Page 65 of Husband of the Year
Gregory. The name echoes in my head like a promise.
“When the paramedics arrived, they discovered him sleeping near Liam. He’s been with my parents ever since. I wasn’t told about him until I got home. Imagine my surprise. Walking into my parents’ home with my dad holding a baby. My mother didn’t want me to worry. Part of me wonders if she thought I wouldn’t come. Which is ridiculous. She knows I adore babies.”
I smile and wonder, did I know Olan loves babies?
“We’re not sure if Abby was using when she was pregnant, but the doctors seem to think not. Which could explain her overdose. Her body couldn’t handle it after months of being clean. So far, it appears Gregory is okay—he’s hitting all the milestones. Babbling. So much babbling. Grasping and reaching for toys. People. Me. And the crawling has commenced. My parents raised three boys, so they have experience with babies, but it’s been a long time. And they’re older.”
Olan smiles, and I return a grin, still quiet and nodding, taking it all in. His face lights up when he mentions Gregory. It’s reminiscent of the way he appears while discussing Illona.
“Liam has expressed an awareness that he’s in no place to be a parent right now. He’s hoping my folks will take custody. I brought up foster care, and my parents said it’s not an option. Once he’s entered the system, removing him would be extremely difficult.”
I nod in agreement.
“He’s a beautiful baby. Sweet. Snuggly. He’s part of why I’ve been so distracted. I’m trying to balance helping my parents with their emotions around rehab, caring for a six-month-old, and going to the center for Liam. I postponed sharing about him because it didn’t seem appropriate to convey through a text, email, or a quick phone call. But Marvin, he’s a light. An angel. He gives the most amazing side-eye. My father says, ‘He’s a Stone all right with that look.’ He didn’t ask to be born into this situation, and as his uncle, I owe it to him, to Liam, and to my parents, to help however I’m able. It’s hard for me not to see Illona in him. He’s just so incredible. I’ll text you a photo when we get off the call.”
I open my mouth, but wait, making sure Olan’s finished and ready for me to talk.
“Go ahead,” he says. “That’s it.”
“I…” My brain treads water, trying to stay afloat. “I’m not sure what to say. It’s a relief to know that you’re there. I can’t even imagine what it’s like for your parents. For Liam. For the baby—Gregory—to not have his mother… or his father. Oy.”
“He’s doing better than anyone expected. There’s a lot of love coming his way and so far, he appears to be thriving. He’ll be okay.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Just keep things calm there.” Olan scratches his chin and I focus on his mouth for a moment. Fuck, I wish I could kiss him.
“Isabella knows. We’ll tell Illona she has a new cousin when the time is right. I’ll definitely keep you posted about that.”
“Of course. Whatever you need.”
“Thank you,” he says.
“For what?”
“For understanding. For listening. For being the love of my life.”
“I love you.” As the words escape my lips, I realize their inadequacy in expressing the intensity of my feelings. I bring the phone to my face and kiss near the camera. “So much. Be safe and text me soon.”
“Of course. And I’ll email more, as well.”
“I love them. So much. I made a folder to save them.”
“Speaking of, I almost forgot your Motown lesson.”
“Ready.” I sit up straight, doing my best star student impression.
“I know I massacred it, but ‘Isn’t She Lovely’ has such a special place in my heart. Stevie wrote it for his daughter, Aisha. That’s a real baby crying in the song. They recorded it during childbirth, although not Aisha’s. There are sounds of Stevie bathing her toward the end of the song. It’s a love letter from a father to his child, and that’s why I sing it to Illona.”
“She loves it. The song and you singing it to her.”
“Luckily, she’s not critical of my less-than-radio-ready voice.”
“She’s no Simon Cowell. And you’re her dad. She’s enamored with everything you do.”
Olan smiles and nods. “Okay, I should probably go,” he says. “We’re transitioning Greggie to baby food, but he still gets a few bottles, and I’ve been taking the middle of the night shift for my parents while I’m here.”
“Greggie?” The nickname makes my heart melt like butter on warm toast.
