Page 59 of Upshot

“Getting dressed. I’m sure we’ll be there before they can even serve you breakfast,” Reed says.

“Hey, swing by and pick me up. Got to go, guys. I’ll be there shortly to assert my dominance as the favorite aunt.” Eliot hangs up.

“We’d better get ready too.” Dad ends his side of the call.

“Can I let my family know?” Rand asks when they’ve all ended the call.

“Of course.” I pull Keats to my breast so I can get a jump on this feeding thing. It’s not as easy as everyone makes it seem. A nurse helps me get started while Rand sets up the next chat.

“Whoa. Dude, we know you have a hot girlfriend, but you might not want to spread naked videos around.” For the record, Peter cannot see nipple. I’m sure he’s seen plenty of breasts before anyway.

“Oh my… is that my… what is that, Rand?” Geneva’s face is added to the chat.

“Meet my son, Henry Keats Randolph. We’re calling him Keats.”

“Keats. Much better than Henry,” Geneva says.

Rand scowls. I laugh.

“I can’t wait to get my hands on him.”

“That sounds terrifying,” Peter teases. “We’ll come out as soon as you get settled. That’s so amazing. Congratulations, guys. I’m so happy for you.”

“Same. You give that little one lots of hugs from his favorite Aunt Geneva. You made the right choice, Rand. I’m so proud of you. Both of you. Send me a picture. I’m sure you’ve already taken a few.”

Rand ends the call right as Keats falls asleep. I hand him to his dad, who cuddles him against his chest. I can’t imagine loving any two men more if I tried. Rand smiles at me, and my heart swells. Then Keats grumbles, and I fall even more in love. I can’t wait to get them both home so our family can begin its new life.

twenty-one

RAND

“Is there a new mommy in here?” Austen asks, quietly pushing the door of the hospital room open. Brontë had been sleeping while I hold Keats on the couch. I think I’m still running on adrenaline. Having a son feels so surreal to me. I keep a tight hold of him just to prove to myself it’s not a dream.

“Come on in,” I say. I’m not sure you could rouse Brontë with a stick of dynamite at this point. But just in case, I keep my voice down.

“Oh my.” Austen stops just inside the door when she spies Keats snuggled in my arms. Eliot pushes her unceremoniously farther into the room.

Elise doesn’t hesitate. She moves past them, sits down on the couch, and holds her hands out to me. Carefully, I transfer her new grandson into her arms.

“He’s precious,” she whispers. I move to the other side of the room so Eliot and Austen can join her on the couch. Brontë moans in her sleep, but she doesn’t wake up.

The three other women are completely entranced by a sleeping Keats, so I slip out of the room. If I don’t find some coffee soon, I’m not going to make it.

“Hey, buddy. Where are you running to?” Reed greets me before I make it down the hall. He’s holding a golden-colored teddy bear the size of a five-year-old. It will take up an entire seat of our car by itself. Patrick is standing behind him with a clown’s worth of balloons.

“I was going for coffee. Did you rob a carnival on the way here?”

Hey, nothing is too much for my grandson,” Patrick says with a grin. “How are they doing?”

“Brontë is resting, but come meet Keats. He’s perfect.”

“Let’s get you some coffee first,” Reed says. Patrick nods his head, so we turn back toward the cafeteria, bear and balloons in tow. “So, what’s it like being a dad?”

“It’s unreal,” I say. “I mean, you know you love the baby before he gets here. But then you see him for the first time, and you swear you might burst from all the emotions. It’s the most intense love.”

“And it never changes,” Patrick adds. “You watch them grow up, and still you love them as much as that first time you met.” He gets it. He has three extraordinary daughters. He understands the vow I made when I looked at Keats: to always watch over him and love him no matter where life leads.

We each grab a coffee. I add a pastry and pay for everything. It’s hard to get to your wallet when you’re carrying a life-size bear and a balloon bouquet capable of carrying off an old man’s small house.

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