Written With Hearts

Written With Hearts - Chapter Twenty Two

Abby.....

Can a two-year-old really be that scary and intimidating? Looking briefly out the window of the car, watching the world go by within my nervous but driving bubble I believe that a two-year-old really can be. My hands nervously grip onto the steering wheel, I try to focus only on the music that is loudly keeping me company, but not even the infectious beats of Calvin Harris are enough to calm my ever-increasing nerves. Yate has invited me out with him and Lily today. I'm meeting them at his house, and then we are taking her to a farm park. I am beyond nervous. A lot is riding on today. If Lily doesn't like me, it really could change things between Yate and me. He adores his little girl, and rightly so. I just hope that we get on. If things don't run smoothly, I can always just drive back home, I suppose. I know I don't have much experience with children, but I'm guessing they're a lot like us adults. If they don't like something, you need to give them space. So if I'm sensing that I'm crowding Lily, I'll just leave. Yate has asked me to stay overnight, but I think I'm just going to see how things play out first. I've brought my overnight bag, just in case, though. God, I'm so nervous! I shake my head, snorting with a smile over just how ridiculous my thoughts are being. I'm not even there yet, but already I'm dithering over whether to stay or not, and getting myself all worked up over whether Lily will like me or not. Lifting my chin and turning up the music louder, I try to push away those shitty nerves. What will be, will be.

***

By the time I reach Yate's house, my head is pounding almost as much as my heart. My nerves have brought on a killer headache, and it's only ten in the morning. I'm just praying he has some paracetamol, because I have a long day ahead of me. My restlessness urges me out of the car. As I'm opening my rear passenger door to take out my overnight bag, I see Yate coming down his path. I wave, lifting out my bag, and hoping that my nerves aren't plastered right across my face.

His welcoming cuddle feels so lovely; it definitely helps. His soft yet brief kiss, feels even better. "Hey, Stranger." His warm voice eases the thudding in my aching temples, as he takes my bag from me before holding my hand as we walk back into the house. "Lily is inside with my mum playing with her dolls, apparently one is you." Yate grins over his shoulder, ushering me inside. My throbbing temples now feel like they're going to explode as my heart thumps with overwhelming dread. His mum is probably lovely, but I'm not feeling my best for what is to be our first meeting. Still, I manage to smile back at Yate; giving him the impression that I can't wait to meet both Lily and his mum.

As we enter his simple but cosily furnished living room, two pairs of eager eyes are soon staring back at me. I'm not actually sure whom to speak to first, so I put on my very best and most confident of smiles, looking at each one of them in turn. Yate's mum is kneeling beside Lily but is quick to stand with a genuine genial smile. "Hello, Abby. It's so lovely to meet you," she says, giving me a quick, friendly hug.

My nervous tension begins to unravel itself within me, on account of her pleasant welcome. "It's really lovely to meet you, too," I reply with a much less forced smile. With her hand still upon my arm, I get to have a good look at Yate's likeable mum. She's prettily plain: brunette with richly brown, oval eyes and a mild-natured expression. She's a mumsy-mum, but not dowdy with it. She wears smart but casual clothes. Boot cut jeans with a turtle-necked jumper and some low-heeled tan boots. Yet it's not how she looks that appeals, it's her effortless warmth that I pick up on. She oozes maternal instinct. Yate's mum has this protective, kind, softhearted vibe that simply emanates from her every pore. Frankly, she's everything that my mother isn't. I scold myself. I don't want any thoughts of my mother bringing a downer on this, going very well, first introduction. So I decide to approach a wide-eyed, waiting Lily. She's holding two dolls in her diminutive hands; they rest in her small lap as she sits cross-legged on the carpeted floor. Instead of towering over her tiny frame, I decide to join her on the carpet, thinking it to be much less intimidating. "Hello, Lily. It's really lovely to meet you," I tell her in a soft, friendly way. Her reaction is to simply smile, an incredibly shy one as she bounces the dolls in her lap. I look down at the prettily dressed dolls, reaching out to touch their sparkly ball gowns. "Your dolls are very pretty." I try to find some common ground with her, as I hold the fabric between my fingers and smile at her in the hope that she'll speak to me.