Page 154 of Ward Willing
I still roll my eyes whenever I think about how insistent he was about getting such an elaborate place to live. At the time, I was hardly able to contribute to our finances, so I didn’t quite have a say. But now that I’m a millionaire… maybe I can convince him to downsize.
As we walk down the carpeted hallway to our door, I hear the latch click open, and out runs a tiny toddler with dark, curly hair.
“Mama!” Bronte squeals, still slightly unsteady on his feet at thirteen months old. He hobbles over to me as I crouch down and open my arms for him, squeezing my eyes shut when he runs into them.
“Hi, sweetheart,” I coo, cradling his small body to me. “I missed you so much,” I whisper, my voice catching on the last word.
“Dada!” he cries out, running from my arms to Liam’s.
I smile at them for a second before standing and turning to face Carolina.
“Thank you so much for watching him,” I tell her, giving her a hug.
“It’s really not a problem,” she argues, waving me away.
I study her for a few beats. When Liam got the job at NYU, I was newly pregnant with Bronte and Carolina insisted on following us east to help us. She started another highly successful law firm in the city, and she lives a few blocks away on Madison Avenue. Despite her many flings, she opts to stay single and childless—and she absolutely spoils Bronte because of it whenever she can.
“Well, we had a relaxing night,” I say, looking over at Liam, who is holding Bronte as the latter plays with his face like play dough.
“Good. You deserve it. You know I’ve been telling you to take a night away since he was three months old?—”
I laugh. “I know, but he’s still nursing, so it’s not as easy. Speaking of…” I trail off, my hands coming to my breasts automatically. “I need to feed him before my boobs explode.”
The four of us head inside, and Liam and Carolina talk for a few minutes before she says goodbye, leaving me to sit on the sofa with my son.
I look down at him as he dozes, and he grabs my finger and falls asleep as soon as he’s had his fill.
Liam quietly comes to sit next to me. “I could use a nap,” he says, rubbing his face.
I laugh. “Me too.”
When we decided to have a baby, I wasn’t sure how I felt about being a mother. The thought of Bronte losing me like I lost my parents was almost too much to bear. But then I thought about Liam, and how he deserved to have a child or two—and how he deserved to have them before he got too old. It was just a fact of life having a husband twenty years older than me. So while I never envisioned becoming a mother at twenty-two, it was the best decision I ever made.
“We should get ready,” Liam murmurs, closing his eyes as he leans against the couch.
“Yeah. In a minute,” I murmur, looking down at Bronte.
Bronte—whose name means thunder.
Naming my child after the thing that scares me the most might seem contradictory, but for me, it was the perfect way to let go of that fear and move on completely.
Of course, Liam agreed to it very quickly because of his love of literature.
After letting Bronte and Liam snooze for a few minutes, I carry Bronte to his nursery to let him nap while I get ready.
An hour later, the three of us are on the Q train headed to Times Square. Bronte is strapped to Liam’s chest, and my dashing husband gets more than a few admiring glances from other women.
I scowl at each and every one of them, and Liam can’t help but notice what I’m doing.
Once we get off the train, the three of us walk to the infamous, flashing billboards. My palms are sweaty as we get closer, and I can’t help but continue checking my watch.
“Five minutes,” Liam says, stopping when we get to the middle of the square. Bronte kicks and squeals against Liam’s chest, facing outward and grabbing for each person that passes us. “You okay?” he asks, coming to stand next to me.
I wipe my hands on my jeans, realizing that they’re shaking. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
Walking a few feet away, I turn around and continue pacing, trying to quell my racing heart, repeating that for a couple of minutes.
“One minute,” he says, looking up at the billboards. “Which one will it be on?”
