Page 18 of With You

“Deacon,” he says seriously. “Speaking from experience, that’s not how marriage works. Trust me, he wants you to bother him with it.”

Jesse is a hundred percent right, but I need to work out how to broach the subject of her with him, without shutting down. I know it isn’t warranted, but I feel shame for even thinking about her. Almost like I’m not allowed to change my mind or question decisions past me made.

“Seriously.” Jesse squeezes my shoulder as he rises up off his chair. “Go home and talk to him.”

As Jesse leaves the break room, my phone vibrates, and I know without a doubt it’ll be Julian.

Glancing down at the screen, I take in the photo he’s sent through of Reese awake and comfortably lying on his chest. Then I read the text underneath.

We’re missing you.

My fingers dance across the screen.

Not for too much longer. Be home soon.

Turning the key,I push open our front door and try not to make too much noise. Chances are Reese is already awake, but if she is asleep, I’ll do anything necessary to ensure she stays asleep.

Toeing off my shoes, I walk through the house, noting the soft hum of a tune coming from Julian before laying eyes on him in the kitchen. Julian’s got Reese across his chest in the baby carrier while he lines up her bottles, filling them with water and formula.

He looks so natural preparing her food for the night, and it’s hard to imagine a life where he didn’t know how to be the most perfect father to our daughter. When our embryo had been successfully transferred, we’d sat down and discussed all the ways our lives would change and which changes would suit us best. Anticipating things we had heard about from friends, or things we’d read in books.

We’re blessed in ways I never anticipated, and the ability to be home with our daughter in her first few months of life is one of them.

It’s no surprise that, as a high school teacher, Julian is adored by both the faculty and the students. His boss has worked hard to allow Julian three months of paternity leave and the option to return part-time. The deadline of that decision is coming up quickly, but I know it isn’t something Julian wants to discuss yet.

He’s basking in parenthood, and I have no desire to have him prioritize anything else.

And as Jesse so eloquently pointed out, I have free rein now. I don’t need to be tied down to a garage and under cars twelve hours a day. It’s the time in my life that I get to enjoy the fruits of my labor.

And coming home to them is exactly what that is.

Coming up behind Julian, I curl my hand around his waist and kiss the back of his neck. As if he sensed my arrival, he turns around with a welcoming smile. With Reese between us, I lower my head to kiss the top of hers.

“How are my two favorite people?” I ask him, my voice low and soft.

“Happy you’re home,” he whispers back. “I’m about to make us lunch.”

“Why don’t you finish this”—I point to the bottles—“and I’ll make us lunch.”

Julian glances down at Reese. “Should I try moving her to the crib?”

There’s every chance she’ll wake up, and if I know Julian as well as I think I do, he’s going to change his mind in less than three seconds and keep her sleeping on his chest.

“She’ll wake up anyway,” he says, confirming my thoughts. “I may as well keep her on me so she’ll sleep longer.”

We aren’t the type of parents who give too much mind to how our baby sleeps or where. For the most part, there’s a routine centered around when Reese sleeps, but where she sleeps is wherever works in that moment for both her and us. And truth be told, sometimes you want to hold your daughter close and get lost in that new baby scent as she sleeps across your chest.

The thing about being a parent and forever grieving a sibling is, the loss feels tangible in a way I would’ve never understood without Reese. It’s a crippling realization to know that, for anyreason, life could exist without her. It cuts just as deeply living and knowing every minute that passes, is a minute we would never get back. Some days, routine and good habits feel trivial. If we want to hold her in our arms while she sleeps instead of putting her in her crib, then so be it.

“Lie down on the couch with her if you want. Have a nap, and we can eat when you wake up,” I suggest. “Or we can eat now and then you can sleep.”

“Lunch,” he answers. “One thing at a time; she might not even last that long.”

I chuckle softly. “Fair enough. Do you want leftovers or a turkey sub?”

“A sub sounds good,” he says through a yawn.

I point in the direction of our living room. “Couch now. I’ll be out with your food soon.”

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