Page 101 of Homebound

Boone

Okay… I miss you Kodie

I grind my teeth together, clicking off my phone. Everything about that text is pissing me off, but Boone would never have the audacity to show up here, and I don’t want to deal with him. It’s not that I avoid confrontation, it’s just that I only choose battles worth fighting, and Boone’s not worth my energy.

“Ma! Fah!” Vi says.

Fah means fan. There’s another giggle-squeal, and I turn to see Vi slapping the bars on her crib, staring at the bedroom ceiling fan and pointing. She loves her ceiling fans.

I carefully shift out of Wyatt’s sleeping grasp and tiptoe to her crib, still feeling a little shaken after everything that happened with the babysitter.

I’m surprised by how long this rage is lasting, but every time I think about the party and how it could’ve been so much worse, I get furious all over again. Sure, I’m angry that I missed my opportunity with the scout, really pissed, but it’s nothing compared to the potent, gut-wrenching worry I felt when I stormed into that party.

This little girl is worth missing my shot.

I scoop her up, and she clings to me like a little koala instead of a little devil. I nuzzle my head right back into her, giving her some extra snuggles this morning.

“We match, rodeo girl,” I say, looking at her clothes.

Wyatt put her in her Rodeo Girl shirt with the little lassos, and I’ve got on my Rodeo Queen shirt that I bought to match, so we look darn cute together. “You hungry, little devil?”

“No!”

I’ve learned no is her word for yes. Actually, it’s her word for everything. I kiss her cheek. “That’s a yes. Let’s get you some food. How does oatmeal sound this morning?”

She claps her baby hands. “Mo, Mah!”

She burrows into me as I head to the kitchen, and I love having her here, tucked against my chest. Luna lifts her head from Wyatt’s feet, ears perking up. She stumbles off the bed, her tail wagging, and trots after me into the kitchen.

I heat some wet dog food in the microwave for her because my fur baby deserves a gourmet breakfast just like my real baby. Then, I place Vi in her highchair, and pull out some of the cinnamon overnight oats I made for everyone.

I set a bowl on her highchair and plop spoonfuls between her tiny pink lips, wiping up the dribbles with a napkin. “Here you go. You’ll like this. I put some peanut butter in too, now that you’re all done with your allergy tests. I know it’s your favorite, so it’s extra yummy. Open up.”

Her tiny lips pop open, and I scoop some oatmeal into her mouth. She gets the most surprised happy grin on her little face as she chews. When she swallows, she screams, “Mo!”

I chuckle at her, scooping up another bite. “Yeah, I’m glad you like my oatmeal because it’s one of the few things I know how to cook.”

“Ma, mo. Wah,” she demands, flailing her cute baby fists.

As I feed her spoonfuls, I try really hard not to think about how much I’m going to miss my little devil when she goes back to Tennessee. Wyatt and I are used to doing long-distance, and I can talk to him on the phone, but it won’t be the same without Vienna. The barn’s going to feel so much emptier without all her toys I keep stepping on. Without her little laugh-squeal. Without those baby snuggles.

I never knew one tiny human could take up so much space in my heart.

I blow out a breath to combat the burning in my eyes. “I’m a little sad you’re leaving, girl,” I admit, kissing her head while she chomps on her oatmeal, making an absolute mess. “I’m gonna miss you and your daddy too, but we’ll be okay, won’t we? You won’t forget me? And you’ll be back next summer, right?”

“Ma.” She jerks her little head up and stares right into my eyes. “Nama.”

I freeze, my breath catching in my throat. It sounds like she’s combining the words Nanna and Mama. That one word drowns out all the other sounds in the world. “What did you just say?”

“Nama,” she repeats, all proud of herself as she slaps her highchair.

“No, I'm Dee-dee,” I correct gently, my heart pounding. “Can you say Dee-dee? Dee-dee. And that’s Luna, but we like to call her Tuna. Can you say Tuna?”

“Mama,” she shrieks happily. “Mo!”

She said it. She said Mama this time.

It feels like I’m being bucked off a bull and dipped into a Texas sunset all at once, but I try to stay calm. With a trembling hand, I scoop another spoonful of oatmeal into her mouth. She chews happily, completely oblivious to the avalanche of emotions she just unleashed on me.