Page 17 of Game Plan

“She’s fourteen months old.”

“And if she doesn’t grow more hair in the next six months, we’re going to have to retire the bows, Mama.”

She rolls her eyes, placing the diaper bag on the floor.

I consider getting up and grabbing her a drink—a Dr Pepper never hurt anybody—but instead, I sit with her. We haven’t had much alone time together since she got pregnant, and even less since Sunny arrived. Something tells me she needs a moment to adjust. To breathe. To remember how to navigate girl time.

“Looks like you’ve been cleaning,” she says finally.

“Is it that obvious?”

“Well, it’s generally the only time that your house looks like an actual tornado ran through it.”

I shrug. “Some of us don’t have someone come by a couple of times a week to help them keep things in order.”

“So I married well. Bite me.”

We exchange a laugh, catching ourselves when Sunny stirs.

“How are you?” I ask.

Layla sinks back against the chair and smiles. “Feeling better. I went grocery shopping by myself last week, and that was nice. Branch booked me a massage. And I let Mom keep Sunny one night, which was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but I did get a good night’s sleep.”

“I’m glad.”

“Me, too.” She holds my gaze before looking away. “Having a baby is such a mindfuck, but I think I’m starting to find a rhythm. Branch keeps reminding me that I just made a whole human being and the only one putting pressure on me is myself.” A soft smile touches her lips. “We stopped and picked up dinner from a little place the night Sunny stayed at Mom’s. While we were waiting on our food, a lady started chatting with me, and I mentioned Sunny and that she’s fourteen months old. She had the audacity to tell me that she bounced right back to her pre-pregnancy weight. Was into her old jeans four months after giving birth.”

I narrow my eyes. “Where was this restaurant?”

“Why?”

“Because I’m going to find her and fight her.”

Layla grins. “My feelings were a little hurt because I’m nowhere near my pre-baby pants. But I didn’t say anything, obviously, because that would’ve been even more awkward.”

“Did you tell her to fuck all the way off?” I ask. “And where was Branch?”

“He had gone to the bathroom. But he caught just the tail end of the conversation and didn’t put it all together until she’d left.”

“Lucky for her,” I say, knowing my boy Branch. He would’ve done me proud.

She smiles softly. “When we got back in the truck, we sat in the parking lot, and he told me that he loves me just how I am, and that I’ve never been more beautiful than when I’m being a mom. That definitely helped take the sting out of it.”

The smile on her face hits me right where my feels would be if I had them.

“You were right. You did marry well,” I say, smiling back at her.

“I usually think that. But this morning he made a comment about how great it would be if our next pregnancy was twins.” She makes a face. “Can you even imagine?”

“Nope. I can’t imagine having one baby. That’s why I’m Auntie Poppy forever.”

A hesitant yet curious look crosses her face. “You seriously never want kids? I didn’t know we were back to that.”

I give her a look, then get up and head to the fridge.

This is a conversation that Layla and I have had a number of times offhandedly over the years—more so since she got pregnant with Sunny. It’s a fluid topic for me, rolling with whatever mood I’m in. Sometimes, I think maybe I’d like a baby … eventually. Other times, like lately, I don’t think I want any at all.

It isn’t something I want to discuss or even admit out loud because I know how it’ll sound. But no matter how it sounds, it doesn’t change the truth. And that is I’m not sure I’m selfless enough to have children.