Page 22 of Forgotten
“Yeah?”
“Wanna meet the baby later this week?” Ashley asks out of nowhere and I see the mischief back in his ice blueeyes.
“But…” I don’t finish the sentence. Looking into Ashley’s eyes, watching that blinding smile appear on his lips, I feel a deep sadness. I hate to be the cause of that.
Fuck the doctor’s recommendations. I nod. Of course I’ll meet the baby. Of course I will do anything to remember—anything to bring 2024 Ashford Hale back home to Ashley Bergman.
???
It’s the slowest week of all.
Maybe it’s because finally I’m more alert, or maybe it’s because I simply cannot wait until Ash and the babywill visit. I busy myself as much as I can. Lindsey the nurse gets me some magazines and I go through them, flipping the pages without really reading anything. Half of the celebrities I don’t know and the half I do recognise I’ve never been able to name anyway. The days go by and I pretend I don’t care about where Ash has been. I pretend I’m not missing his presence like crazy.
I kind of fail at it.
And then, fucking finally: a knock on the door, barely audible. I’ve counted the hours, counted the days until this very moment.
Ash’s head appears at the door with a warning. “You can still change your mind.”
“Are you kidding me? I’m as deep as it gets.” It makes me laugh, how stupid this man is.
“Just double-checking. Here we go.” He kicks the door open, barges in like a burglar in a bank at 2:00 p.m., hiding something in his arms.
Hiding someone, I correct myself.
As Ash turns towards me, it’s no wonder he never did any sports. He’s as uncoordinated as it gets.
It’s a floppy reveal. Giggles are already escaping Ash’s oversized jean jacket and two tiny feet are dangling out. When I see the baby (my baby? Our baby?) for the first (the first?) time, my heart stops.
It’s… it’s a baby. A small human. The size, the concept… it annoys me, already.
Then, I look closer.
Brown hair, huge tawny eyes. A shy smile with a line of white teeth up front. The chubby arms are squeezingAsh’s neck and once he lets his jacket fall, his arms come around an obnoxiously pink dress. I love it.
As soon as the child notices me, she wiggles her arms in the air and coos “Da!” pointing at me.
“Da! Da!” Ash joins in, his accent changing ever soslightly.
“Is she Russian?” I ask.
“Does she look fucking Russian to you?” Ash lowers his head dramatically, his lips curled up despite his attempts to make a serious face. He doesn’t curse often and when he does, I feel unhinged.
The child, growing squeamish in Ash’s arms, repeats “Dad!” This time, she pops the last consonant proudly.
“Yeah Win, Dad’s there.” He turns to me then. “Do you want to hold her?”
My reply couldn’t come quicker. “No.”
Nodding in understanding, Ash moves the baby around so that she’s hanging at his hip. He produces a plastic bag out of thin air and passes Winnie a handful ofcereal.
I watch silently, filing the twitch in Ash’s muscles and his effortlessness away for later. That is something I will have to think over. Ash has never been particularly sporty or into working out but the shadow of his bicep sends a shiver down my spine and I find myself incredibly attracted to him. I want to have it around me, I want to feel his chest under my touch again. The thought knocks the air out of my lungs, leaving my mouth dry. Where did that come from?
No. Focus.
Ash’s holding a baby, our baby, in his arms. A baby that’s now busy munching on cereal, big brown eyes jumping from me to Ash and then back to the cereal. I study her quietly as she stuffs her mouth and babbles incomprehensible words.
She looks… familiar.
