Josh and Hazel's Guide to Not Dating(72)

“Halmeoni made me do a bath,” he whispers, full of three-year-old outrage.

“That’s good,” Hazel tells him. “You were stinky.”

“And Jia told her that I ate the last gummy worm.”

I sit down beside my wife as she asks, “Did you?”

“Yes,” he says, “but she had seven and I only had two!”

Hazel bends, kissing Miles’s forehead. “Big sisters are like that sometimes. Sleep, baby boy.”

He doesn’t fight, rolling over and immediately closing his eyes. I stare at him a little longer. Everyone says he looks just like me. Hazel stands with a smile, picking up the pile of costumes on the floor—Mulan, Tiana, and Ariel are his favorites.

We agree that inside, he is all Hazel.

..........

Saturday morning, Miles bounds down the hill, feet barely staying beneath him. Today, he is Elsa—except for his red cowboy boots—with a well-loved Disney wig unraveling behind him as he runs.

Beside me, his sister, Jia, watches him, eyes narrowed as she pulls long, careful licks across her ice cream cone. “He’s going to fall.”

I nod. “Maybe.”

“Appa.” She turns her doe eyes on me. “Tell him to slow down.”

“He’s on the grass,” I remind her. “He’ll be okay.”

Unconvinced, she stands, yelling down to her little brother. “Namdongsaeng!”

Only when she calls out to him does he tumble, tripping over a boot and rolling a few feet on the lawn. He comes up laughing. “Noona, did you see me?”

“I saw you.” Suppressing a smile, Jia sits back down. Looking up at me again, she gives a dramatic shake of her head. “He’s wild, Appa.” She looks like her mom.

We agree that inside, she is all me.

Hazel comes up the hill, holding a tray of coffees and hot chocolates in one hand and catching Miles’s hand in the other. She manages to start running with him, careening up the hill toward us without spilling anything. When she nears, I take the tray from her hand to keep her from pressing her luck.

“Mama, did you bring me hot chocolate?” Jia asks.

Bending, Hazel swoops her up from the bench, cradling her for a kiss before spinning in wild circles that make Jia giggle wildly and make my blood pressure spike.

“I did,” Hazel says, “and had them put extra whipped cream on top.”

“Haze,” I say gently. “Careful.” She’s nearly seven months pregnant, and it seems like ever since the first, she has more and more energy each time.

She gives me an indulgent smile, setting Jia down, and our daughter wraps her arms around her mom’s wide middle. She kisses Hazel’s belly. “Mama, tell me about the time when I was in your tummy.”

Hazel glances at me again, and plops down cross-legged on the grass. “Mama found out she was going to have a baby. She and Appa were so happy.” She cups Jia’s face, leaning forward to kiss her nose, and—not to be ignored—Miles climbs into Hazel’s ever-shrinking lap.

She sweeps his hair out of his face, speaking to Jia. “But I found out that I had to be very quiet and still for a little while.” She drops her voice to a whisper. “Mama was not good at being quiet and still. Was she?”

Jia shakes her head, very serious now.

“But you were,” Hazel whispers, “weren’t you?”

My daughter nods, grinning proudly.

“You taught Mama how to be quiet, and calm, and still. And so I did it, because you showed me, and that is how everything turned out okay.”

“Now me!” Miles roars.

“You, my little wiggle monster,” Hazel says, “did not know how to be calm or quiet or still. And that was okay, because Jia also taught Mama’s body how to have a baby in there, and so we could be just as silly as we wanted to every single day!”

“Thank you, Noona!” Miles climbs off Hazel, tackling his sister.

The two of them wrestle on the grass, tangled up in Miles’s dress, hot chocolates forgotten.

A hand comes up to my knee, tapping, and I help Hazel up from the lawn, standing to wrap my arms around her. “You sure you’re ready for another one?”

“No turning back now. Almost three down,” she says, “fourteen to go.”

“Keep dreaming, Bradford.”

Stretching, she kisses me, eyes open, lips resting on mine.

I’m an optimist; I always anticipated having a good life. But to have dreamed something like this would have felt enormously selfish.

“Sometimes I imagine going back in time,” she says, reading my mind, “and telling myself that I’d end up right here. With Josh Im.”

“Would you have believed it?”

She lets out a husky laugh. “No.”

I can’t pull her as close as I want, chest to chest, thigh to thigh, so instead I dig my fingers into her bun, pulling it apart so that her hair falls around her shoulders. Her breath catches—I think at the hungry, possessive expression on my face. She looks a little wild, too: her cheeks are pink from the wind, her eyes bright and amber.

“I thought this was your plan all along,” I say, kissing her again.

“In my dreams.”

I look over at Jia and Miles. She’s swiping grass from his skirt, helping straighten his wig. And as soon as she’s done, he tears off down the hill again under the watchful eye of his sister.