Party of Four

Family Security - Riley

It was habit to try to impose order over chaos. It was one of the reasons I thrived so much working to-go’s at Stella’s. I tracked, I planned, I organized. However, the first week home was unpredictable. I attempted to keep track of everything, to learn patterns in all of Poppy’s behaviors and needs. I had an app to manage all of her feedings - both breast and bottle, - diaper changes - distinguishing between wet and blow outs, - her naps, how long she slept for. Even Nica’s recovery naps. It was overwhelming, contradictory, and completely failed to predict Poppy’s behavior.

Every time I held Poppy though, I felt peace and satisfaction. She might have brought chaos into my world, but this love was the only thing that truly mattered. She was the result of my shared love with Nica and Cole.

I watched Cole in these early days too. He didn’t try to track every moment. He just existed. He rolled with each change. Fatherhood gave him back a part of himself that I had worried was stolen from him for good. His freedom.

Every quick, successful trip he made out of the neighborhood was a victory. The Mini Countryman parked in the driveway was Nica’s balance of independence and motherhood, but it was Cole’s silent trophy. He still carried anxiety with him, his ten-year trauma lingered, but the memory of panic was fading. With each drive, he regained pride and confidence. When he held Poppy, he was utterly still, solid, and protective.

I was the schedule master. Aside from my attempts to track everything, I dealt with the group texts and managed visits from family and friends. I kept the Poppy bubble in tact.

Jason Shaw fit perfectly into the bubble. He was the most non-disruptive house guest I’d ever experienced. He often helped, either folding a mountain of tiny clothes for Nica, or holding Poppy so she could shower. I found myself drawn to his easy, patient manner. He played pool with my dad in the garage. Occasionally, Cole and I would join them. He treated Cole and me, not as Nica’s boyfriends, but as her family.

One afternoon, I was leaning against the counter, trying to input a blowout into the app when Jason came into the kitchen with a mug of coffee. “You’re still tracking all that?” he asked, amusement in his honey-colored eyes.

“It helps,” I confessed, sighing as I realized I missed the exact time of Poppy’s last nap. “I feel like if I can chart the data, I can predict the next emergency.”

Jason laughed, a soft, warm sound that reminded me instantly of Nica. “You can’t, trust me. When Monica was this size, i tried to keep a notebook. After two weeks, I was writing things like, ‘11:00 PM: cried because the moon was too bright.’” He paused while he refilled his coffee. “I was the one that cried. She never did. Not really. Just those sharp, angry little squeaks. Exactly like Poppy’s.”

Hearing stories like that, the little details about Nica’s childhood dramatics, felt like getting to the final chapters of a novel I was already obsessed with. It wasn’t just Nica’s history. I finally understood the full context of the wonderfully intense woman I loved.

Later that evening, while Cole rocked Poppy in the nursery, Jason found me sitting at the edge of the pool. “You worried about something?” he asked, sitting on the deck chair next to me.

I decided to be honest. “A little. I track the data, keep the schedules, but I just… I don’t know. I worried you’d look at this arrangement, at me and Cole, and see too much instability for your daughter. For Poppy.”

“Riley, Monica’s been telling me about you and Cole since long before she got pregnant. She even told me the story about you asking who you had to blow to get the backdoor open, and I did, in fact, call you an asshole.” He grinned as he said it, and I felt my whole face flush. “She said, ‘Yeah, he is, but that’s part of the appeal.’ Ever since she realized she wouldn’t be able to choose between the two of you, she’s said she needed one to keep her grounded, and one of you to keep her creative. Seeing the three of you here, all I see is stability. You found a way to buy a mansion of a house, and never forced her to move in. You just gave her the space to choose what she wanted. Being a parent isn’t about biology. It’s about showing up, loving, and protecting, and the three of you are doing much better at it than her mother and I ever did.”

His validation, quiet and sincere, felt like a deep, emotional current that settled all my anxiety.

The ultimate lesson, however, came during a three in the morning bottle shift. I was tired, frustrated, and trying to meticulously track the bottle volume. Poppy was awake and fussing softly. I’d carried her into the nursery to keep her from waking up Nica. She woke up Jason instead.

Jason appeared silently in the doorway, “Need some help?”

“The tracker is malfunctioning,” I mumbled.

Jason quietly moved closer. “Forget the tracker for a moment, and just look at her. You can’t track joy, Riley. You just have to let it hit you. You let go of the plan, and you hold on to the kid. Look.” He shifted the bottle in my hand, showing me a trick to reduce air bubbles.

In that moment, holding Poppy in the dim nightlight, I felt a sense of surrender I hadn’t realized I needed. Fatherhood wasn’t a project I needed to manage. It was a life to embrace.

My meticulous planning didn’t create stability. Our love did.