Page 48 of Sweet Thing

“In the what?”

A grim smile shaped my lips. That reference was obviously way before her time, which only went to affirm a million other things. “Family perfection where everyone gets along and the sun’s always shining.”

“So your family wasn’t perfect. Show me one that is.”

Yours, sweet thing.I reached out and rubbed Mabel’s tummy. As usual, she preened and bat her eyelashes like the little attention-hog she was.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is this little girl needs two parents who can be there for her. A father who has a clue what he’s doing. A mom who won’t run at the first sign of trouble. As far as family, she’s already way behind, and I don’t want to make it worse.”

“Just because Sven Nyquist patterned a blueprint of bad fatherhood doesn’t mean you have to follow it.”

“You think I’m screwing up?”

“I think you’re soafraid ofscrewing up that you won’t let yourself enjoy this. Enjoy Mabel.”

I stood and threw up my hands. Suddenly I was entertaining Theo Kershaw levels of drama.

“Enjoythis? How the hell am I supposed to enjoy this? This is a baby. A human life. A sponge waiting to absorb, hell, everything. I can’t enjoy that. There’s too much at stake.”

My anxiety lashed the room like a thunderstorm.

She approached, like a keeper toward a cornered animal. “You’re not alone here. You have a team of people, a village for want of a better word, to make sure Mabel gets the best care in the world. She won’t want for anything. But this is a two-way street. Mabel gets a dad, but you get a child. You get the joy of watching her grow, achieve milestones, be loved. That’s not something to be sniffed at. That’s such a privilege and I wish you could see that instead of focusing on all the ways this could go wrong.” She held my gaze, clear and true. “So you’re worried that people will think you’re like Sven. Screw ’em.”

Her words calmed me like no others could have done.

“Screw ’em?”

“Yep. Peopleloveseeing patterns, even where none exist. If you don’t want to just ignore it, then reframe the narrative. So your baby mama dropped the result of your bang-in-a-bar-bathroom off before the world. Own it! Show everyone that you’re putting in the work when it comes to fatherhood.”

I frowned. “Do this photo shoot for Natalie? Sounds fake.”

“It doesn’t have to be. Like now. Look at how cute she is in her little Rebels onesie.”

God, she was. My entire body softened, which made a change from my usual response in Adeline’s presence. “It’s covered in papaya junk.”

“Theworstof the baby foods.”

“That’s what I said. Well, to myself. Mabel seems to be a fan.”

Adeline grinned. “We can clean her up. And even if she’s covered in it, so what? Every parent in the world will identify with that. Let me take a few photos and we can post to your personal social media. That makes it seem less corporate and more under your control.”

“I suppose … but I get to decide which ones. Or if they go up at all.”

The next twenty minutes were spent in an impromptu photo shoot. Mabel alone, clinging to her little spoon like a hockey stick. Me feeding her or holding her aloft while she giggled and yelped. Funnily enough, I enjoyed it. Or maybe I enjoyed how Adeline was able to pull joy from some deep, dark recess inside me.

Heads bent together, we looked at the photos, while I tried my best not to inhale my nanny’s hair like a pervert. I let Adeline choose her favorites. She had a better eye than me.

I opened my Instagram. “What should I say?”

She thought about it, then took the phone and typed something.

I read back what she’d written. “Best Mistake Ever?”

“Own it, Lars.”

She was right. I wasn’t my father. I’d made mistakes but unlike him, I was going to own mine.

I hesitated for a moment, then hit post. “Natalie’s gonna kill me.” But what of it? I needed to fight back against the haters in my way.

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