Even when the house only feels like home because she's here.
I need to remember this is temporary.
But lying here in the dark, listening to her footsteps as she tends to Harper, all I can think is that temporary feels like the cruelest word in the English language.
14
NORA
Harper sits up.
Not propped against pillows or leaning on my hand for support, but actually sits up on her own, her tiny body balanced perfectly on the play mat in the living room.
"Tyler!" My voice comes out louder than I intend, urgent and excited. "Tyler, get in here!"
He emerges from the kitchen, where he's been stress-eating cereal straight from the box, his sandy hair still wet from his post-practice shower. "What? What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong. Look."
Harper's sitting there like it's the most natural thing in the world, her little hands resting on her thighs for balance, her blue eyes wide as she surveys her kingdom from this new height. She wobbles slightly, overcorrects, but stays upright.
"Holy shit." Tyler drops to his knees beside the mat, his phone already out. "Baby girl, look at you. When did you learn to do that?"
"Now. I put her down for tummy time, and she pushed herself up." I can't keep the grin off my face. "This is huge, Ty. Four months is early for unassistedsitting."
He's taking photos from every angle, his face lit up with pure pride and joy. "That's my girl. So smart. So strong. You're a genius, Harper Rose. An actual genius."
Harper grabs her foot, apparently unimpressed by our enthusiasm, and promptly tips over sideways.
Tyler catches her before she face-plants, laughing as he scoops her up. "Okay, maybe we need to practice that landing. But still. She sat up all by herself."
"She's hitting all her milestones," I say. “You're doing a great job with her developmental activities."
"We're doing a great job." He's holding Harper up, making her fly through the air while she squeals with delight. "I couldn't do any of this without you."
The doorbell rings before I can figure out how to respond to that.
Tyler's still flying Harper around like an airplane, so I head to the door. There’s a UPS driver holding a flat package.
"Package for West," he says, handing it over.
I sign for it and bring it inside, examining the return label.Hartford.Emma's address.
"You got a package from Emma," I call out.
Tyler appears immediately, Harper still in his arms. "What'd she send?"
I hand it to him, and he tears into it with one hand, awkward but determined. Inside is tissue paper wrapped around something small, and when he unfolds it, his entire face transforms.
It's a tiny Falcons jersey. Baby-sized. Green with white letters. WEST across the back with the number 17 below it.
Tyler goes very still, staring at it.
"Ty?" I move closer. "You okay?"
"Yeah." His voice is rough, thick with emotion he's not bothering to hide. "Emma got Harper a jersey. My jersey."
He holds it up to Harper's chest to check the size, and it's comically large on her. The shoulders hang off her tiny frame, the length nearly down to her knees. It's basically adress.