Page 38 of Dash to Me
“Pancakes,” she says without hesitation. “With chocolate chips.”
Eva wraps her arms around my waist, looking up at me with those eyes that have always been my undoing. “You know what this means, right?”
“What’s that?”
“We’re officially a family now. You, me, and peanut.”
“Peanut,” I repeat, testing the nickname. “I like it.”
EVA
10 months later…
I’min awe of how beautiful our daughter is. She is cooing in the bassinet and Atlas is whipping up lunch in the kitchen. We have decided to try again as soon as the doctor clears us. I can’t stop staring at her tiny fingers, the way they curl around mine when I reach into her bassinet. Amara. We named her, after Atlas’s grandmother. A strong name for a strong girl.
“Lunch is ready, love,” Atlas calls from the kitchen. The smell of garlic and herbs fills our small home.
I lean down to kiss Amara’s forehead before joining him. He’s made my favorite—pasta with his secret sauce that he refuses to write down, insisting that recipes are meant to be felt, not measured.
“She’s sleeping?” he asks, sliding a plate in front of me.
“Just about to. Those eyes were fighting it, but you know how she is. Stubborn.”
“Like her mother.”
We eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the only sounds the clink of forks against plates and Amara’s occasionalgentle sighs through the baby monitor. “Dr. Chen said six weeks,” I say, finally broaching the subject that’s been on both our minds. “But she thinks everything is healing perfectly.”
Atlas reaches across the table for my hand. “Are you sure you’re ready? There’s no rush.”
“I’m sure,” I say, squeezing his fingers. “When I hold her, I just know. Our family isn’t complete yet.”
He smiles, that crooked smile that still makes my heart skip even after all these years. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
I never knew I could love like this—so fiercely, so completely. And somehow, impossibly, there’s still room for more.
After lunch, Atlas clears the dishes while I check on Amara. She’s fast asleep now, her chest rising and falling in a rhythm that I’ve memorized. I adjust her swaddle, careful not to wake her.
“I was thinking,” Atlas says when I return to the kitchen, his voice low. “Maybe we should start looking at bigger places.”
I lean against the counter, watching him rinse the plates. “You think we need more space?”
“Not now, but eventually.” He places a dish in the drying rack. “When there’s another little one running around. Or maybe even two more.” His eyes meet mine, hopeful.
The thought makes my chest tighten with possibility. “I do love this neighborhood, though.”
“There’s that house on Maple Street. The blue one with the wrap-around porch. It went up for sale yesterday.”
I remember the house—we’ve walked past it countless times during my pregnancy, admiring the swing on the porch, the sprawling oak tree in the front yard.
“That’s a dream house,” I say, trying to temper the excitement in my voice.
Atlas dries his hands and pulls me close. “Then let’s make it our dream. I called the realtor this morning. We’re seeing it tomorrow.”
“You didn’t.”
“I did.” His hands rest on my waist. “Life’s too short not to chase what we want, right?”
The baby monitor crackles with Amara’s soft fussing. I start to pull away, but Atlas stops me.
