Page 121 of Checking It Twice
“He’s different,” Grandma June says suddenly, following my gaze. “Since you. Settled. Like he finally stopped waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
I grin and squeeze her shoulder.
When I get close, Charlie starts fussing, that preliminary whimper that means she’s getting hungry.
“I’ve got her,” I say, settling into the familiar weight of Charlie in my arms. “She’s probably ready to eat.”
“Use the guest room,” Karen suggests. “It’ll be quieter.”
The guest room is exactly as I remember it from that first Christmas—soft colors, a dresser under the window, the kind of space designed to make people feel welcome. Thankfully, Karen and Tom have upgraded it with a queen-size bed and a pack-n-play for Charlie.
I settle into the chair by the window, Charlie latching on immediately with the enthusiasm of someone who’s been personally offended by having to wait five whole minutes for dinner.
The house sounds different from up here—muffled laughter, the occasional crash of something being dropped, the steady hum of family life. Through the window, I can see kids building a snowman in the yard, their voices carrying on the cold air.
This is what I wanted for Charlie. This sense of belonging, of being part of something bigger than just the two of us. The knowledge that she’s loved by people who will always have her back.
The door opens quietly, and Mitch slips inside, closing it behind him so as not to disturb the feeding baby.
“How’s she doing?” he asks softly, settling on the edge of the bed.
“Better now. Your mom thinks she was just overwhelmed by all the excitement.”
“Smart woman, my mother.” He watches Charlie with that soft expression he gets whenever he looks at our daughter, like he still can’t quite believe she’s real. “Dad wanted to show me the new workshop setup. Apparently, he’s planning to build Charlie a playhouse for next Christmas.”
“She’ll be barely walking by then.”
“Try telling him that. He’s already drawn up plans.”
The image of Tom Drake carefully constructing a tiny house for a granddaughter who won’t be able to use it except for visits here warms my chest.
“Your family is amazing,” I say quietly.
“They’re your family too.” He reaches out, running a gentle finger along Charlie’s cheek. “You doing okay? I know this is a lot.”
I think about lying, about pretending I have everything under control the way I usually do. But sitting here in this room where we first started pretending to be something we weren’t, honesty feels easier.
“I’m tired,” I admit. “And scared I’m screwing everything up. And really, really happy to be here.”
“You’re not screwing anything up.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I’m watching you figure it out every day. And you’re incredible at it.” He leans forward, pressing a soft kiss to my temple. “Besides, she’s six months old. As long as she’s fed, clean, and loved, we’re winning.”
“Is it always going to feel this overwhelming? Like, the responsibility of it all?”
“Probably.” His voice is matter-of-fact but gentle. “But we’ve got backup now. You see how my mom looked at Charlie? That baby is never going to want for people who love her.”
Charlie finishes eating and immediately falls asleep against my chest, a boneless, complete relaxation that only babies can achieve. I adjust her carefully, breathing in that sweet baby smell that’s become my favorite thing in the world.
“We should go back down,” I say, but I don’t move.
“We should.” He doesn’t move either.
“They’re probably wondering where we are.”
“They know where we are.”
