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“You don’t understand, Mom. I’ve dealt with teething babies before. This feels different.”
“Well, every baby is going to throw you some curveball. You think you know how to handle a bad teething session, and then another one comes out the gate to show you that you didn’t know anything about it that you thought you did.”
Totally reasonable, but I still think this feels different in a way I can’t explain. It’s not like I can argue her down, though. She’s the one that actually raised a kid of her own. I just look after other people’s kids.
She must hear my sigh. “Why don’t you take her temp, hm? Then get some of that numbing gel for her gums and see how that works. I’m sure this is just the demands of the job catching up on you. You’re damn good at what you do, but you’re still only human.”
“Okay,” I grumble miserably. “I’ll try that and call you later. Love you.”
“Love you, sweetheart.”
Maybe this’ll work, I think to myself.
* * *
It does not.
An hour and three separate crying fits later, Mom’s “you’re only human” comment feels like the understatement of the century.
Violet is finally starting to settle down, though I use the term “settle down” lightly. Full-on screaming has simmered into grumpy little baby babbles and half-assed dozing. But she didn’t wrench open her eyes and start singing arias again the second I left the room, so I’ll count it as a win.
I can feel the weight in my bones as I trek downstairs in search of food. Reese isn’t home yet. Perhaps that’s for the best. He won’t be in a good mood with Violet being so temperamental, and I haven’t figured out whether or not I should talk to him about what happened.
What is there to say?
I want to kiss you, but I can’t?
I should probably quit before something terrible happens, but I don’t want to?
I grumble to myself as I rummage through the cabinets. I should have set something out earlier, but with Violet so fussy, it slipped my mind. Now, I just wonder if I should order take out and call it a night…
“You look confused.”
I jump. Turning around, I see Reese standing in the kitchen doorway. Shit. When did he get home?
“Ah, no.” I chuckle nervously and try not to look him in the eyes. I don’t think I could handle being reminded of how his gaze made me feel when we were alone in his room. “Just realized that I might have shot myself in the foot not prepping something for dinner tonight, that’s all.”
He looks tired as he comes into the kitchen. Eye bags, slouched shoulders, the works.
“Don’t worry about it. I got you. Kinda wanted to make a struggle meal anyway.”
Reese glides past me into the kitchen. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen him in here. I figured he never stepped foot in this part of the house, honestly. The thought of him cooking literally anything would be enough to send me into hysterics if I wasn’t already so exhausted.
I slump to a seat on a bar stool and watch him work. To my surprise, he knows his way around the room. Reese goes straight for one of the cabinets, pulling out two boxes of Velveeta macaroni and cheese.
Okay, maybe calling it “cooking” is stretching things a bit if this is his go-to, but it’s better than nothing.
I sit in silence and watch him move. Even just opening a box of mac ‘n’ cheese, his muscles ripple beneath his shirt. But on his face, he’s got this pensive look.
He smells like smoke. It comes off his clothes the more he moves around the kitchen, gets out a pot, fills it with water. A faint trace of alcohol lingers, too. I want to ask how his night was, but I keep my lips sealed. It’s not my business, even if I might want it to be.
Still, there’s something about the fact that he came home and this is what he’s doing rather than holing himself up in his office. I can’t help but read into it.
“It’s not much,” he says suddenly.
I shake my head. Could he see on my face that I was thinking about him? “No, it’s fine,” I say. “Who’s gonna turn down mac ‘n’ cheese?”
He chuckles. “Most women, I’d imagine.”
