Page 26 of Carver
The house is as tidy as I remember it. The black and white checked laminate is spotless, the artwork on the walls perfectly straight, the cream paint itself completely flawless. The hallwayopens up into a living room that we pass on the way to the kitchen. It’s an older style because Donna loves that. She’d never let Kenton renovate it. She adores the handmade whitewashed cabinets, the old farmhouse sink, the adorable little windows, and the big island in the middle. The place still has all the old appliances from the fifties, including a propane stove and fridge.
Donna and Ginny are standing by the island, and in Donna’s arms is…
My daughter.
I was purposely numb for so long that all my emotions are close to the surface now. I’m like waterlogged ground, where it can only contain so much before shit starts seeping up to the top, turning into standing water.
My cheeks are wet before I even have a chance to hold the tears back.
I’m frozen, a pillar right here on the same black and white patterned linoleum from the hallway, like a chess piece waiting to jump to a different square. Dravin remains immobile right behind me.
Bronte smiles at the baby, cooing at her before she takes her from her mom. “Elowen. This is your daddy. I’ve told you all about him.”
Did she? She never told me that. I should have known that she would have.
I’ve never felt so much all at once before. I can’t contain it. I want to break down. I want to shout with joy. I want to laugh.
Bronte wasn’t kidding when she said that Elowen looks like me. Mostly, she looks like her own person, but she hasBronte’s eyes, and her face shape. It’s hard to pick out a single feature as my own, but the resemblance is definitely there.
It’s more her mannerisms, I quickly realize when she breaks into a wide smile. I smile that way. Rarely, and not so carefree, and never with such sweet innocence.
“Yeah,” Bronte encourages. “That’s daddy.”
Elowen’s dressed in an adorable pair of pink overalls with a white long sleeved shirt underneath. She kicks her legs and waves her hands. She’s not a baby anymore. I mean she is, but she’s not a newborn.
“Mama,” Elowen says, studying me with her soft hazel eyes.
“She basically just says mama and babbles right now,” Bronte explains. “But we know what she means at least forty percent of the time. Do you want to hold her?”
“Of course I want to,” I rasp, the words scraping over my dry throat. “I’m just not sure she wants to, or if it’s safe with just my good arm.”
Bronte nods. “I hear that. Like I said, she’s only ever been around us, so this is all new. Why don’t I set her down and she can crawl wherever she wants in here? Don’t be offended if she doesn’t head straight for you. She will eventually, when she’s ready.”
She does head straight for me though, with astonishing speed, like she’s in one of those baby races I read about while I was researching. She zooms at triple time, eating up the floor until she reaches my feet. She grasps my socks and jeans, yanking hard to pull herself to standing. She totters a little, but then gets her feet under her and lifts her head. She grins at me,the most adorable smile I’ve ever seen in my life, with her little pearly front and bottom teeth fully on display.
“You guys made a cute kid,” Dravin says, deadpan, into the stunned silence. “One of the cutest I’ve ever seen.”
“Thanks.” Bronte laughs, winking at me as she kneels down next to Elowen. “I think she’s the cutest, but I know I’m biased.” She brushes Elowen’s cheek with her finger. I’m meeting my daughter for the first time, but I’m also seeing a side of Bronte that I’ve never known. I always compared her to the sun, but she’s not. Her light encompasses the entirely galaxy, especially when she’s looking at our daughter. “Do you want me to help you up, Ellie?”
Ellie. That’s the sweetest nickname for the sweetest girl.
She coos something to Bronte, who hefts her up. She holds her out to me, with one arm between her legs supporting her bottom and the other at her shoulders, making the transfer so much easier. My right arm doesn’t have a big range of motion, but I can lift it about chest height, so I’m able to get my good hand underneath Elowen and use the other to keep her from pitching herself out of my arms.
Bronte stands right there, so there’s no way that Elowen could drop.
“H-hi,” I stammer, staring into the suddenly solemn little face.
She takes her time, staring right back, not the least bit shy. Her hand shoots out suddenly, reaching for my nose, but Bronte grasps her fingers and blows a raspberry against her palm.
“Gentle,” she explains to Elowen. “Like you touch kitty and puppy. Very gentle.” Bronte runs her knuckles down my leftcheek. “Here, sweetheart. You can touch here. Just not the other side. Daddy has some ouchies that need to heal first. Ouch, like when you fall down.”
Elowen keeps studying me, trying to figure out exactly what Bronte’s talking about. Watching her process the instructions is amazing. Why do people think that babies don’t get it? Elowen certainly does. She presses her palm to my left cheek where Bronte showed her and pats it, then smiles and lets out a scream that turns into a giggle. She gets a little wild, but Bronte is there, helping me hold onto her.
She makes this feel natural.
Not like a first meeting and not like I have no clue what I’m doing. Not like I’m… crippled.
“Bro!” Ginny steps into our space. “Where’s my hug? I’m so freaking glad that you’re here. We’ve missed you a crazy amount.”
