“So…you never see yourself settling down with someone?”
“Honestly?” He shakes his head. “No.”
Well, damn. Like, no marriage…no relationship…ever?
I’m tempted to push the question, but Remy beats me to the punch and redirects the conversation altogether.
“Well, unless the relationship involves free Chipotle burritos. Then I’d consider it.”
I snort. “Rem, that’s a reward card. Not a relationship.”
“Oh, then, I guess I want to settle down with a reward card,” he says with a big ol’ grin that reminds me of the past and how something as simple as talking to Remy was always so much fun.
Laughter, teasing quips, and lots of smiles, that’s how it always was with him.
And that’s exactly how it is with him now. We fill more hours of the night, teasing and joking and laughing while Izzy is cradled in my arms for ninety percent of the time. I know people say to put babies down from the beginning, but I know my sister wouldn’t let go for a beat unless it was to give Oliver a short turn.
And Remy makes it easy on me anyway. Taking her without my asking to change her diaper, and moving to the other side of the room when it’s time for me to breastfeed her. He even gets the nurse for me when I’m having issues with getting her to latch.
He respects my privacy while remaining at my side, and after more time passes, I’m not even sure I care to know what his plan is anymore. I’m just thankful for his company. Thankful for the time he’s spent making me feel like I’m not alone.
Now, though, it’s a little after five in the morning, and finally giving in to exhaustion, Remy’s fallen asleep in the hard wooden chair on the other side of the room, and his neck is craned awkwardly to the side. After all he’s done for me, I can’t stand the thought of being the reason he can’t look to the left for a couple of weeks.
I start working on shifting my weight in the bed to get up and wake him, when a new nurse comes in to introduce herself and let me know she’s taking over for a couple hours because my previous nurse got to go home early.
She’s blond and bubbly and efficient, writing her name—Deb—on the whiteboard at the side of my bed and then glancing over to Remy sleeping in his chair.
She smiles conspiratorially. “The dads are always more exhausted than the moms at this point. I think it’s because they spend the entire pregnancy worrying.”
A small ping of something I can’t distinguish makes my belly flip at Remy being referred to as the “dad.” I don’t know what it’s about, but I can only imagine it’s another blip of grief for my sister and her husband.
And I can’t find it in myself to correct her.
“I can get loud if you want… Wake him up?” she offers, pulling me out of my thoughts and making me laugh.
“That’s okay. Thanks for the ride-or-die attitude, though. I appreciate it.”
She winks. “I’ll be back in a little bit. Let me know if you’ve changed your mind.”
As she leaves the room, I find myself staring at the fan of Remy’s dark lashes on both of his closed eyes. They’re as long as I remember—as though they’re extensions.
Why do men always have to have such great eyelashes? It’s completely unfair.
His face is relaxed, almost like he didn’t deliver my baby in an elevator several hours ago, and that’s when it strikes me. I think I’m getting a little too comfortable having him here.
It’s relaxed and companionable and, quite frankly, easy reassurance of why I loved him so fiercely back in the day.
But God. My life is the absolute epitome of complicated, and Remy is the least deserving person I can think of trapping in my chaotic web.
Gingerly, I climb from the hospital bed and cross the distance to his chair on the other side of the room. His chest moves up and down with ease, and his lips are parted just enough to let out the tiniest puffs of air.
He’s gorgeous, and I’m probably becoming a little too smitten all over again. Which is why I need to do this now—before I lose my nerve.
With two shaking fingers, I reach out to his shoulder and shove gently. It takes half a dozen pushes before he wakes up, but when he does, it’s with a jolt.
“What…what’s happening? Are you okay? Is Izzy okay?”
All thanks to raging postpartum hormones, I nearly burst into tears at the sweet concern in his voice.
“We’re fine. Everything’s okay.”
He sits up straight and wipes the sleep from his eyes to look me over. “Do you need me to do something?”