drive in the dark streets of our suddenly treacherous town.
“Yes, and you also feel that way because of this precious little cargo. Don’t worry, it gets a little easier.” Her eyes are shining with love as she looks down at the car seat when I check back at them in the rearview mirror.
Finally, I pull into my usual parking spot behind the sewing shop, Bobbin’s, on Main Street. I rent the apartment above it and have called it home for years. It fits my bachelor life perfectly.
Fit. That life is long gone now. Time to grow the fuck up.
I help Sutton out of the car, and she grabs the diaper bag that she brought to the hospital for me and the extra diapers and formula they gave us when we left.
Rem and Lainey are waiting at the top of the metal stairs that lead up the back of the building to my place, big smiles on both of their faces.
I carefully unclip the bucket car seat and follow Sutton, terrified I am going to slip on these hellish stairs that have never been a problem before and drop my daughter off the side into the night.
My daughter.
Fuck.
I am solely responsible for her care and safety.
Me.
“Welcome home!” Lainey says cheerfully as we all amble into my small, one-room, open apartment.
The kitchen and dining area take up the left side of the space.
A small round table houses two chairs and a pile of junk mail.
The cabinets are white, filled with easy-to-make food and very little space for extras like bottles and baby things.
There’s no couch or rocking chair, just my bed on the right side of the apartment, which has a bassinet set up next to it now.
Then there is the bathroom with a shower—no tub.
Where am I going to give her a bath?
“I need to move!” I exclaim, looking at the tiny baby, still in the carrier, sound asleep.
“What?” Rem asks.
“This fucking place. Look at it!” I wave my arms about, aghast. Shocked they can’t see what I do.
“I can’t have my daughter in this place!
There is no room for her here. I don’t even have space for her things.
Bottles? Toys? I can’t give her a bath for fuck’s sake!
AND those stairs out there are a damn death sentence.
We can’t be here.” Not only am I out of breath, but now there are tears in my eyes.
Sutton takes the baby carrier from me, gently getting the baby out and holding her as she starts to fuss. Swaying her perfectly in that womanly way that I will never be able to replicate. Guilt swamps me knowing I upset my baby’s peaceful sleep.
“It’s all going to be okay, brother. I promise.” Rem pulls me into a hug, tight and sure. That’s the minute I allow myself to feel it all.
Spiral.
Panic.
Let it all sink in.
I cry on my best friend’s shoulder, and he just holds me. Two huge, grown-ass firefighters, hugging and crying, and allowing this life-changing moment to finally hit me.
Pulling back, I wipe my face with a calloused hand. “I’m a dad . . .”
“Hell yeah you are.” Rem looks right into my eyes, knowing exactly how terrifying this is for me. “And that is the luckiest little girl on the planet.”
“Now you have to decide what you are going to name her,” Sutton says, looking down at the precious miracle in her arms.
“Mom, I’d like you to meet your granddaughter.”
My mother’s shocked face takes us in, standing on her porch the next afternoon. The yellow dish towel she was drying her hands with as she answered the door stills, and her eyes sweep down from my own face to the baby carrier in my hands.
“I’m not sure if I’m going to go to heaven right now out of happiness or the pure heart attack you are givin’ me, Eli James Hargrove! Get in here right now and out of the heat with that baby.” She quickly ushers us into my childhood home, snapping the door closed behind us.
“Sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean to spring this on you, but it was a total surprise to me too. And I didn’t exactly want to share this news over the phone,” I say sheepishly.
“I would think not! You best tell me all the details right now. Well”—she side- eyes me and crinkles her nose—“not all of them, but you know what I mean.”
Groaning, I follow her to the living room where she has comfortable green couches with pillows that she changes with the seasons; today they are covered in sunflowers and birds.
A rocking chair with time-tested blue cushions and wooden legs that glide smooth as butter is placed in the corner, a perfect spot to sit with a newborn.
Unclipping my baby girl from her seat, she wiggles and fusses a bit.
I kiss the top of her head and let her nuzzle into my neck the way she likes.
We figured that out last night. She loves to be close, smushed up like a little ball where she can feel the beating of my heart and the humming vibration of my throat while I whisper-sing lullabies to her in the dark.
And by lullabies I mean all the different hip-hop, pop, and country songs I have in my head from my jump rope routines.
