Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 129084 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129084 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
Max giggles. “Ca.” I turn back to see the cars lined up behind me at the garage.
“Good boy,” I say, looking into his eyes. “Cars.”
Most are wearing sunglasses, but my dad squints, his eyes shifting from me to the child in my arms. “Glad you’re here, Noah,” my mom says, pushing the chair out to come greet us.
When the world shifts back on its axis, I hear birds singing in the trees in the distance, the wind gently blowing against my skin, and my family returning to whatever they were doing prior to our arrival.
“Hi, Noah,” Loch shouts, clearly more interested in food.
Marina waves like she’s the Queen of England. It reminds me of when she was elected homecoming queen back in high school on a float in a parade and at university riding around the football field in a convertible. I think it’s gone to her head. “Hey, guys.”
Lark stands, and Harbor’s right behind her, along with my dad. Although my dad wears a polo and shorts, my brother and sister-in-law are dripping in wet bathing suits, fresh from the pool.
Liv and I walk closer to the action just as my mom beelines for Max. “Who is this little guy?”
Oh shit. Do I just say it or at least get us into the party first. I glance at Liv. Every muscle in her face tells me not to do it, her hand squeezing mine like she’s trying to kill me, and then I hear her whisper, “Not yet.”
“This is Max.”
“Oh my goodness,” she says, glancing back at my dad over her shoulder. “He makes my heart squeeze. Come see, Port.” With her hand over her chest, she coos at him. “I would have had twenty kids if I could have.”
Liv smiles, and asks, “How’d you decide on four?”
“Because kids are expensive,” my dad responds, chuckling. He goes right in to tickle Max’s belly, and then turns to Liv. “I didn’t know you had a son.”
The tension slips from her shoulders, and she eases up on my hand. Beaming with joy, she replies, “Yep. Here he is.” This is the good stuff, the feel-good, pride-from-the-inside-out moments parents have in life. I feel the same, but I can’t let it shine just yet.
My mom lifts to hug me with one arm and then moves around to embrace Liv. “He’s so handsome.” She can’t take her eyes off him. I know why, but I’m not sure how to tell them that he’s also my child. Maybe I should have rehearsed this after all. “He reminds me so much of my boys. He’s a twin of Harbor at that age.”
An eye roll threatens, but I control myself. “Harbor, pfft.” Okay, so I slip . . . sue me. “Don’t insult Max like that.”
She playfully pinches my arm. “Now. Now. All my kids were beautiful babies, like Max.”
I catch Liv’s eyes on me, a knowing exchange shared between us.
Lark comes up wrapped in a towel, and embraces my free side. “Hey, Noah, how are you?”
“I should be asking you. How are you feeling?”
Rubbing her beach towel-wrapped pregnant belly, she smiles. As a doctor who is a recovering workaholic, she’s managed to dwindle her hours to part-time in preparation for the baby and staying home. It shows. She looks rested and happy. Glowing, as they say. There’s also a lightness to her eyes when she looks at Max. “You know what I think?”
She better not say Harbor, but I bite anyway. “What do you think?” I ask, angling Max for her to get a good look.
Reaching out her finger, Max takes it, eliciting her smile to bloom even brighter. “I think he looks just like Noah.” Her eyes briefly meet mine.
Having an ally is good, but I wonder if she knows the truth. Women’s intuition or doctor’s expertise? I nudge her gently. “Is that your professional opinion?”
“It is.” She moves to meet Liv as I shift over so introductions can begin for Liv and Max.
My mom gets us drinks while we settle in and then offers to play with Max in the grass away from the pool, telling us to relax and enjoy a few minutes off-duty. Liv sits with the others at the table, but I remain standing, watching my mom talk to him. You’d think they were having full-blown conversations by how animated they are with each other and the pockets of laughter that reach my ears.
Taking out my phone, I snap a few photos. It’s not just something I know she’ll love, but something I want to have as a keepsake of when she first met my son, her first grandchild.
Not that it matters that I am the first, and ultimate champion, in any kind of brotherly love competition for producing the first grandkid, or anything like that . . .
I rub Liv’s shoulder, and her hand covers mine.