Page 45 of Waiting to Love You

“Sorry. Sometimes my mind wanders when I’m tired,” I retort quickly, not wanting to bring up anything too heavy.

We continue to ask each other questions like this for a while longer. Nothing too heavy or personal, but the usual “getting to know you” first-date questions, even though we both know we’ve progressed so much further than that.

“What’s your favorite flower?” he asks, breaking a short silence.

“Are you planning on screwing up sometime soon?” I joke, but the idea of Seth bringing me a bouquet of daisies and sunflowers on my birthday, or even for no reason at all, sounds appealing.

“No, but you never know. I need to be prepared just in case.” He laughs nervously.

“Sunflowers and daisies are my favorite. Roses are useless. Never bring me those unless you plan on being in the doghouse for a few months. They’re beyond pretentious.”

“Duly noted.”

“Can I ask you a personal question?” he asks as I turn off the television. Something in his tone tells me this is going to be a serious question.

“Shoot.”

“Do you want kids?”

I gasp in shock. Who would have thought Seth would touch on the one subject I’ve been trying to find the right time to bring up since he came back to town? This will be the perfect opportunity to have some of my questions answered. If Seth tells me he doesn’t want a family or children of his own, I may have to rethink how our relationship will look moving forward, but I still need to tell him about our daughter. He has a right to know, and this might be the perfect chance for me to tell him.

However, instead of blurting out that he already has a daughter, I settle for telling him the truth, or at least part of it. “Sure. I always saw myself having children and settling down. I mean, I live in a small town. The white picket fence and two-point-five kids with a dog were drilled into my mind from birth.” I giggle nervously before asking the one question I need to know the answer to more than anything. “Do you?”

“Do I what?” Seth clears his throat. “I mean, my parents died when I was eight. I spent the next ten years in foster care, bouncing around from house to house, until I joined the Marines. Most people would say children were out of the question, but I could imagine having little copies of you running around the house.”

My cheeks instantly heat as I think of our daughter, who’s lying in a crib down the hall. Her bright red hair and hazel eyes are a little combination of both of us. The doctor swore her eyes would darken to more of a brown color, but they were wrong. Although her red hair and her hazel-colored eyes were uncommon, I knew deep down that they’d stay the same. A one-of-a-kind creation from a one-of-a-kind relationship like ours.

“So, you imagine having kids with me?” he mumbles nervously.

It seems like we’re both stepping into unfamiliar territory now. I open and close my mouth a few times, searching for the right words. Trying to figure out how to tell him we don’t have to imagine having kids together because we already have a beautiful baby girl.

“Seth…” I begin.

I’m cut off by the sound of Rebekah’s loud wails coming through the baby monitor beside me on the end table.

“Shit!” I exclaim as I rush down the hallway, my heart in my throat.

Rebekah hardly ever cries. A few whimpers here and there when she’s hungry, but nothing like this.

“Wow. You need to turn the television down,” he teases.

Thank the Lord he came to his own conclusion about the crying baby, because that isn’t the way I planned on telling him about our little girl.

“Yeah,” I breathe as I tuck the phone under my ear with my shoulder and reach in to pick up Rebekah.

She is hot to the touch, her chubby little cheeks pink from the heat, and fat tears are rolling down her face as she cries louder. Panic begins to well in my chest at the idea of my little one being sick. Rebekah is hardly ever sick, but when she is, it’s usually something that involves a visit to the doctor and some antibiotics.

“Is everything okay?” Seth asks, his voice filled with concern.

My heart squeezes in my chest, wanting nothing more than to tell Seth what is going on, but I can’t, not right now. If I tell Seth about Rebekah right now, he could want to meet her and demand an answer that I don’t know how to give him. Right now, I need to focus on my baby girl and do everything I can to ensure she gets better.

“Yeah, but I really should get going. I hate to end our call, but I have an early day at the studio tomorrow.”

Seth yawns loudly, causing both of us to laugh. “I think you have the right idea. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, beautiful. Good night.”

“Good night, Seth,” I respond before ending the call and throwing my phone on the bed. I rush into the bathroom and grab the baby thermometer, running it across her forehead to her temple. It takes me a few passes before I’m able to get a clear reading: 101 degrees.

“Fuck!” I wail, as tears stream down my face.

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