Wondering what would have happened if Harper hadn't interrupted.
Wondering if we should try again.
Wondering if we're both fucked.
I roll onto my side, touching my lips like I can still feel the phantom pressure of hers even though we never actually made contact.
So close.
We were so close.
And now I don't know how to look at her tomorrow morning without wanting to finish what we started.
17
NORA
Two days after the almost-kiss that I am absolutely not thinking about, Harper gets her first tooth.
I'm changing her diaper when I see it: a tiny white edge breaking through her bottom gum, sharp and real and unmistakable. She's been fussier than usual for three days, and now I know why.
"Tyler!" Louder than I mean to. "Get in here!"
He appears in the nursery doorway in sweatpants and a Falcons t-shirt, hair still damp from the shower. The immediate alertness on his face when he hears Harper's name has become instinctive for him.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong. Look." I pull Harper's lower lip down gently. "First tooth."
He drops to his knees beside the changing table and leans in close. Harper submits to being examined with the patient composure of someone who has decided to tolerate indignities.
"Holy shit." He straightens and presses a kiss to her forehead. "You're growing up too fast, baby girl. Way too fast."
We're both leaning over the table, looking at her, when his hand settles between my shoulder blades.
I go still.
It's different from the knee, different from the couch. Not the unconscious warmth of those; this is his palm flat against my spine, deliberate, like he's put it there on purpose and is making himself leave it. No movement. Just the weight of it, steady and present.
We are very careful not to discuss the kitchen two nights ago. We are being professional and normal. His hand is on my back, and neither of us is moving.
I can feel the heat of it through my t-shirt. The specific pressure of each finger.
Harper squeals and reaches for the mobile above the table, breaking the moment. Tyler's hand lifts as he reaches to unhook her.
"First tooth deserves a celebration," he says, voice slightly rough. "Coffee? The place down the road?"
"Sure," I say, because I am apparently incapable of saying no to anything he suggests.
Brew Haven knows us now. The barista starts making our order when she sees the stroller coming through the door.
Tyler grabs our coffees from the counter while I find a table and take Harper out of the stroller. She’s in a good mood, grabbing at my finger, examining it with the serious interest of someone conducting research.
When Tyler gets back to the table, he sets down both mugs—mine with cream and one sugar, his black with one sugar—and folds himself into the chair across from me.
Our knees bump under the small table. Neither of us moves.
"More teeth next," I tell him. "Lots of drool. She'll want to chew on everything."