causing Knox to open his eyes before closing them again just as quickly.
Stepping outside, I shut the patio door and walk toward them. Leaning down, I take him from her. She juts her lip out in protest, but I need to hold him.
“You weren’t gone long,” she comments.
“I was gone for four hours, sister.” I laugh.
She grins, holding up her Kindle. “It’s really good,” she defends.
I just shake my head. She’s always loved to read. “I stopped by the office, talked to Dad, answered a few e-mails then went to Walmart.”
“How was Dad?”
“Good. He’s going to talk to Mom. I just need some time with him, you know?”
“Yeah, we’re just a phone call away. You got this, brother.”
“Hey, I ran into Kendall.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, she was behind me in line. Speaking of, I have a ton of shit—” I look down at my son sleeping in my arms. “I mean stuff that I need to unpack for him. You feel like helping?”
“Sure, I love all the little baby stuff. I had a blast when Mom and I went shopping for him,” she admits.
I stand and lead the way into the living room, where I left the remaining bags.
“Holy shit, Ridge. Did you buy the entire store?” She laughs.
“No, but he needs stuff, and I’m his dad. It’s my job to provide for him. I just got him a little bit of everything—more clothes and blankets and towels and stuff.”
“I can see that.” She starts unloading bags and comes across the tiny sweatpants, holding them up. “Too damn adorable.”
“Tiny,” I reply.
“You did good. I’ll unpack these clothes and throw them in the washer.”
“Thank you. I need to put his pen thing together and the bouncing seat. Can you hang out for a while? I’d like to have that done before I brave my night alone.”
“You got it. It’s almost time for him to eat anyway.”
“I’ll do it. Then I’ll get started.” I need as much practice as I can get; that way, when it’s just me and him, I’ll feel more comfortable.
I strap Knox into his car seat, not taking any chances, and carry him to the kitchen. I quickly mix up a bottle, something I’ve mastered in just a few short days. Little man is snoozing away, so I set the bottle next to his seat on the table and make Reagan and me a sandwich. I inhale mine, just shoving in the last bite when he starts to fuss.
Perfect timing. I got this dad thing down.
Knox takes his bottle like a champ. I piss him off when I stop to burp him, but it’s for his own good. I hate to hear him cry, but I know this is important or he’ll get a bellyache later; the nurses at the hospital stressed it, as has my mom and Reagan. I’m still not sure how Reagan knows so much about kids. I think it’s just a woman thing. She played house growing up, feeding and taking care of her dolls while I played cowboys and Indians and pretended to have shoot-outs.
Four ounces, two burps, and a diaper change later, my little man is content and snoozing away. I fold up an old quilt and make a small square on the floor next to me, gently laying him there to nap.
Reagan comes into the room. “Hey, all the clothes and blankets and all that are in the washer. What’s next?”
“I’m going to start putting stuff together. You can just relax unless he needs something.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice.” She plops down on the couch and crosses her legs. “Carry on.” She waves her hand at me.
I chuckle at her. I love my sister. Surprisingly, the bouncing seat—or bouncer, as Reagan calls it—has very little assembly; I just snap the legs in and the toys bar, and we’re good to go. I add the four batteries as needed, and it roars to life. Reagan hops off the couch and picks Knox up from the floor. He stretches his little arms and legs and grunts; he was sleeping well.
“You won’t sleep tonight, you little stinker,” she tells him as she gently places him in the bouncer and straps him in. She turns it on and he falls right back to sleep. “He likes it.” She grins.
He does seem to like it. I open the Pack ‘n Play and to my surprise, it’s limited assembly as well. It comes in a carrying case for travel—that’s a plus. It folds open, and I lock it