“There was a woman I, um, hooked up with a while back,” I start uncomfortably. “It was only a one-time thing, but I guess she got pregnant. She never came to me or let me know anything about it. Yesterday, she put her”—I nod down to my daughter—“into the baby box at the station.”
“The Safe Haven box?” my mom questions.
“Yeah.”
“But how do you know she is really yours?” she asks, worrying her lip.
“Skylar, the mom, left me a note, a letter, saying I’m the father.
I brought it with me so you can read it.
And then we went to the hospital to get her checked out to be sure she was healthy, contact the social workers, and all that.
They also did a rapid DNA test, which confirmed it.
She’s mine, Mom,” I say, feeling tears fill my eyes.
Directing my mom to the front pocket of the diaper bag, she withdraws the envelope from Skylar and takes her time reading the letter. Wiping her own tears away once she’s done, she looks up at me from her spot on the couch, so many emotions playing over her open face at once.
“Please say something.” I can’t stand it if she is disappointed.
“This baby is a tiny miracle, Eli. Just look at her. You may not have planned for her, or known that she was coming to you, but here she is. She fits, doesn’t she?
I look at her wrapped up in your arms, and I don’t know, honey, it just feels right.
” A mother’s love drips from every word that pours out of her, and it makes my heart twist. No judgment or anger, just instant acceptance and grace.
“She has my dimple,” I admit.
“Does she now?” Mom grins. “I can’t wait to see it. May I hold her?”
“Of course you can.” I go to hand over the tiny thing, but she stops me.
“Uh-uh, Eli. Newborn rule number one: Everyone must wash their hands before holding that baby.” She gives me a no-nonsense look.
“Yes, ma’am,” I agree as she rushes off to the kitchen and back as fast as she can.
“Alright.” She rubs her hands together, warming them up. “Now I’m ready.”
I gently transfer the sleeping girl into my mother’s capable hands. Even in my tired state I know I want to remember this exact moment forever, so I pull out my phone and snap a few pictures of them together.
I don’t even have a picture with her yet.
“Eli, she is the sweetest thing. Please, please tell me that I’m number one on your babysitter list! I want as much time with her as possible.” She runs her finger over the tiny hand gripping her own.
“Well, I was actually needing to talk to you about that, Mom. I’m going to need a lot of help.
I just became a single dad overnight. I still need to work, obviously.
Chief is giving me my eight-week paternity leave, obviously.
I can take up to twelve weeks for FMLA, but it’s unpaid for the extra time so I don’t think I should take the full twelve.
I was planning on just doing the eight?”
“This is a really big adjustment for every single aspect of your life, honey. Of course I will be here for you, as much as you need. We will come up with a plan, don’t worry.
Eight weeks is a good starting point, and if you need to or want to take more time you can always change your mind.
” Her advice is solid and always welcome.
“Thank you, so much. I know that I can’t do this alone. And I definitely cannot do this without you.” I rub my neck and roll out my stiff shoulders. For such a tiny thing, carrying a baby around is a workout.
“Well, does my granddaughter have a name?” She smiles back and forth between us, not able to keep her eyes off the cutest baby in the world.
“I was up all night with her thinking about it, what I feel like fits her best. We were walking around the apartment after I fed her, just bouncing, trying to get her to settle . . . and her name, I don’t know, just kind of popped into my head.” I stroke her soft head, needing the connection.
“That’s really sweet,” Mom whispers, anticipating the reveal.
“Her name is Wren. Wren . . . Elizabeth Hargrove.” I smile down at my daughter as she blinks open her sleepy eyes.
“Well, hello there, little Wren. It’s nice to meet you, sweet baby girl. I am your grandma. Hmmm,” Mom says.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“I’m not too stuck on the name grand-ma. Maybe we can work on that?”
Laughing, I tell her, “I’m sure we can think of something you like better. And probably easier for Wren to say.”
“Wren,” she whispers at her newest family member.
We just sit there and soak up the moment until Wren makes it clear that she is ready for a fresh diaper and a full belly. Mom helps change her while I head off to make a bottle in the kitchen.
“I know you didn’t plan this, Eli, but I think Wren is exactly what you needed in your life,” she says to me with tears in her eyes as she watches me rock and feed my daughter for the first time in the home she raised all four of her own children.
“Thanks, Mom. I just hope that I can be everything that she needs.”