Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
My mom stays for a few more minutes before heading back to the other room. I make my way over to Oliver and sit in the chair next to his bed. This little boy has no idea how lucky he is. It’s not because my parents can provide for him, it’s because they are the best parents in the world. They have so much love to give. I’m honestly surprised it’s taken them this long to add to our family. I’m sure with raising Quinn, Peyton, and I, they probably thought they were done, but here they are, taking on a baby when Peyton is trying to make them grandparents.
Oliver fusses, and I wonder if I should pick him up to console him. I know next to nothing about babies, yet the urge to hold him, snuggle him against my chest, is strong. I relent and scoop him into my arms until he’s nestled in the crook of my neck. His tiny baby breaths tickle, but I welcome them.
He still and lets out a small, contented sigh. When I met him a few days ago, he was just a tiny baby, and now he’s my brother. Even if my parents don’t end up adopting him, he’s going to know he was loved when he was part of our family.
I adjust him to rest in my arms. This gives me a chance to stare at this face. His eyelashes are long, perfect. His cheeks have the slightest hint of red; they’re chubby and pinchable, and I realize I’ll hurt anyone who tries to hurt him.
My finger traces a line down his nose and over his lips. He puckers and then stretches. I know I’m breaking every parental sin out there by touching a sleeping baby, but I can’t help it. Oliver’s eyes flutter open, and we stare at each other. I expect him to fuss or let out a scream, but he doesn’t. He looks at me, blinking every few seconds. Does he know I’m his big sister? It’s unlikely, but maybe he sees me as security.
“Hi, cutie.” I pull out my phone, turn on the camera, and adjust Oliver so we can take a selfie. I send it to Ben with the caption: Oliver says, Hi, Uncle Ben! I wait for Ben to respond, but he doesn’t.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, Oliver.”
He stretches and yawns. I frown, knowing I woke him from his slumber. I stand and hold him to my chest. We walk around the room, and I sing to him until he’s asleep. Instead of putting him back in his crib, I lie him on the bed and fall asleep next to him.
“Do you have any kids?”
I clear my thoughts and smile at the lady next to me. She told me at the beginning of our flight that her daughter is eight months old, teething, and not enjoying the flight to LAX. The woman is apologetic and on the verge of tears each time her baby fusses or cries.
“No,” I tell her. “My parents are fostering a baby though. He’s just a couple of months old.”
“I love my daughter, but—”
“She’s not bothering me,” I tell the mother. “She’s a cutie.” I touch the little girl on her nose, and she tries to bite me. I laugh, but the woman is horrified.
“She puts everything in her mouth. She likes to test those chompers.”
“I can imagine.”
The intercom crackles and the pilot announces our descent into Los Angeles. I’m excited to be home, see Ben, and fix the issues we were having before I left. Every part of me hoped Ben would’ve shown up at the cabin, and things would be back to normal, but he didn’t, despite my many texts.
I inhale deeply and try to calm my nerves. Ben hasn’t responded to a single text of mine since the night of our fight. I don’t know whether to expect to see him at baggage claim or find him idling along the curb. He’s never left me stranded before, and I can’t imagine he would this time.
After the plane lands, I help the mom next to me gather her things and then follow her off the aircraft. I wish her well when she has to stop and wait for her daughter’s stroller and thank the universe she’s not a Page Six subscriber and recognized me as Harrison James’ daughter. I meander through the airport with just my ballcap on. It’s late, and there aren’t a lot of people waiting around. I let Ben know I’ve landed, and don’t bother to wait for his reply. Anxiousness and dread wash over me even though I fight to stay positive. He’ll be outside, my mind repeatedly says as I make my way to luggage claims.
I don’t know how long I stand outside, up against one of the pillars, waiting for Ben to arrive. The minutes tick by, and then a full hour. LAX is quiet. There’s a lull in arrivals due to the early morning hours. With each set of headlights that appears, my heart races at the thought of Ben driving toward me, but each car passes by.