Page 14 of Mismatched

Anton watches, clearly waiting for me to do the right thing. But when too many seconds pass with me standing awkward, unable to speak, he clears his throat. “Uh, here. I’ll take him, Celia.”

She glances at him uncertainly, but then her eyes return to her plate and her shoulders drop in relief. “Actually, that would be great.”

I watch wide-eyed as my husband comes around the table, kneeling next to my sister as she transfers her sleeping child into his arms.

“There.” Celia exhales, adjusting a light-blue blanket under her son’s head.

Anton stands and smiles. “Great. I’ve got him. Go ahead and eat.”

For a second, she looks like she’s not sure what to do with her free hands. Then she picks up her fork and knife, and digs into the meal like a starved woman. “Anton,” she says between bites. “You could easily have a second career as a chef if finance doesn’t work out.”

He chuckles. “Lasagna is the one thing I really know how to cook.” He sounds so wistful. I glance over, worried I’ll find him a million miles away again. Instead, he’s staring down into Gabriel’s face with a surprisingly peaceful expression.

“Oh, Lydia!” Celia exclaims with familiar enthusiasm. “I almost forgot. How are things going with the new partnership?”

“Great so far,” I say automatically, mentally skirting my entire meeting with Henry this morning. “Having Henry on board gives me a lot more flexibility, and the new daycare is on track to be fully booked and profitable by the end of the year.”

“Impressive,” Celia says, though the way she arches her brow suggests skepticism. “Just think of what you could do if you ever truly level up.”

Anton flinches and meets my gaze from where he stands by the windows. I blow out a hot burst of air. “Yeah, just think.”

As soon as my sister sets her fork on her empty plate, I jump up to clear the table while my husband, sister, and nephew drift quietly into the living room. I make a lot of unnecessary noise banging pots and pans around in the sink, but definitely not trying to wake the baby for Celia to deal with.

Once the dishwasher is loaded and the counters completely wiped down, I gather myself and head for the living room, where low, downtempo music plays on the Bluetooth speaker. I find my sister perched on the couch and my husband pacing quietly by the fireplace in front of the family photo he brought back from Dallas. He’s rocking Gabriel back and forth, and... I think cooing at him.

Celia watches with a melty expression, and I sink into a seat on the other end of the couch from her.

“Do you want to hold him, Lydia?” Anton asks suddenly.

“What?” My head snaps up. “Me?”

“Yeah.” Celia smiles, shifting into her irritating mommy voice as she gets up to take the blue bundle from my husband’s arms. “Auntie Lydie hasn’t had a turn.”

My head spins, my stomach twisting into a knot. I think I should want to hold my nephew...

Except I don’t. At all.

“Um, he looks so peaceful. I don’t want to disturb him.”

“Nonsense,” she says, sinking back onto the couch and scooting toward me. “It’s easy with him asleep.”

I retreat backward, sinking into the cushions and trying to figure out how to politely say don’t force your baby on me, but before I can stop her, she places Gabriel in my arms.

I don’t think I’ve held a human child since I babysat as a teenager, and actually, I’m not sure I ever took care of one this small. It isn’t at all like holding a dog; he seems softer and more fragile. I am pretty sure I should feel some kind of warmth, adoration. This is my nephew—technically, my own flesh and blood. But I just desperately want her to take him back. The baby must’ve gotten jostled with all the transfers because he stirs, flexing his fingers and spitting out his pacifier. His eyes open, and when he looks up at me, my pulse spikes.

“I—I don’t know what to do.”

“You can give him the paci back,” Celia says.

I scan the blanket, find the little plastic nub, and hold it to his lips. He opens readily when he sees it and almost immediately closes his eyes and settles back into slumber.

“There, perfect,” my sister says quietly. “You will make a great mother, Lydia.”

The knot in my stomach tightens.

And then I notice Anton watching by the window with this warm, contented look. He smiles at me, and the knot morphs into a sinking feeling. I thrust the baby back to Celia.

“No, I don’t think so. Obviously, I’d make a terrible mother.”

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