Page 78 of Say Yes to the Hot Mess

No, scratch that: I’mverysure. I don’t remember everything, but the vague flashes flitting through my memory are…well, they’re not great.

Pretty sure I tried to undress in front of Dex. Pretty sure I babbled on and on about Archer (okay, I’m not sorry for that one). And I seem to recall the words “Franky-Franky-Frank” coming out of my mouth? I’m sure I was referencing my uncle, but beyond that, who even knows what it was about? I’m not going to ask.

Also—a sinking feeling shows up in the pit of my stomach—I think I might have told Dex about Scarlett.

I’m going to have to confess that to her, and while I’m sure she’ll be understanding, I don’t love that it happened.

I just can’t believe I crushed Dex’s little old lady grandmother. I feel sobad.I didn’t get a chance to do much more than offer a brief apology before both she and I rushed off to the nearest hospital, but I wish I could send her a note or a gift or something. An I’m-sorry-I-broke-your-hip fruit basket. Do they make those?

It feels unlikely.

My wrist hurts, but it’s not overly terrible, especially if I keep it stationary. I’m lucky it was my left wrist that got hurt; I’m right-handed. It will take some creative adjustments, but hopefully I can maneuver with just one hand for a while.

I force myself to forget about all this when I reunite with Archer. Partly because my mortification from last night’s word vomit is eating me alive, but also because I can figure that stuff out later; right now is for my baby.

It doesn’t seem possible, but somehow he’s gotteneven cuterin the two days I was gone. Were his cheeks always this chubby? Did he always have this many thigh rolls? How can this be? How can I love him more now than I did when I left?

But I do. I fully do. This little human blows my mind. He’s just this blob of chunk and slobber and smiles, and yet…he is myworld.I was terrified of being a mom before he was born, but now I can’t imagine my life without him in it.

When I give Uncle Frank a giant thank-you hug and then take Archer home, I breastfeed him for a good twenty minutes. I don’t particularly need to, and he falls asleep like ten minutes in, but it feels good to just snuggle him and be close to him again.

“I missed you,” I whisper to him as we rock. I take in his cheeks, his little hand resting on my breast, his fuzzy head. “I missed you so much.”

He gives a little yawn and pulls himself off my nipple, and I smile at him.

Someday he’ll get embarrassed when I drop him off at school. Someday he’ll get mad at me and think I’m horribly out of touch with what’s cool or hip or whatever. So I’m soaking up this time I have with him now, when all he wants is to be near me, sleeping and napping.

What a life.

After about ten more minutes of rocking Archer, my phone rings. Archer stirs sleepily but otherwise doesn’t wake; I know he can’t talk, but I like to think that this deep sleep is his way of telling me he missed me, too.

“Hello?” I say absently, my eyes tracing the cowlicks in Archer’s fluffy hair.

“Hey,” Dex’s voice says. A stupid little flutter shows up somewhere in the vicinity of my belly button.

“Hi.” I do a good job, on the whole, of not letting my voice betray that little flutter.

“You sound out of breath,” Dex says. “You okay?”

Crap. So much for not betraying the flutter.

“I’m fine,” I say, clearing my throat. “Totally fine. What’s up?”

“Well, I have here”—I hear a rummaging sound—“a hairbrush that doesn’t belong to me, and…” There’s more rummaging. “Something that looks like…tongs?” I can hear his frown as he goes on, “Except with hot plates? I think this might be for your hair.”

My eyes widen in horror. “Are you unpackingalready?We just got home, like, an hour ago.”

His brief silence tells me he’s confused. “Yes…? Should I not be unpacking?”

I sigh with exasperation. “The only thing worse than packing for a trip is unpacking. No one jumps right in and unpacks. Everyone shoves the bag in the corner of their room and pulls things out as needed until the bag naturally empties on its own.”

Dex’s laugh is pure magic. “I wasn’t aware I was doing it wrong. I don’t particularly want to be living with my suitcase on the floor of my room, though.”

Shaking my head, I say, “You are truly an odd person.”

“But a stupid-hot odd person,” he points out.

“A stupid-hot odd person,” I agree, smiling.

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