Page 258 of What We Brave
"Who made the pie?" Tony asks, already halfway through his slice.
"Blake," I say. The man's baking is on the next level. Those cooking shows have really paid off. Turns out, the man blushes when you compliment his baked goods, so I do it often.
"Dude." Tony points his fork at him. "This is incredible."
Blake shrugs against my knee. "It's just pie."
"It's notjust pie. Angie, we need to have them over every week."
Jamila takes a bite. Closes her eyes. "You bake too? You build furnitureandbake pies?"
"And changes his own oil," Kerry adds.
Jamila shakes her head. "I haven't figured out how to make anything this good."
"Remember when you made that pie for my mom?" Kerry says. "For Christmas?"
Jamila's eyes go wide. "We agreed never to speak of that."
"You forgot the sugar."
"The recipe was unclear?—"
"It saidone cup sugar. In bold."
"The font was small!"
"It was fourteen-point, babe. I checked."
Reid's swaying with Claire, talking to her in that low steady voice he uses with patients. She's staring up at him. Fascinated.
I can picture it. Reid with our baby someday. Those hands. That voice. That same easy sway.
So predictable. So annoyingly, biologically predictable.
I look at Blake. He's eating his pie, watching Reid and Claire. Something careful in his jaw.
Claire fusses. Squirms against Reid's chest.
"I think she wants a new victim," Reid says. He looks at Blake. "Tag. You're in."
Blake goes still. Just for a second—his shoulders, his jaw.
Then he sets down his plate and holds out his hands.
Reid transfers her. Claire startles—new arms, new chest, new person—and then she settles against Blake's flannel. His hands span almost her entire back. She's so small against him.
"Jesus," Tony says. "Your bicep is bigger than her head."
"She's got a big head," Angie offers.
"She doesnot?—"
"Tony, I was there. I pushed her out. Ninety-fifth percentile. The pediatrician showed us the chart."
Blake's not listening. He's looking down at Claire. His thumb moves across her back—slow, careful—and his face opens up. The lines around his mouth ease. His shoulders drop. Claire grabs his finger. Holds on.
He lets her.
