Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
“You can get monitors that clip on to the diaper,” Vincent says. “It detects if there’s a lack of movement.”
My heart squeezes a little. After Sutton and Jacob’s miscarriage, some of the excitement for Vincent and Kate’s baby turned to fear. Hopefully, the fact that Sutton announced at Christmas she was four months pregnant will make life easier for everyone. But I can feel his anxiety.
“Maybe I should get one of those,” I say.
“You going to pick her up?” he asks.
I reach behind my neck and scratch. “I don’t want to disturb her. Not until I’ve signed all the discharge paperwork and we’re leaving.”
Vincent’s grinning like an idiot at the baby. “You told your parents yet?” he asks, not taking his gaze from the bassinet.
I shake my head. “I’ll tell them on the way back.”
“You know they’re going to be fine with it.” He laughs. “Who’d have thought you’d be a father before me?”
Considering this was a race I never thought to enter, it’s safe to say the answer is “no one.”
I sigh. I’m not worried about my parents’ approval. I know they’ll be thrilled—even if the circumstances are a bit unconventional. I just want life to get back to normal. I wish we could speed through this bit where I have to have family members come round to meet her and coo over her and ask me a thousand questions I don’t have the answers to. I want the nanny in place and for us all to be in a routine. Then life can get back to normal.
Jacob crashes through the door, looking slightly disheveled. “I got one.” He holds up a car seat. “It fits on to this pushchair I got. You can wheel it around.”
“Thanks,” I say, and I glance at the baby. “Let’s leave her in that cot thing until I have the discharge paperwork.”
Jacob follows my eyeline and his expression instantly melts. “Oh, that’s her. He crouches over her. “Hey, baby Cove. I’m your uncle Jacob,” he coos. “I’m going to have a daughter soon. You two are going to be best friends.”
“She’s going to like me better,” Vincent says.
“Impossible, I’m brilliant with kids. It’s my job.” He goes to the other side of the room and washes his hands in the sink I hadn’t even noticed. “Have you picked her up?” he asks. With clean hands, he strokes her cheek, and she turns her head towards his finger.
“Hello, sweet girl,” he says.
Her eyes are closed, but in her sleep she moves her mouth so it forms a perfect ‘O’, and the corners of my mouth twitch. I reach out and touch her forehead with my fingertips and sharply pull my hand back.
The door opens again and a nurse and someone in scrubs comes in. We go through the discharge paperwork while Vincent and Jacob compete over my daughter’s attention.
“That’s it,” I tell them. “We’re free to go.”
“Are you going to put her in the car seat?” Vincent asks.
“Sure.” I go over to the sink and wash my hands. It’s not like I’ve never handled a newborn before. Of course I have—I had an obstetrics residency. But I’ve never handled someone who…I’m responsible for. I feel like I’m about to fuck it up and drop her or something.
I slide my hand under her head and the other under her bottom and lift. Are babies always this light? I feel like I could easily squeeze her too tight or trip and toss her to the other side of the room. She’s so delicate. Fragile. I have to resist putting my cheek to the top of her head. I don’t know who I’m trying to comfort—her or me.
I nod at Jacob. “How much does she weigh?” I ask. “Can you check that booklet thing they gave me?”
“Seven pounds, two ounces,” he says. “About three kilos. She’s just perfect.”
I clip her into the car seat and test the straps to make sure they’re fully fastened. Her socked feet are sticking out of the blanket, her bare, scrawny legs on show.
“I need another blanket,” I say and make a mental note to do some online shopping on the plane ride back. We’re going to need some blankets. And socks.
“There’s one in the car,” Jacob says. “I bought some other things along with the seat. Just bits and pieces you’re going to need before we get home.”
“Good,” I say. “Things will get back to normal when we’re home with a nanny and there’s a routine.”
Jacob smirks as he punches the call button for the lift. “Things aren’t ever getting back to normal, let me tell you.”
I glance down at the baby lying peacefully in her car seat—and suddenly I know what I’m going to call her. “Her name’s Guinevere.”
“Of course it is,” Jacob groans.
Jacob always teased me about my obsession with Arthurian legend growing up. But the name makes sense. It’s unusual yet recognizable. Neve and Gwen are both nice shortened versions, and it goes nicely with Cove.