Page 164 of Things We Burn

And walking into my living room, it was no longer an obstacle course of baby products. Everything had been put away into the wicker chest I’d intended to use as storage but hadn’t had the time or energy to use yet. Especially when I was taking them out and putting them back three times daily, at least.

Ana was sitting cross legged with blocks and some books that I’d bought, thinking that they’d entertain a four month old, not realizing that they were for older children. Apparently, it even said so on the box. Nora, to my horror, was folding laundry.

“You don’t have to do that.” I rushed to take the basket from her.

“Sit,” she protested in that soft, commanding voice. Again, I responded to it without meaning to.

I sat beside her, my fingers twitching to take the laundry from her.

“Tea,” she said, waving a baby blanket to the now uncluttered and sparkling-clean coffee table. “I took a gamble when I made it, and I think it may be just the right temperature now. I don’t know about you, but I didn’t finish a hot drink for months afterthis one was born.” Nora nodded her head to the sweet girl playing peacefully.

I longed and dreaded Mabel getting to the age where she could sit alone, playing without me constantly entertaining her and ensuring that there was nothing she could choke on in the vicinity.

“You don’t have to do all of this,” I said, taking the tea then motioning to the room.

“Yes I do,” she replied. “It’s the duty of a woman who has gone through and survived the first few years and now has wisdom and free time and all of her hormones back under control. Well, kind of,” she snickered, rubbing her stomach. “But seriously. We women, we mothers owe it to each other to make sure we don’t do this alone. That we have help. My sisters-in-law did it for me. It’s a sacred, precious gift, and I consider it an honor to be able to pay it forward. You’ll be able to one day too.”

I sipped my tea and considered her words. I struggled to imagine a time when I’d be able to do something like this for someone else when I could barely shower and shave both legs while doing so.

“You will,” Nora reassured me, seeming to read my mind. “For now, enjoy the tea, and don’t feel like you have to force conversation with me. I’m quite happy here.” She patted her belly, still small but pronounced.

Nora was tranquil, quiet, not quite shy but definitely introverted. Her daughter seemed to be the same in a lot of ways. Until Kane and Rowan emerged from outside with Mabel, and she screamed, “Daddy!” like he’d been gone for months instead of an hour. He passed off Mabel to Kane expertly in time to catch the daughter who was sprinting toward him.

He twirled her in the air where she screamed in delight before nuzzling into his neck and whispering something in his ear.

I looked over to Kane, who was pressing gentle kisses on our daughter’s head, murmuring something to her.

“It’s enough to make your ovaries explode,” Nora stage whispered, gesturing to our men

I smiled and couldn’t disagree with her.

After that, we ate the best carrot cake I ever had, and I watched Nora, Rowan and Ana with disbelief at what awaited us. A little person. A family. Although we already were a family, I realized.

Next on the rotation were Tina and Tiffany, the most unlikely yet perfect couple. Tiffany was hot-pink velour sweatsuits, bleached blonde hair out tothere, acrylic nails and bright pink lipstick. Tina was heavy metal, tattoos, short, cropped hair, no nonsense, no bullshit.

Tiffany doted over Mabel, and Tina did the same but with less enthusiasm. She then declared she was going to cook us freezer meals—since I had discovered they were the ‘thing’ for new mothers—and demanded Kane and I go nap.

I opened my mouth to say I couldn’t nap in general, let alone with two strangers—albeit nice ones—in my house, one of them holding my baby.

“Nap,” Tina ordered. “No lip. We’ll be up when the baby is hungry or I’m just tired of the screaming and cooing.” She tilted her head to Tiffany.

I was going to argue, but the weight of my exhaustion made that seem impossible. Kane took my hand, just as exhausted but able to hide it a little better.

“Come on, Chef. They’ve got this,” he said, though I saw his eyes linger on Mabel protectively for a beat.

I knew it was just as hard for him to leave Mabel.

Blanche was there, Mabel’s constant protector. We knew she’d never let Mabel from her sight.

The logical part of me, Avery Hart, chef—the part that was quickly disappearing—let Kane take my hand and pull me upstairs. We needed all the rest we could get in order to be decent parents.

“I’m not going to be able to nap,” I told Kane as he got us into the bedroom where I slipped off my clothes as he pulled off his tee.

“Give it a go, Chef.” He pulled me into bed with him.

I relaxed into his arms, letting them settle around me. Moments later, I was out, only to be woken by Kane’s lips at my ear two hours later.

Tiffany had brought in a whining Mabel to be fed. The freezer was stocked, the house smelled of Tiffany’s perfume, and the place was spotless.

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