CHAPTER SIX
DEAN
AFTER THE NURSE TAKES NICHOLAS FOR testing, I leave Liv to rest and go outside for a few minutes. I stand on the sidewalk outside the hospital, breathing the cool evening air and trying to untangle everything I’ve been feeling for the past day.
My hand shakes as I pull out my cell and scroll my contacts, then press the phone to my ear. “Dad?”
“Dean?” His voice is wary, probably because I never call him when he’s still at work. “Is everything okay?”
“Everything is fine,” I assure him. “Better than fine. I called to tell you Liv had the baby. A boy.”
There’s a stunned silence on the other end, as if my father hadn’t even known Liv was pregnant. I almost smile.
“Dad?”
He clears his throat. “That’s great news, Dean. I’m… how did it go?”
“It was rough for Liv, but no complications.” I take a breath. “He’s six and a half pounds. We named him Nicholas.”
“Nicholas West. Good name. Strong.”
“Yeah.” My throat is starting to close up. “So, uh, I’ll give you a call later, okay? I want to tell Mom too.”
“Congratulations, son.”
I end the call and dial my mother’s cell to tell her the news.
“Dean, I’m so happy for you.” Her voice thickens with emotion. “I’ll let Paige know and tell her you’ll call her when things settle down a bit.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
I hesitate for a second, not sure if I want to make my next request but knowing I’ll regret it if I don’t. If nothing else, my brother needs to know he has a nephew.
“Hey, you don’t happen to have Archer’s contact number, do you?” I ask my mother.
“I don’t know, dear,” she says, her tone edged with worry. “Last time he called me, he was in Texas, I think. Do you want me to try and find out where he’s staying?”
“Yeah. I’d like… well, I’d like for him to know about Nicholas.”
I don’t know what I expect to happen by telling Archer he has a nephew. Maybe nothing. Maybe something. It’s been a long time since I’ve believed anything good might come of my relationship with my brother. I guess having a child does that to a person—gives you a reason to hope.
“I’ll do what I can, Dean,” my mother says. “Give our best to Liv, and please send pictures. I love you.”
“You too, Mom.”
I end the call and draw in another few gulps of air. The world still seems out-of-focus, as if it has stopped for the past day and is trying to start again.
I head back to Liv’s room. She’s asleep, her features pale but relaxed. I stop beside the bed and touch her shoulder. More emotions than I know what to do with crash through me. Amazement, gratitude, awe, wonder. A love so all-consuming, so fierce, that it has the power to bring me to my knees.
I brush a few strands of hair away from Liv’s forehead and graze my fingers against her smooth cheek. A noise sounds from the adjoining room, and I straighten as a nurse enters. She smiles at me.
“He’s just in here,” she whispers, gesturing behind her.
I follow her into the room, where Nicholas is in his little bassinet. There’s a blue knit cap on his head, and he’s starting to squirm out of his blanket.
“He’ll be hungry by the time Liv wakes up, so we’ll bring him in for breastfeeding,” the nurse tells me. “You’re welcome to have some time with him now. Just press the buzzer if you need anything.”
She motions to a buzzer beside a rocking chair and leaves the room. I look at my son for a moment before reaching into the bassinet to pick him up. So small, almost weightless, like a bird nestling into the crook of my arm.
I sit down and rub my hand over the fuzzy tuft of his hair. He blinks up at me. I read somewhere that a baby’s eye-color lightens over time. I hope Nicholas’s eyes turn a warm, dark brown, just like his mother’s.
I examine his fingers and toes, the shell-shape of his ears. I run my finger over his eyebrows and tickle the soles of his feet.
Some part of me is surprised by how natural this feels, how easy. I was so focused on the pregnancy that I haven’t allowed myself much time to think about actually holding a baby. But our son fits just right in my arms, he seems to like the movement of the rocking chair, and he’s looking at me like he knows exactly who I am.
Like he knows we’re going to be the best of friends.
I lower my head. Breathe in his clean baby smell.
“One day I’ll teach you how to pitch a baseball,” I tell him. “How to knot a necktie. How to kick a field goal. How to tie a lure, ride a bike, and barbeque a steak.”
He squirms. I shift him a little and rock in a different rhythm. He yawns.
“I’ll try and get you interested in medieval architecture, but it’s okay if it bores you,” I continue. “I’ll explain why the Rolling Stones’ Exile on Main Street is the best album of all time. I’ll build Lego spaceships and tree-houses with you. We’ll go on train rides and sailboats. I’ll tell you to always do the right thing, but I’ll understand when you don’t and we’ll figure out together how to do better next time.”
I brush my lips across his soft hair. “You lucked out with your mother, kid. She’s amazing. She’s going to do everything right. Me, on the other hand… I’ll probably mess up this whole parenting thing sometimes. Sorry in advance for that. But you can also help me figure out how to do better next time. And I promise I will always do the best I can for you. In everything. Okay?”
He yawns again and flexes his tiny hands, then closes one fist tight around my forefinger.