The Way We Feel

Chapter 4

"Lila-lie, CHH, Lila-lie-lie, Lila-lie, Lila-lie, CHH," I sang, pleased when Lila stopped crying and only stared at me, mouth ajar. "Lila-lie, lie, Lila-lie, Lila-Lila-lie..."

"I'm starting to think you only agreed to her name because of that song..." Mads said, walking into the kitchen with a basket of laundry under one arm, filled mostly with Lila's little clothes.

"It works, doesn't it? Look, she's mesmerized." I stared into my little girl's almost-blue eyes and smiled, rocked her a little bit back and forth in my arms, then kept singing. "Lila-lie, CHH—"

Madelyn's arms wound around my waist, and I felt the press of her cheek against my shoulder. "That doesn't answer my question."

There was distinct amusement in her voice, and I paused my movements, glancing at her from the corner of my eye where she stood behind me. "'The Boxer' is a classic."

"I knew it," Mads said, grinning as she walked away, heading for the sink.

"But it wasn't the only reason I agreed to it," I insisted, turning to face her with the warm bundle that was Lila Jane, still quiet, but a bit squirmy in my arms. "I love the name itself. It suits her."

Mads chuckled a little as she started loading the dishwasher. "I'm just messing with you. I kind of love the fact that you've already associated a song with her."

"And it's the perfect one, too. All about getting back up when life beats you down." I looked at Lila Jane in my arms. "The fighter still remains, isn't that right, my girl?"

She gurgled a little in response, which was more than enough for me.

"You've got to get going soon, don't you?" Mads asked after a few moments of quiet between us, during which time I'd started bouncing Lila in my arms again.

I shifted from foot to foot, rocking her, and glanced at the time on the stove. "Another couple minutes, yeah."

I'd been feeling it since Friday—separation anxiety. It was a relief to come home to my family after that day of meetings. Because really, home was the only place I truly wanted to be these days. But I'd made a commitment, and like Mads had said time and time again, it was part of my dream to do another film.

Even if it did feel like it was interfering with another dream now. A bigger one. A dream that had only grown bigger once Lila had actually arrived.

I stared down at her—my daughter. Into the eyes that were looking more and more like her mother's with each passing day. (Mads said I was seeing what I wanted to see, and I told her it worked both ways—Lila's eyes were most certainly blue.) Her full cheeks were pink, and her eyes lined with tears that didn't seem to be going anywhere for the moment. Her little, pink lips were open in a small "O" shape—like something had just surprised her. And her head of dark hair was like silk on her small, soft head.

Her tiny hands reached for mine as I brushed a finger over her hair, marveling at how small she was, how soft she was, how delicate—then I gave her my finger, and her little fist curled around it. Looking into her big, soulful eyes, so intent on mine, it was like she was begging me to stay, to not leave her, and then—

I gasped. "Mads."

"What? What is it?" Mads turned the water off at the sink, clearly panicked, but I didn't even have time to apologize.

"She's smiling!" I stared down at Lila, sure I wasn't imagining it, but needing Mads to confirm the truth for me anyway. Needing to share it with her.