Nodding, she says, “Of course, it’s fine. We can do this another day.”
“No,” I blurt out, louder than I intend to. “I mean, will you come inside while I put her back to sleep? I really want to have this conversation with you tonight. Please?”
Charley chews the inside of her cheek for a moment before she nods. “Okay, I can wait.”
Hurrying inside the house, I toss the monitor on the couch and tell her to make herself comfortable before I shuffle down the hall and into Ellie Mae’s room. “What’s the matter, princess?” I ask as I lift her into my arms. “Did you have a bad dream?”
She did not have a bad dream. And from there, everything happens so fast. A hiccup comes out of her—a wet one, which should’ve been my first clue—and her face scrunches up. Then the puke comes.
It’s everywhere.
All over the front of me.
All over her.
On the carpet.
I had no idea one small girl could hold so much fluid.
“Oh, shit—shoot, sorry!”
Ellie Mae coughs, and I pat her back as I sort of pace back and forth, trying to figure out what I need to do first.
“Okay, uh… It’s okay,” I murmur, not sure if I’m reassuring her or me. Maybe both of us. “It’ll be okay. Let’s get you out of these clothes and in the bath. Sound good, princess?”
As I’m trying to find a fresh pair of pajamas and a diaper in the dark, Biggie Smalls trots in and makes the entire situation a whole lot worse.
“No, boy,” I snap. “Out!”
But he doesn’t leave. Why would he?
Instead, he finds the vomit on the carpet and does the unthinkable… He eats it.
“Biggie, no! Stop that!” Now, I’m gagging, the sour smell surrounding me, as my daughter cries in my arms, probably uncomfortable in her soiled pajamas. “Don’t do that!” My chest heaves. Ellie Mae startles in my arms and cries harder, and I immediately feel terrible for scaring her. “It’s okay, baby. You’re okay. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m sorry, princess.”
Movement catches in the hall, and when I look up, Charley’s standing in the doorway, her eyes wide and her nose scrunched up. She looks from me, to the dog, to Ellie Mae, then back to me before walking farther into the room and holding out her arms. “Give her to me. I’ll toss her in the bath while you take care of…your dog.”
Eyes widening, I pause. “Are you sure? She’s covered.”
“Yes, I’m sure, but don’t talk about it or I’ll be next. Just hand her to me. I got her.”
Handing my daughter to Charley, I say, “Thank you. Clothes are in the drawer behind me, diapers on top.” I kneel and hoist Biggie Smalls into my arms, strategically trying to avoid his tongue, and as I’m walking out of the room, I add over my shoulder, “Soap’s in the tub!”
“Got it!” she calls out behind me.
I carry the dog into the bathroom in my room, flicking the light switch with my elbow before setting him down in my walk-in shower. Closing the glass door behind me, I turn on the faucet and get it warm before spraying him down. It’s a shitshow and a damn miracle Biggie doesn’t break the glass, but eventually, I get him cleaned up. Next, I undress and rinse myself off as quickly as I can. It’s not ideal showering with an eighty-five-pound dog in such close quarters, but I don’t know what else to do. If I let him out, he’ll barrel through the house soaking wet.
Once I’ve gotten him dried off, I get dressed in a pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt before heading out of the room to check on Charley and Ellie Mae. She came over here to tell meshe’s pregnantandhaving an abortion, only to wind up bathing my child and probably getting vomit all over herself.Real nice, jackass.I find them in the living room, sitting in the rocking chair together as Charley rocks Ellie Mae. The sight has me stopping in my tracks for a moment, the back of my throat tightening all over again. This isn’t the first time somebody has rocked my daughter; it’s not even the first time Charley’s held her, but something about it makes it hard to breathe.
Charley lifts her gaze to meet mine, and she presses a finger to her lips before mouthing, “She’s asleep.”
She’s pregnant with our baby right now…holding my other baby.
Jesus Christ, Graham. Pull yourself together.
“Do you mind continuing to rock her while I quickly clean up the carpet in her room?” I whisper across the room. “Then I’ll move her into the crib when I’m done.”
Nodding, she says softly, “I don’t mind. Go ahead.”
