Page 83 of Who's Your Daddy?

This earns her another patronizing glare. “Excuse me. You don’t recognize this fromDirty Dancing?”

“What’sDirty Dancing?”

I force myself not to cringe and answer as calmly as I can. “You’ve never heard ofDirty Dancing? How is it possible that you love dance movies so much and yet you’ve never watchedDirty Dancing?” I don’t wait for a response. “That movie was the foundation of all dance movies. Johnny and Baby crawled so that the crew ofYou Got Servedcould run.”

She pulls her lips in to stop a laugh, then proceeds to antagonize me further. “Johnny and Baby?” She shrugs as she sinks her hands into the soapy water. “Sounds like a bunch of amateurs to me. I don’t think they could even compete with a dance crew from LA.”

“Show some goddamn respect, woman. Tonight, you’re gonna put a hold on binge-watchingSupernaturalfor thethirdtime and we’ll watch Dirty Dancing instead. I guarantee you’ll be eating your words by the end of it.”

“We’ll see.”

We continue talking as we busy ourselves with the pointless task of washing and drying clean dishes. She then cons me into helping her with the preparation of Thanksgiving lunch tomorrow. I make salads while she makes the stuffing for the turkey.

After a light lunch, we head upstairs to the nursery. I set up a speaker in here last week that’s linked to my music station in the kitchen and Lia rolls her eyes when I switch the music on here because I go right back to the sixties and playMy Girlfrom the Temptations.

“You know, this is all our kid listens to,” she says as we shake open a large plastic floor covering. “When he finally arrives, these old tunes will be the only music that calms him down.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

We lay plastic over the floor and get to work painting the wooden frames and railings of the crib in matte black zero-VOC paint. This should’ve been a quick process, but it gets held up when Lia paints a cloud on my chest and then an oddly shaped cat down my arm. I’m supposed to believe that patterned brushstrokes are all accidental because of theOoopsand the surprised gasp that follows. I even get two thick black streaks across my cheeks like I’m about to go into battle.

And I do. I don’t hold back on my retaliation. Not gonna lie, she puts up a hella good fight, but I win in the end. I prove that I’m the caveman she keeps saying I am and paint a different letter of my name all over her clothes. These are the moments I can’t get enough of.

Ever since she lost her job, we’ve been pretty much inseparable. Apart from bro time with Scott and Dylan, I spend almost every waking hour with Lia, so moments like these are in abundance, and yet I can’t get my fill of them...or her. She’s like a beacon, constantly drawing me into her sphere because she’s so damn infectious. Her laughter fills the room, fills the house, fills my life. I love the sound of her voice. I love the warmth she brings. I love her presence.

She asked me earlier how I feel about her, and I couldn’t really answer because I’m not sure about it myself. But watching her as we do this, as we build a life together, is slowly solidifying all those emotions that have just been floating around for the last few months. I definitely think I’m exiting theliketerritory and entering something...deeper. I don’t say anything about it, though. I can’t embarrass myself like that twice in one day.

We’re both splotchy, smudgy messes when we return to the actual task we set out to do. We do two coats, then use stencils to paint on glow-in-the-dark stars on the crib that match the ones we painted on the walls and ceiling last week. However, she breaks the theme by painting a butterfly on the headboard.

“Why a butterfly?” I ask.

She shrugs, the melancholy I saw earlier returning to her eyes. “My mom always used to tell me that a butterfly in the house isn’t just a butterfly. It’s the spirit of our ancestors saying hi. She used to have this bracelet...” She clears her throat when her voice becomes unsteady. “...with this beautiful clasp. Her mother gave it to her on her deathbed as a reminder that she’d always be with her. My mom told me that when she leaves this earth, I could have it, and that way...that way, she could always be with me. But that bracelet got lost...” Maybe it’s because she’s already emotionally strained from our argument earlier, but her breathing elevates like it did before and she takes a minute to calm herself down again. “And I guess... if I can’t have that...then this will have to suffice.”

She shakes off whatever she’s feeling and smiles, her happy glow returning when we turn our attention back to the crib. While the paint dries, I get a star painted across my jaw too because apparently my war face isn’t complete without a star.

“I want you to know that the star totally undermines the purpose of the black stripes,” I say. “No one fears a warrior with a glow-in-the-dark star on his face.”

“Well, I happen to think that the glow-in-the-dark star is exactly the weapon to take down the rogue members of the pajama résistance. Such a warrior would definitely make me weak in the knees.”

She smiles, and I can’t resist. I can’t be that close to her without kissing her. My lips find their way to hers, and we end up making out on the floor. It’s better than literally watching paint dry. And the paint is dry when we finally pull away from each other.

We assemble the crib, and the joy on her face as she watches it come together is indescribable, making her prettier than she already is. I secure every screw and bolt tightly before setting it upright. Once I’m done, Lia attaches a cloud-like canopy to the side rails. She wanted something that was reminiscent of the enchanted fog that swirls around the hotel, and when it’s all done, we clear out the plastic, polystyrene, and cardboard and stand at the door to admire our work.

“Not bad, Drac,” she says, high fiving me. “We make a good team.”

“Damn right, we do. This looks incredible.”

I throw my arm around her and slap a kiss on her temple. There’s a simple pleasure in seeing the final product. Our baby’s nursery is complete. And she’s right. Having her beside me makes it feel like home.

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