It Starts with Us by Colleen Hoover

“Look at this adorable outfit,” my mother says, picking her up. “Did I buy
her this?”
“No, it’s a hand-me-down from Rylee, actually.” It’s nice that Rylee is six
months older. We haven’t had to buy Emmy many clothes because Allysa
gives me more than enough of Rylee’s. And they’re always in great condition
because I don’t think Rylee ever wears an outfit twice.
Emmy is wearing the outfit Rylee wore at her first birthday party. I was
hoping it would eventually be passed down to Emmy, because it’s adorable.
It’s a pair of pink leggings with green whole watermelons on them, and a
green long-sleeved top with a pink slice of watermelon in the center of it.
My mother has bought almost everything else Emmy wears, including the
blue jacket I’m putting on her right now.
“That doesn’t match her outfit,” my mother says. “Where’s the pink jacket
I bought her?”
“It’s too little, and it’s a jacket, and she’s one year old. It doesn’t matter if
she doesn’t match.”
My mother huffs, and I can tell by that look on her face that Emmy is
going to come home in a brand-new jacket this afternoon. I kiss Emmy on the
cheek, and my mother heads for the door.
I hand Rob the diaper bag, and he hoists it over his shoulder. “Want me to
carry her?” he asks my mother.
She squeezes Emmy tighter. “I’ve got her.” She addresses me over her
shoulder. “We’ll be back in a few hours.”
“About what time?” I ask her. I don’t usually clarify a time with her, but
I’m thinking about asking Atlas what he’s doing right now. We can maybe
grab lunch since we’re both off today and I’m kid-free.
“I’ll text you. Why? Are you going somewhere?” she asks. “I figured
you’d just catch up on sleep.”
I don’t dare tell her I might sneak away to meet a guy. She’d ask me
questions well past the botanical garden closing hours. “Yeah, I’ll probably
just sleep. I’ll keep my phone on, though. Have fun.”
My mother is out the door and down the hallway, but Rob pauses and
looks at me. “Make sure you park your car in the same spot. She’ll notice if
you move it, and she’ll ask questions.” He winks, a clear indication that he
can read me better than she can.
“Thanks for the heads-up,” I whisper.