offshore | h.s

43

HARRY STYLES

On the back deck, under the winter sun's gentle warmth, I sit with Avery perched on my lap, a tiny bottle of pale yellow nail polish in one hand. While we have to leave for dance in half an hour, she's insisted that her nails must be painted for the class. Avery's enthusiasm is contagious as she excitedly wiggles her fingers, presenting them for me to paint.

She's got Gen's oversized yellow sunglasses perched on her little button nose, the frames nearly covering her entire face, but she insists on wearing them. Her excitement is palpable as she watches each stroke of the brush. 

"Will Miss Rebecca like my nails, Daddy?" she asks with that irresistible mix of innocence and anticipation. 

I can't help but grin, my heart swelling with pride for my little girl. Her voice, which is usually very Australian sounding, now carries a slight English touch, a hint of the countless hours she's spent listening to me. 

"I think Miss Rebecca will absolutely love your nails," I assure her, carefully finishing the last stroke.

Avery giggles, her nails glistening in the pale yellow shade, and I can't help but feel that this moment, this simple act of painting her nails together, is something I'll cherish forever. 

I tell Avery to flash her best smile as I pull out my film camera, capturing the moment of her with the oversized yellow sunglasses on her face. She grins, her eyes sparkling with delight, and I press the shutter, capturing her innocence and joy in a single frame.

I can't help but kiss her on the cheek, the sheer happiness she radiates filling my heart with warmth.

"Okay, time to get ready for dance," I say, my voice soft as I guide her gently off my lap. She jumps down and dashes inside, her excitement palpable, to find her mum in the kitchen.

Gen is there, taking dishes out of the dishwasher, her focus momentarily on the task at hand. It's been a just over a week since we returned from Sydney, and the weight of our unshared secret is hanging heavy between us. 

The knowledge of Gen's pregnancy, kept hidden from our loved ones, is like a contained fire, warm but flickering dangerously close to the surface. Concealing her growing bump has become a tiresome task, especially at home where she should feel free to relax.

Yet, we both know that our little secret can't stay locked away forever. We'll have to tell everyone soon, share the incredible news of our expanding family. As I watch Avery run towards her, my heart swells with love for my girls, and a twinge of anxiety for the conversation we must have hangs in the air. 

Avery's voice rings through the room, and Gen's face lights up. "Mumma! Daddy painted my nails!" Gen's smile is radiant. "Wow, baby, they look amazing!" She glances at me and grins. "Do you know where your leotard is? We have to get you dressed." Avery shakes her head, her little pigtails bobbing.

"Can you go and look for it, please?" Gen asks. Avery nods and darts upstairs in search of her leotard. Gen busies herself with drying off a bowl, and I sneak up behind her. A soft kiss on her neck is interrupted as Amber enters the kitchen. I turn to face her, and she greets us with a quiet "Hey."

Gen slips out of my embrace. "Hey, what's up?" she asks, noticing the tinge of sadness in Amber's expression.

Amber responds, her voice subdued, "Nothing, I'm gonna make a smoothie."

Gen turns back to her, concern etched on her features. "Have you seen Ave's ballet shoes?"

"I think I saw them in the mudroom," Amber replies, her voice barely above a whisper.