Page 60 of Upshot

When we return to the room, Brontë is sitting up. Keats is sleeping soundly in Eliot’s lap.

“Good lord, Dad. Did you rob a grand opening?” Brontë asks. I snort a laugh. That’s why we belong together. No one else will ever get our humor. “And who’s in the bear suit?”

“You think this is big? You should see the size of the giraffe I beat your sister off,” Reed answers.

“It’s the perfect size to snuggle against when he gets old enough to read,” Austen argues.

“And before then, it can just babysit for us,” Brontë smarts back.

“At least I brought something. You don’t see Eliot making the effort,” Austen adds.

“I’m just smart enough to take it to the house instead of toting it back and forth around the county.”

“Whatever.” Austen rolls her eyes.

“Let me see this baby before your sisters tear it apart fighting.” Patrick lifts Keats from Eliot’s legs. “Hey, little guy. Just think how much quieter the house would have been with sons.”

“Dad,” the three sisters say in unison. He’s not lying. Even with one sister, my house was usually similar to living in a tomb. No raised voices in my house. Geneva and I didn’t dare squabble where we could be heard. I can’t imagine having three of them.

They all start arguing, and a tiny mew begins. Keats tries to open his eyes, and the room falls into oohs and ahhs. It’s amazing how quickly a baby can settle this crazy group.

“Have you decided where you’re going when you leave here? Do we need to go home and set up the crib?” Elise asks. The room grows quiet. Everyone turns to look at Brontë, including me.

We haven’t had time to talk about it since she went into labor. She looks up at me. I remain silent. I’ve told her how I feel, now it’s up to her to make the decision. I’ll abide by what she wants.

“I think,” she begins. I hold my breath. I want her to pick me. It takes everything I have not to speak up. “I think we already have the crib set up. Don’t we, Rand? In Keats’s new room.” She smiles tentatively at me.

In two steps, I’m cupping her face gently in my hands. I can’t stop from pressing my lips against hers. She chose me. She chose our family.

“Dude, it’s like six weeks before that will get you any,” Reed says. I honestly forgot there was anyone else in the room. Everyone laughs as I rest my forehead against hers.

“I love you,” I whisper.

“I love you,” she responds quietly.

“I guess we need to give this little man back.” Keats has made his way to Austen. Reed plays with him in her arms. “You both look exhausted.” I nod. Reed has never been more right. I feel like a walking zombie, even with the coffee boost.

“Do you need us to do anything at the house to get it ready?” Elise asks as I return Keats to Brontë’s arms. They say their goodbyes, and I follow them out.

“Can you see if the couch is keepable?” I ask when we're out of Brontë’s earshot.

Elise nods knowingly. “We brought her bag from the house. It has clothes for both of them and a few comforts for Brontë.” In the foyer of the hospital, she pulls me in for a hug. “Thank you for having the courage to stay.” She squeezes me once more before stepping back. I can feel the back of my eyes burning.

“Congratulations, Rand. You’re a good man. Don’t be scared to put a ring on that finger soon,” Patrick says, pulling me into another hug.

“As soon as she’s ready,” I mumble. If they don’t leave, I’m going to turn into a blubbering mess. How come it’s so easy for Brontë’s parents to say these words but not my own?

“Come on, you’re going to make his mascara run,” Reed jokes before giving me a bro hug. I get a kiss on the cheek from the sisters, even Eliot, and then they’re gone. I take a deep breath as the doors slide closed.

Do you ever wonder “what if?” If that certain something had never happened where you would be? I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately. Everything seems so chaotic right now, but I still wonder “what if.”

What if it hadn’t been my turn to attend the real estate conference? What if I hadn’t decided to grab a quick drink from the bar before heading up to my room? What if I didn’t stay around to talk to the sexy brunette who sat next to me?

I can tell you this much. If any of that had never happened, I wouldn’t be standing in a hospital in the middle of Texas. I wouldn’t be more exhausted and overwhelmed than I’ve ever felt before. I also wouldn’t be as deliriously happy as I am right now.

When I reach the room again, I find Brontë nursing Keats. She’s moved over in the bed, so I slide in beside her. My hand smooths over his head as he eats. “He really is perfect,” I say quietly.

“He is,” she answers with a smile.

---