Chapter 78

Chapter 78
Chapter 78: “Something Like Family”

POV: Jackson

\---

The sound of cardboard scraping against the hardwood floor echoed through the empty nursery. I stood in the middle of the room, box cutter in hand, frowning down at the unassembled crib like it had personally offended me.

“Where does this even go?” I muttered, holding up a piece that looked nothing like the drawing on the manual.

Behind me, Elizabeth laughed, a quiet, tired laugh that still managed to make my chest ache. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, sorting through tiny baby clothes, folding them into neat little piles beside her. Her bump peeked through the hem of her shirt, stretched out under soft cotton.

“You’re holding it upside down,” she said, glancing over with a smile.

“No, I’m not,” I said automatically, even though I was. I flipped it around and sighed. “Okay, maybe I am. These instructions are worse than tax forms.”

She chuckled again. “Would you rather I do it?”

I looked at her, then the pile of wooden crib parts again. “Absolutely not. You’re eight months pregnant.”

“Seven and a half.”

“Still.”

“I built a bookshelf last week.”

“You sneezed this morning and winced. You’re not building anything.”

She didn’t argue, but I caught the amused shake of her head as she went back to folding tiny onesies. I crouched near the crib pieces, reading the same instruction page for the third time. “Why are there seventeen screws labeled ‘G’? There’s no ‘A’ or ‘B’—they just skipped the whole alphabet.”

Elizabeth grinned. “It’s like a puzzle.”

“A cruel puzzle designed by someone who hates parents.”

She laughed louder this time, the sound filling the nursery. I didn’t even care that I probably looked like an idiot wrestling with furniture. Her laughter made it worth it.

At some point, I managed to get the side rails attached. I was proud, too proud, and when I tried to test the rocking chair by sitting in it, it let out a dramatic creak and didn’t budge.

“Huh,” I said, trying to shift my weight. “Okay. Well. That’s... stuck.”

“You’re stuck?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.

“No,” I lied. “Maybe. A little.”

She snorted. “Want help?”

“No! I’ve got this.”

Five seconds later, I gave in. “Okay, maybe I don’t.”

Elizabeth stood carefully and walked over. She placed her hands on the back of the chair and wiggled it slightly. It didn’t move.

“Okay,” she said, lips twitching, “I think it’s defective.”

“I said that already.”

“You did. You also said you didn’t need help.”

We looked at each other, then both burst out laughing. Not the polite kind, but the sort that leaves you breathless, leaning into each other, forgetting everything else.

Eventually, I managed to free myself from the chair. My shirt was wrinkled, my pride slightly bruised, but Elizabeth looked so amused that I didn’t care.

“I think we need pizza,” she said suddenly. “Or Chinese.”

“Pizza,” I agreed. “With extra cheese.”

“And pineapple,” she added.

I paused. “We were getting along so well.”

She stuck her tongue out at me and reached for her phone.

\---

An hour later, we sat on the nursery floor, backs pressed against the pale blue wall, greasy pizza boxes between us. The crib was halfway done. Clothes were still everywhere. Her feet were propped on a pillow. I handed her another slice without asking.

“This is kind of nice,” she said after a while, chewing thoughtfully. “Messy. But nice.”

“Yeah.”

Silence settled between us, but not the awkward kind. The kind that felt like comfort. I glanced around the room, at the half-assembled crib, the folded onesies, the unfinished mobile sitting on the dresser. This room used to be just a spare. A storage space. Now it had color and warmth and soft lighting. Now it felt real.

Elizabeth picked up a tiny stuffed elephant and turned it over in her hands. “Do you think we’ll be good at this?” she asked quietly. “Parenting, I mean.”

I looked at her. She wasn’t really asking about parenting. Not completely.

“I don’t know if we’ll be perfect,” I said. “But I think we’ll be good. You will be, at least.”

She didn’t answer right away. Her eyes were on the stuffed elephant.

“And you?” she asked. “Do you really think you can be a father?”

I took a breath.

“I didn’t used to. I didn’t think I wanted to. But now...” I gestured around us. “Now that it’s here, now that you’re here, I don’t want to lose it.”

She looked up slowly, her expression unreadable.

“I mean it, Elizabeth. I never thought I’d want any of this. I thought I’d mess it up. But now that I have it... now that I have you...” I trailed off. I didn’t know how to finish the sentence.

She stared at me for a long time. My heart was beating loud in my chest.

Then, quietly, she reached out and took my hand.

She didn’t say anything.

But she didn’t let go.

We sat like that, side by side, fingers loosely tangled together, watching the shadows on the wall stretch with the night.

Eventually, she yawned and leaned her head on my shoulder.

I didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Just sat there, holding her hand, breathing in the quiet.