Pipsqueak positioned herself behind me instead and rested her chin on my shoulders. “That’s the most precious thing I’ve ever seen.”
I dipped down and pressed my lips to Pipsqueak’s arm over my chest.
“Hey,” she murmured. “You’re gonna be a dad. It’s okay to say it.”
Jesus Christ.
My eyes welled up again, and I wasn’t as successful at keeping my emotions at bay this time. I sniffled and kept staring at the images, and now I had her words going on a fucking loop in my head. I was going to be a father. That blurry little form in the images belonged to me. I’d helped create her.
I hadn’t met her yet, and I was already swearing to protect her with my life.
Memories of my mother flitted past, causing me to clench my jaw. How the fuck could she have hurt her own children? Over and over, for years and years. She’d made us feel worthless. She’d made me hate so much. Most people didn’t know what hatred was. They thought they knew. They didn’t.
“At least I’ll do a better job than my mother.”
Pipsqueak smacked my chest lightly before returning to her spot across from me. “Don’t even joke about the comparison. You’re gonna do great, Avery.”
I sniffled and cleared my throat, finally managing to get my shit together somewhat.
“I know what it’s like, you know.”
I glanced over at her and furrowed my brow. “What?”
“Being abused by your parents,” she said. “People don’t think Willow and I remember our biological parents, but we do. We just got lucky because we were saved early.”
Fucking hell, I’d never thought of that. I’d only known that James and Mary had taken in two young sisters at some point. I believe Willow had been five or six, and Pipsqueak a year younger. A foster care situation that’d eventually turned into two adoptions.
“They hurt you?” I asked quietly. I had to put down the ultrasound pictures before I made a fist around them.
“Not like you and your brother were hurt,” she answered. “They just slapped us around when we didn’t act normal, and they force-fed Willow, despite her texture issues.”
There was nothing “just” about that. Hearing that pissed me the fuck off, and I couldn’t believe I hadn’t bothered asking before. The idea of someone slapping Pipsqueak around for having autism filled me with the type of rage I’d only felt when trying to protect my brother. And I knew very well how Willow reacted when she was forced to do anything.
Christ, they must’ve spent their first years in constant panic.
Darius was right. He’d once told me all people were shit, no matter the gender.
“Hey, I didn’t tell you to upset you.” Pipsqueak made a face and glanced at me with concern. “I just wanted you to know I could relate a little. You’re nothing like your mother. That little girl is going to love you so much, and you will deserve every bit of it.”
I exhaled and tried to unclench. “I’m sorry that happened to you and Willow, though.”
She smiled slightly. “It brought us to the Quinns.”
And to me. Today, I didn’t know what I’d do without Pipsqueak. She’d become an indispensable part of my life.
“I’m thankful for that.” I held up the pictures. “Do you want one of these? I’m going to put one in my wallet, one on my nightstand, and one on the fridge.”
“Are you kidding? Of course I do.” She grinned giddily, and I couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm. “By the way, if you hire a babysitter who isn’t me, I’ll be royally pissed.”
I chuckled and handed her one of the two images where the baby’s face was visible. “That’ll be one hell of a commute for you once you’re in San Francisco.”
I was finally coming to terms with Pipsqueak growing up, just in time for her to start her senior year in high school. And around this time next year, she was moving to California to stay with Ryan.
“Before I move—and when I’m home to visit,” she amended and accepted the picture. She smiled at it. “I’ll ask Dad to laminate it. Thank you, Mister.”
“Anytime, Pipsqueak.” Next, I threw a glance at the kitchen counter and asked, “Don’t you have a lot to do?”
The annual harvest festival in town was coming up, and Pipsqueak would be one of the approximately two hundred vendors. Well, it used to be a harvest festival, but it had moved from fall to the end of summer to attract more tourists. Tens of thousands of people showed up every year to try beer from local breweries, send their kids on expensive rides, partake in the apple contest, and eat and drink too much. Hopefully, they’d buy a truckload of Pipsqueak’s chocolate this year too.
“I do, but I gotta wait till tomorrow,” Pipsqueak replied. “Darius is coming over to install an extra fridge in the garage tomorrow morning.”