“Okay,” I say, trying to let go of the tension. “We’ll try it.”
“Yay!” Josephine throws her arms around me. “Thank you, Daddy.”
“I’ll watch them while you finish getting dressed,” Autumn says.
Confused, I follow her eyes. Christ, I hadn’t put my shirt on yet, my feet bare on the warm pavement. After witnessing my epic incompetence as a father yet again, it’s the cherry on top that Autumn is getting an eyeful of her boss’ skinny, half-naked glory. I’ve got to find time to start working out again.As if that’ll ever happen.I’m already exhausted thinking of all the ways Autumn might tease me about my weight, or tear into me again for my parenting. Self-conscious, I turn away fast, jogging up the walkway and into my bedroom, listening for the front door closing behind me.
After changing Benjamin’s diaper, I hurry past the living room into the kitchen, fully dressed and still embarrassed, to finish packing the boys’ diaper bag with a few snacks, clean bottles, and a new can of formula.
“Yup. Be there in a sec,” Autumn says into her phone, ending her call. Josephine is beaming from ear to ear, excited once more as she sits beside Autumn with Sebastian perched sideways on Autumn’s lap. I’m struck again by how perfect they all look together. “Ready?” she asks me with a glare, thanks to my outright staring.
No.After almost losing Sebastian, I’m loath to leave the kids.
Perhaps sensing my reluctance, Autumn says with a gentler voice, “They’ll be fine, I promise.”
“You won’t let him out of your sight?” I ask.
“Pinky promise,” she says, standing and giving me her pinky finger.
Surprised, I quickly hook mine over hers, my heart beating faster at the connection.
Her eyes widen, her lips parting on a puff of air. “Stop it.”
“Stop what?”
“You know what,” she says before Josephine literally pushes her toward the front door.
Yeah, I do.I’m looking at her like I want to “put a baby in her”, as she so crassly stated. Which I don’t. I can barely keep up with the three that I have. I’m also her boss. And just over ten years older. And she’s abrasive and stubborn and utterly infuriating…and a total angel, despite her username.
This is going to be a long night.
“You’re still doing it,” Autumn says, as if she has eyes in the back of her head, leading us down the sidewalk toward the left.
I wrench my gaze from her ass at last when we get to the stoop of the house three doors down. It’s the only two-story house on the block, the second floor appearing to be a recent addition.
Autumn pushes open the front door without knocking and shouts above the din of laughing children, “Auntie A is here, and I demand hugs and kisses!”
“Auntie A!” a multitude of children shout back, little feet pounding the floor as they rush to greet her, nearly knocking her over when she crouches and returns their hugs, kissing their cheeks one by one.
“About time you—oh, hello,” says a woman who looksexactly like Autumn, but aged a few years older and with gray eyes. “Who are you?”
Shocked that the woman seems not at all concerned to be breastfeeding her infant in front of me, or any other strange man, I panic. If I look away, she might think that I find her openly nursing to be inappropriate or shameful. But if I don’t look away, she might think I’m a pervert, checking her out. I’m sweating with indecision, and in the end, I lift my eyes to the middle of her forehead, squinting to lessen my peripheral vision.
Autumn sticks her thumb out toward me. “Hey, Shayla. This is my ass—butt—” She coughs. “My boss, Forest.”
She was definitely going to say, “asshole boss.” Just great.
“Oh, right, right. I forgot you said he’d be stopping by. And that’ll be a dollar in the swear jar,” Shayla says.
I cough to hide my laugh.
Shayla waves us in past the entry. “I’ll introduce you to everyone.” She points to a much taller replica of the two, a woman who is heavily pregnant and wearing a more wicked version of one of Autumn’s sly smiles, and introduces her as their sister, Bailey. She points to Miranda when she steps closer, then to a short brunette named Eden, who gives a shy greeting before she and Miranda disappear into the kitchen on the left. Shayla rattles off the kids’ names, though it’s hard to keep up, with them all coming and going, either racing around the living room, taking off down the hallway past the couch on the right, or flying up the stairs to the second floor. I count at least nine children, give or take, not including my three.
“Lainey! Grayson!” Josephine yells, waving to a little girl with bright blonde hair and a much taller boy with darker brown hair. She tugs my hand. “Daddy, that’s Lainey and Grayson! They’re in my class!” To her friends, she says, “Want to paint?”
Lainey grabs Josephine’s hand, and the girls dart towardthe stairs with another girl around their age. Ivy, I think Shayla said is her name. Grayson tries to follow, but Lainey suddenly whirls on him and kicks his shin. “No boys allowed!”
“Dangit, Devilainey,” Grayson says, hopping on one leg, rubbing his shin beneath his athletic shorts. “I’m telling Dad you kicked me!” She shrieks, too short and slow to avoid Grayson’s lengthy reach when he yanks one of her pigtails.
