One Moment Please (Wait With Me #3)(67)

I shrug. “I’m not much of a crafter I’m afraid.”

Christine narrows her eyes at me. “I mean are you ready to become a dad?”

“Is anyone ever ready?” I reply with another shrug. “We’ll figure it out.”

She tilts her head and glares. “How old are you, Josh?”

“Thirty-four.” I square my shoulders to not look weak in front of this oddly intimidating woman.

“Ever been married?”

“No.”

“Ever close?”

“No.” I turn to face her. “My job takes most of my focus.” My hand grips my neck as my muscles tighten under her rapid interrogation.

She nods, looking me up and down like a zoo animal. “And now my sister is taking some of your focus.”

My brow furrows at that remark.

She leans close. “And a baby will take even more focus.”

I nod as a prickle of anxiety skates over me. “Have any advice for me?”

“Yeah.” She pulls back and slaps my shoulder. “Don’t fuck it up.”




Children are exhausting. Don’t get me wrong, I always knew they were a lot of work, and back when they were my patients in Baltimore, I could tell parents were run ragged between chasing siblings and dealing with the one who was ill. But the fact that Lennon and Claire never stopped talking or moving or spilling or asking for something or feeling some emotion the entire time is a mentally exhausting reality.

And from everything I’ve been told, babies are even harder. How will Lynsey and I cope? Thank fuck she moved in here with me so we can help each other because to consider doing this all on our own seems completely unrealistic. And to imagine people actively choosing to have more than one seems like a confusing life choice.

It’s nearing ten o’clock by the time Lynsey’s nieces finally fall asleep on the couch during the movie. I’m on one end of the sofa, and Lynsey’s on the other. Both girls sprawl on top of us as their soft snores echo through the room.

It’s a strange sensation being so close to kids again.

If I’m being honest with myself, I don’t hate it.

Lennon rolls onto her back, her head sliding off my shoulder and onto my lap as she lets out a funny noise in her sleep. She looks so much like Lynsey. A small ache spreads in my chest as I wonder for the first time if our baby will look like her. Maybe we’ll have nights just like this where the three of us sit on the couch together.

How have I never thought anything like that before?

Lennon mumbles something in her sleep, and Lynsey giggles. I turn to see her brown eyes sparkling with mirth in the dark living room, illuminated only by the TV. “Did she just say something about the Jonas Brothers?”

Lynsey nods, covering her mouth as she tries to stop laughing. “When you were out picking up the pizza, the girls were arguing about which Jonas Brother you looked most like.”

“Why?”

Lynsey shrugs. “Probably because they like you.”

“Well, I like them too,” I reply and move a piece of blond hair off Lennon’s face. “I’ve been around some kids who suck, and these two definitely aren’t like them.”

“Well, be careful because I think Lennon likes likes you,” Lynsey interjects, pursing her lips together. “She’s in middle school, and she’s totally boy crazy. She said you were the hot Jonas Brother, for sure.”

My nose wrinkles. “Which one is the hot one?”

She shrugs. “I have no clue…I’m into country music.”

“I’m aware,” I reply with a fond smile.

Lynsey tilts her head and watches me. “You were good with the girls today. Kind of in a gruff, no bullshit grump sort of way but I think they responded well to you.”

I rub my lips together and cringe. “It’s sort of my default.”

“I gathered that the first time we met in the cafeteria.” Lynsey’s belly shakes with quiet laughter, causing Claire to nuzzle deeper onto her bump. She settles her and then turns a quizzical brow to me. “Is that how you were when you worked with kids in Baltimore?” Her eyes are anxious as she holds her breath to await my reaction.

I exhale a long breath, wishing I could avoid this conversation. Considering there’s a sleeping child on me right now, cutting and running would be really dramatic. And maybe if I tell Lynsey a little, she’ll stop being so curious. “I was pretty blunt with my young patients. But that’s because I never believed in treating them like they were kids. They were dealing with heavy, grown-up shit, and they deserved to be addressed like a grown-up. It felt right for me.”

Lynsey nods, rubbing her lips together as she quietly listens.

“And I never patronized them,” I state, recalling so many of the patients I saw in great detail and how some of the hospital staff would talk to them in baby voices. It drove me nuts. “Those kids had gone through enough by the time they got to me that they didn’t need sweet bullshit and nonsense.”

The corner of Lynsey’s mouth tips up into a half-smile. “I’m sure they loved you for that.”

Lennon stirs on my lap, her bare arm slipping from under the covers. I noticed the scar on her upper arm earlier today but didn’t say anything.

My voice is tight when I ask, “Why does Lennon have a PICC line scar near the brachial artery of her arm?”