Page 160 of Old Habits

“Yes, please.” She shifts forward, slowly extending her arms. “I am so hungry. Did you get my Pop Tarts?”

“In the bag on the counter.”

“Thank you.”

I take the baby from her nervous hands, keeping mine as steady as possible as I lower into the rocking chair.

Jovie waits until I’m settled in before leaning down to kiss me. “You good?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I answer.

“You sure?”

My eyes lock on my daughter’s tiny face. “Positive.”

“I’ll be back soon.”

I hear her leave but I don’t take my attention away from the bundle in my arms.

“We’ll be here,” I murmur.

I slide my thumb down her arm to rest next to one of her hands as it sticks out of her green, dinosaur-covered blanket. How is it even possible to be this small? Never in my life have I felt so huge and so fragile at the same time. So strong yet so weak.

I thought I’d already fallen in love for the last time.

Her eyes open slightly, revealing the brownish hue of her irises. She catches sight of me with a blank stare that’s just so utterly Jovie it’s mind-boggling. Just a few days old and she’s already the spitting image of her mother, inside and out.

“Hey, Joanne,” I whisper.

She blinks once. Her gaze shifts from tired annoyance as she recognizes me or, at least, I think she does. It’s impossible to know anything about her yet. I don’t know what she’s thinking. I don’t know what she’ll look like a month from now or six months from now or even six years.

Who is this person in my arms and who will she become if I look away for too long? What will she do with her life? Where will she go?

I have no idea.

But I can’t wait to find out.

***

“Where is she?”

I barely get the front door open before my mother and sister barge inside. “In the nursery with Jovie,” I say after them as they rush into the hallway.

My father follows behind them, silently shaking his head, along with my brother-in-law, Charlie. They both give me that new father pat on the shoulder as they pass, welcoming me to the fold.

“Hey, Uncle Will,” Andy says, looking up from the end of the line.

“Hey, buddy,” I say, messing up his hair, as I always do.

He reaches up and fixes it himself as he walks in. Seven years old and already too cool for bad hair.

“Oh, she’s so precious!”

“Look at that face!”

“And the little hands!”

I close the door with a sigh but something blocks it before it latches.