“That’s beautiful,” I say. Then I reach out to save her work and close her laptop. “Now, come back to bed.”
“I should keep writing while the words are flowing.”
“You’ve been awake all night. The words will still be there after you sleep.”
“But what if they’re not? What if this was a fluke and tonight I’m blocked again?”
I stand and pull her to her feet. “Then you’ll work through it. But right now, you need rest. Doctor’s orders.”
“You’re not a doctor.”
“I’m the father of your child, and I’m telling you, you need to sleep.” I kiss her forehead. “You’re exhausted.”
She fights it for another moment, then gives in. “Fine. But I need a bath.”
“Eat first.” I nod at the untouched toast and fruit. “At least half.”
She rolls her eyes but sits, nibbling at the toast while I lean against the desk and watch. Her gaze drifts back to the closed laptop.
“It’s not going anywhere,” I say.
“You don’t know that.” But she takes another bite.
Ten minutes later, I run the water while she brushes her teeth. When she lowers herself into the tub, I stay. I lather a washcloth and run it across her shoulders, her back and the swell of her breasts. She sighs and leans into my touch.
“I could get used to this,” she says.
“Good.”
I want her to get used to me taking care of her. But the want comes with terror. My father was good at the beginning too, until he wasn’t.
I help her out when the water cools and wrap her in a heated towel. She leans against me while she dries off. I hold her up without comment.
“Sit,” I say, guiding her to the edge of the bed.
I get her petroleum jelly from the bathroom, kneel in front of her and work it into her feet, her calves, her thighs. When she stands, I smooth it over her belly where our daughter is growing, then her back, her arms. By the time I’m finished, she’s boneless.
“Stay there,” I say.
I find her wide-tooth comb and settle behind her on the bed. Parting her hair down the middle, I start braiding one section.
Jasmine goes still. “Since when do you know how to braid?”
“Meesha.” My fingers cross sections with confidence. “She used to make me oil her scalp at night when she was too lazy to do it herself. Taught me to braid while she was at it.”
She snorts. “Of course she did.”
“Said since I wasn’t a sister, I needed to be a useful brother.”
A laugh escapes her. I finish the second braid and settle her silk bonnet over her head.
“There,” I say.
She catches my hand. “Thank you.”
I kiss her palm. “Get into bed.”
She climbs in and I pull the covers up around her. I tuck them in at her sides the way my mãe used to do for me.
