Chapter 18

The next few days sail by. Though the June gloom doesn’t lift, everything feels brighter. More hopeful. I’m not sure what Ned is paying her, but Nurse Marley is worth her weight in gold.

In addition to caring for Isa, she’s brought order to the house. Besides having a well-stocked refrigerator and pantry, the rooms are straightened up and you could eat off the floors—that’s how spotless they are. Despite his high-pressure job, a well-rested Ned’s been in his best mood since I got pregnant. And each day, I feel like I’ve been getting stronger. And spending more quality time with our baby when Nurse Marley is occupied with other chores or running an errand.

On the Saturday following Isa’s first wellness visit, Nurse Marley goes out in the morning to pick up more formula and baby supplies at the local CVS. Worried that taking Isa to the germ-ridden drugstore would be risky, she’s left her alone with me. Well, not exactly alone. Ned’s in the house, but he’s sleeping.

I’m in the kitchen drinking the protein shake Nurse Marley prepared when Isa, who’s parked next to me in her bassinet, wakes up from her nap, crying. For the first time since Marley’s arrival, I have the opportunity to feed my baby a bottle. I panic for a second, then jump at the chance.

A few minutes later, I’m back at the island with a warmed bottle of formula, feeding my sweet baby. Angling her head, just the way Nurse Marley does. Holding and feeding her comes so naturally. I love the way she feels in my arms. Her little body nuzzled against my bosom. Her silky head nestled in the crook of my arm. The way she stares up at me, clenching and unclenching her tiny hands.

I can do this!

Halfway through her feeding, a familiar raspy voice startles me.

“Hey…”

I look up from my baby. My heartbeat quickens. Striding my way is Ned’s business partner and best friend, Gabriel Lucas. Gabe. He’s wearing navy shorts and a worn IMAGE T-shirt, a tennis racket slung over his shoulder. A roguish red bandana circles his head to hold back his tousled, dirty-blond hair. Almost the same age as my husband, he looks younger because of his laid-back demeanor and boyish good looks.

“Hey,” I say back, trying to quiet my heart as he mounts the stool next to me. My eyes lock with his and we exchange smiles. His slightly crooked one is accompanied by an adorable single-sided dimple and a twinkle in his eyes.

Though I haven’t seen him since I went on bed rest, I instantly feel a rush of endorphins. I also feel more than a morsel of mortification, dressed in my ratty chenille robe and fuzzy slippers and my hair thrown up in a messy bun, no makeup. While I look more rested than I have in days, thanks to Nurse Marley, a glimpse in the bathroom mirror this morning told me I still look like something the cat brought in. My complexion is wan and there are still dark circles under my eyes. Plus, I’m still carrying unwanted pregnancy pounds. They haven’t magically disappeared.

His gaze stays on me. “It’s great to see you, Ava. You look…good.”

I roll my eyes. “I look terrible. You’re just saying that to be sweet.”

His expression softens. “Ava, you could never look terrible.”

My skin prickles. I say nothing and continue to feed Isa.

“What are you doing here?” I ask him, as if it’s not obvious from his tennis outfit and racket.

“I wanted to meet Isa.”

Hardly the answer I was expecting. My heart melts like chocolate. His gaze drops to my feeding baby. He stares at her much longer than necessary. It’s like he can’t tear his eyes away from her.

“Wow! Just wow!”

Gabe looks up at me, his eyes imploring. “Ava, can I hold her? I’m her godfather, after all.”

Making Gabriel Isa’s godfather was a no-brainer. Neither Ned nor I have any male blood relations, and Gabe’s his very best friend and business partner. Their friendship goes all the way back to their college days, and he’s financially equipped to take care of our child should anything ever happen to us.

Shoving that dark thought away, I ask, “Are you sure you want to?” In my mind I think of how much my husband avoids holding her. How uncomfortable he is.

Gabe chortles. “Of course I’m sure. It’s time for Isa to meet her godfather.” He hops up from the stool. “But first let me wash my hands.”

I watch as he jogs over to the sink, squirts a bit of dishwashing liquid on his palms, and rubs them together under hot water.

“My mom always says cleanliness is next to godliness.” Grinning, he dries off his hands with a dish towel. “And the last thing I want to do is give my goddaughter any germs.”

My heart warms at his words. So thoughtful! So caring!

He returns to his seat at the island. “Okay, I’m ready.”

On my next breath, I put the baby bottle down and hand Isa over to my companion. To my utter delight and amazement, he cradles her in his arms, her tiny head resting against his defined bicep. I don’t even have to tell him how to hold the baby and support her head.

He gazes down at her. “Hi there,” he says in a voice so soft and sweet I could melt. “I’m Gabriel, your godfather. My job is to watch over you, little one…and when you’re old enough, give you your first surfing lesson.”

Gabe lives on the cusp of Malibu. His oceanfront house—or beach shack as he likes to call it—overlooks the Pacific. He’s an avid surfer, the reason for his bronzed skin, gold-flecked stubble, and sun-kissed hair.

His twinkly ocean-blue eyes lift to mine. “Do you think she can call me ‘uncle’—maybe Uncle Gabe?”

I give a warm smile. “Yes. I’d like that. You’ll be her only uncle…”

“And, fingers crossed, her favorite. I’m gonna spoil her like crazy.”

“You better not,” I say, though secretly pleased that Isa will have this wonderful man in her life forever. Sadly, except for my mother, she’ll have no other relatives. Ned’s an only child, like me, whose parents perished in a tragic yachting accident a year before we met. I lost my father at an early age, and neither of our sets of parents had siblings. While the thought sits in the far corner of my mind, maybe one day I can give Isa a brother or sister so she won’t be so alone in this world. Spare her the loneliness I grew up with. I just have to convince Ned…

My baby girl fusses for a second, but my husband’s business partner gently rocks her and calms her down. I observe how comfortable he is holding a newborn. How paternal. “Have you been around babies before?”

