Page 67 of Headstrong Like Us

My grip tightens on the last stuffed animal in my hand. “There’s not much to talk about. The doctors said he’s a healthy baby.”

Still, we have no idea how many drugs he was exposed to as an infant. Or even if his mom did meth while she was pregnant.

Farrow pats the baby’s back. “There’s actually a lot to talk about—what the fuck is that?” He cuts himself off, distracted by the last animal in my fist.

I wave the parrot with an eye-patch. “I think Oscar bought it for him.” I heard through the family group chat grapevine that bodyguards were adding gifts to the baby supply haul.

Farrow rolls his eyes. “Oliveira.”

I near the baby again. “What about this?” I display the parrot to Ripley. His little fingers latch onto the yellow fur, and he snuggles the animal to his chest. He sniffles, and his tears just…stop.

Farrow goes still.

I do too.

And then Ripley’s bottom lip starts quivering.

“No,no,” I say strongly. “You’re fine. You’re okay.”

He sobs softly, but it’s not a full-blown wail anymore.

“I’m going to take this win,” Farrow says and places the baby down in the crib. Turning back to me, he brushes a hand through his bleach-white hair. “You never made a choice about whether you’d want to use your sperm, if we had kids in the future. Because ofyourfamily history.”

He’s going right there, isn’t he?

His eyes exhume me and my eyes unearth him—and if he were anyone else, I’d shut down. I might be rigid in this moment, but I want to be vulnerable with him as much as possible, as often as possible.

Even when it’s hard.

“Yeah,” I say with a nod. I didn’t know what I wanted, and I’m starting to feel clarity on the situation. Having Ripley here is putting things into perspective.

His brows pinch, trying to get a good read on me. “You have to be feeling something about this situation. Because Ripley’s family is just as riddled with addicts as yours. Probably worse.”

I take a tight breath and stomp a foot on the deflating mattress, air leaking out. “Yeah, I’m feeling something.”

Farrow looks me up and down. “Want to share?”

“I’m scared,” I say and then frown. “And I just think about my mom and dad. How they must have felt having me. Every year, raising me, if they wondered whether this was it, you know? Isthisthe day our son gets hooked?” I stand straight, holding his gaze. “The thing about fear is that I want to face it. Head-on. Defeat all those monsters…” I nod several times. “My parents taught me that. And I’m thinking that maybe this is what’s supposed to happen.”

“What do you mean?” Farrow searches my eyes.

“My mom and dad raised me to fight the demons that they weren’t raised to fight. I’m strong because of my parents, and maybe that’s the point. They broke the cycle, and now I’m here to fight for him.”

14

MAXIMOFF HALE

I havetwo colossal regrets this morning.

1. Waking up before Farrow.

2. Opening our most recent stack of RSVPs.

I pour out a mug of Earl Grey in the kitchen sink, the tea cold and my stomach too cramped to drink the rest.

Maybe the steam from a hot shower will erase my memory.Unlikely.Still, with a baby monitor in one hand and the RSVPs in the other, I head upstairs.

No one is awake at 6 a.m. No one in my immediate family is an early-riser. Except for me. You know that. You’ve seen me go to crack-of-dawn swim meets with the Meadows family.