But soon we fall into a steady rocking rhythm, and more of his whimpering turns into shaky breaths, his eyes losing focus. Sensing that we’ll be here a while, Gemini flops on the floor in front of my feet, heaves a resigned canine sigh, and rests his chin on his paws.
Memories of the past few hours flash through my head, but I don’t try to hold onto them. I’m in no condition to think about my next move or question my decision to leave. I know if I would have stayed at home tonight, I’d have climbed the walls. But here, as Aaron slowly drifts to sleep in my arms, I feel a sense of peace and rightness.
In a way, I see it as proof. My parents and sister have been engineering their lives to… to what? Take care of me? Supervise me? Control me? None of those terms seems exactly right, and yet they all fit in one way or another.
But if the first thing I do after leaving home is take care of someone else, albeit a tiny human and for just the span of one night, then I’ll take it as a sign. They’re wrong about me. They’ve been wrong all along.
I’m not incapable. I’m not irresponsible. Sure, I might be impulsive. Deciding to move out of my childhood home at eleven o’clock on a Friday night could be categorized as impulsive, I realize. But there are worse things to be, right?
Manipulative, for one,Mom.Embittered would be another,Tori.And even if I haven’t actually talked to him about it, I’d have to assign Dad the label ofcomplicit,and I’d rather be impulsive over complicit any day of the week.
Wrapped in a towel turban and dressed in fresh pajamas, Janine returns a few minutes later to find Aaron asleep in my arms.
“Let me take him and lay him down,” she says, stepping forward. “He might wake up when we move him, but you could get in bed.”
I shake my head. “No, no. You go on. We’re good right here.”
Janine looks at me like I’m crazy. “Are you sure?”
“Very. If I get sleepy, I’ll just lean the recliner back a little.”
My friend’s brow creases in concern. “He’ll probably only sleep a couple of hours. He usually wakes up at one for a bottle, and then it starts all over again.”
“Tell me what to do. I’ll be ready.”
I can see her reluctance, but Janine finally goes over his feeding routine. Warm the bottle in the sink. Change him if he’s wet. Feed and burp him. Change him again if he poops. Commence baby comforting protocols.
I got this, so I order Janine to bed.
Around midnight, I actually do drift off, taking advantage of the reclining comfort of the rocker and it’s lovely extendable footrest. Aaron squeaks and snuffles as I adjust us, but he quickly settles. Almost exactly an hour later, he begins to stir, and I don’t wait for him to cry before I’m up and heating his bottle.
The diaper changing ends whatever patience Aaron has with me, but he’s soaked. I manage to get him out of the wet one before James finds us in the nursery looking exhausted. He doesn’t seem surprised to see me, so I let him know I have everything under control and send him back to bed.
It’s two a.m. before Aaron’s back asleep, and by then I’m wide awake, but the events of the early morning have only solidified my sense of competence.
When Janine takes the baby from me at five in the morning, smiling at me like I’m a saint of God, I follow her orders to go lie down in the guest room.
The blessed aroma of coffee and the sounds of a cooing newborn wake me around seven-thirty. I lie there for a moment, gathering my bearings, and weathering the pitch in my stomach as I recall everything from last night.
But the sky hasn’t fallen, and the feel of Gemini’s rump against the curve of my knees gives me the reassurance that all is, in fact, well.
When I shuffle into the kitchen, Janine greets me with a wry smile. “You are officially James’s favorite person.”
I rub sleep out of my eyes and blink at her for explanation. Aaron is in her arms, suckling the bottle he clasps in both hands while gazing adoringly at his mother. Baby Aaron is obviously a morning person.
“The both of us are so rested today that we actually feel human.” Janine’s cheeks turns pink as her smile grows. “We even feel like a couple.”
I’m halfway to the coffee pot before the meaning of her words sinks in. I gasp, coming fully awake, and gape at her in mock scandal. “Ja-nine!”
She giggles, and Aaron, amused, coos around the nipple in his mouth. I fill a coffee mug, splash a little of the Half-N-Half from the carton she has left on the counter, and join her at the table. Janine’s kitchen is sunny. Her cabinets and walls are a crisp white, her granite countertops an indigo blue, and her backsplash is a yellow ceramic tile with cobalt accents. It’s a place I’ve always felt welcome.
Janine’s smile sobers a little as she eyes me over her coffee cup. “Ready to tell me what happened?”
I take a restorative gulp of hot coffee and spill my guts. I tell her everything. My budding friendship with Drew. Tori’s accusations. My late-night call with Mom. And how foolish I feel as the apparent baby of the family who can’t be trusted to lead her own life.
And Janine listens. Nodding with encouragement and asking the rare question. I plow through a bowl of granola and finish off a second cup of coffee before I’m done. Janine has moved to the kitchen floor where Aaron kicks his little legs and squeals at the shiny mirrors and brightly striped shapes that dangle from his activity gym.
“If you don’t mind me saying so, Tori has a little pseudo-martyr thing going on,” she says, arching a no-nonsense eyebrow.