He laughs. “I grew up with them. I have three younger sisters. Both my parents worked and we didn’t have help. So, I was the one who had to help my mom feed them, change them, bathe them, play with them. My friends teased that I was a male nanny and called me Manny.”

I can’t help but laugh as Isa’s wails start up again. Gabe is unfazed. “Ava, I think she’s still hungry. Can I feed her?”

“You can try.” I hand him the half-empty bottle. Softly hushing her, he adjusts my screaming daughter in the crook of one arm and then puts the nipple to her lips. She instantly latches on to it and quiets, sucking voraciously. “Manny” was right…Isa is still hungry.

“You’re so good with her!”

“I get a lot of practice…all my sisters have kids. I have six nieces and nephews with two more on the way…twins!”

“Wow. Where do they live?”

“In Indiana. Not far from my parents’ house. I’ve been there for every birth and go home every Christmas to see them.”

A family man.“That must be a lot of fun.” I hear the melancholy in my voice. It’s been so long since I had a family Christmas. The memories of the merry, present-filled ones when my father was alive have grown vaguer and vaguer. After he died when I was nine, it was just me and my mother. And she never went out of her way to make the day festive. A cheap plastic tree and a few bargain-store presents was about it. This year I’m going to get a real Christmas tree—a big one—and decorate it. And pile lots of presents under the boughs for my baby—even a little wooden rocking horse with a big red bow—though she may not be old enough to understand their significance or open them.

Gabe’s gaze stays intent on Isa. “She’s really something, Ava. I bet she’s going to be blonde like you.”

“Maybe.” She’s practically bald except for a light coating of bee fuzz on her scalp. While I run my fingers through the soft, silky, pale hairs, Gabe’s eyes don’t stray from her.

“And she has amazing eyes…they’re so big and blue.”

“All babies have blue eyes,” I say, gazing at his. The bluest of blue like a tropical ocean. “They’ll probably turn dark brown…the color of Ned’s.” Or green, I add silently, the color of the eyes I inherited from the father I can barely remember.

He flinches slightly at the mention of my husband’s name and changes the subject.

“I hope you liked my baby gift.”

I stiffen. Embarrassment sweeps over me. “Oh my God, Gabe. I’m so sorry. I should have sent you a note.” I bite down on my bottom lip. “I’ve been so out of it.”

My husband’s business partner sent over an incredible gift—a hand-painted bookshelf filled with every possible children’s book a little girl could ever want—from Madeline to Little Women. Some, rare signed editions. The shelf occupies a corner of Isa’s nursery. Our housekeeper, Rosita, organized it before she left.

“A big belated thank you! I love it!” With the baby in his arms, I resist giving him a hug and settle for a peck on his cheek.

A bright smile lights up his face. “The gift was my mom’s idea…she’s a children’s librarian…a big believer in books. She picked them all out.”

A reciprocal smile blooms on my face. As soon as possible, I’m going to teach Isa the joy and importance of books. Read to her every night from an early age on. I doubt Ned will join me unless he’s reading from the latest script he’s optioned.

While Gabe continues to feed Ava, I take a sip of my protein shake. It tastes like concrete. If I didn’t trust Nurse Marley as much as I do, I’d think she was poisoning me.

“What does your dad do?” I ask Gabe after forcing myself to swallow.

“He was a handyman. I swear he could build and fix anything. And still can. He’s retired now but likes to stay busy with projects. He Zoomed with me and helped me build Isa’s bookcase.”

My hand flies to my heart. “Oh my goodness, Gabe. You made Isa’s bookshelf yourself?”

“Yup.” He nods proudly and rotates his bottle-feeding hand so it’s facing me. There’s a small raised scar below his knuckles. “And here’s the scar to prove it. I hammered a nail into my hand.”

“Ouch!” I say with a grimace.

“A trip to urgent care, a tetanus shot, and two stitches.” He chuckles. “Guess I wasn’t meant to follow in my father’s footsteps.”

My heart flutters. I long to take his hand in mine and rub the imperfection. Kiss it. It takes all I have to refrain, and luckily, I’m stopped when a booming voice enters the room.

“Hey, man…”

Ned…who wouldn’t know which end of a hammer to hit a nail with.

Well rested and impeccably dressed in head-to-toe designer tennis whites, the Ralph Lauren polo hanging neatly over his matching ironed shorts, every hair gelled in place and held back by a white terrycloth headband, he strikes a pose in his brand-new Adidas, holding his titanium racket. It’s as if he’s auditioning for the cover of GQ. Image is everything, says my husband. Glancing down at myself, I wonder what my disheveled appearance says about me.

Gabe sets down the baby bottle. Her eyes closing, Isa’s almost asleep.

Ned strides up to us and smacks a kiss on my head, before patting a still-seated Gabriel on the back. “So you’ve met Isa. Our baby. She’s perfect, isn’t she?”

He tickles her toes with his free hand.

A wistful smile spreads across Gabe’s face. “Yeah, totally perfect.”

Beaming, Ned twirls his racket like a tennis pro. “Ready to lose, bro?”

He’s no longer paying any attention to me or my baby. My spirits sink as Gabe half-heartedly says, “May the best man win.”

He carefully hands a contented Isa back to me. His body, his hands, brush against mine. A spark flies between us. Then explodes into oblivion.

The two of them head to the sliding glass doors that open to our yard. Gabe turns his head and looks back at me. He gives a weak smile, his expression otherwise forlorn.

I feel a sickening ache rising inside me, filled with remorse and regret.

I made a terrible mistake. I signed the prenup.

And married the wrong man.