“Good morning,” Andrek said when I opened my door and took two steps to the nursery. He looked far too alert for such an ungodly hour. Already awake, Pip rested on a cushioned platform near the window, watching the pre-dawn sky with those large, luminous eyes. When she saw me, something in her expression shifted. I didn’t see fear or distrust, but I got the sense I was not welcome.
“Good morning,” I managed, trying to project confidence I did not feel.
Andrek gestured me forward. “We’ll start with the morning routine. First, the greeting. It’s important. It sets the emotional tone for the day.” He moved toward Pip with fluid grace, lowering himself to the child’s eye level. “Good morning, little star,” he murmured, his voice pitched lower and softer than I’d heard it before. “Did you sleep well?”
Pip immediately reached for him, small hands grasping at Andrek’s shirt, and pressed her forehead against Andrek’s chest. They stayed like that for a long moment, and I could see Andrek’s eyes close, his tail curling protectively around Pip’s small form.
“This is the morning bond,” Andrek explained, his voice not rising above a whisper. “She needs physical contact, calm emotions, and reassurance. She needs to feel that the world is safe before she can engage with it.” He gently extracted himself and guided Pip to turn toward me. “Now you try.”
I knelt down, my human joints protesting the unfamiliar position, and tried to remember everything he’d just done. “Good morning, Pip,” I said, keeping my voice soft. “How are you?”
Pip stared at me for a long second, then turned away and reached for Andrek, a desperate keening sound passing her lips. It made my heart clench.
“It’s alright,” Andrek said, scooping Pip up. “She’s new, but she’s staying. Danielle promised. You’ll get used to her.” But over Pip’s head, I saw concern in his eyes, and I knew we were both wondering the same thing: what if she doesn’t?
By the time we reached breakfast, I failed at a few tasks I didn’t know I could. Walking, for one. Pip needed slow, loud footsteps so she wouldn’t startle. I learned she needed to see me coming, and not to approach her from behind, and to keep my emotions in check as my frustration level rose.
That last one was the hardest.How was I supposed to keep my emotions neutral when everything I did seemed to make Pip uncomfortable?
“The morning meal is critical,” Andrek said, setting Pip in her specially designed seat at the table. “She’s always hungry when he wakes, but she’s also the most volatile, emotionally speaking. If feeding goes poorly, it affects the entire day.”
Of course. No pressure, then.
He showed me the food preparation with a mixture of grain-like substances and pureed fruit, warmed to a specific temperature and mixed until it reached a precise consistency. Too thick and Pip would reject it. Too thin and she couldn’t eat it properly. The color had to be right too, a warm golden-orange that apparently signaled safety and nourishment to young Yxians.What have I gotten myself into?
I watched Andrek prepare it and tried to memorize every movement. He handed me the bowl and spoon.
“Your turn,” he said. “I’ll be right here.”
I settled into the chair across from Pip, and offered a smile that Pip didn’t return. Her eyes tracked the bowl in my hands with suspicion I didn’t expect from an infant.Judgemental much?
“Okay, Pip,” I mumbled. “Breakfast time. This is your favorite, right? The golden sunrise blend?” I’d made up the name, but it sounded cheerful to my ears.
Pip’s face crumpled, and she cried - not fussy whimpering, but a full-throated wailing. The sound shot straight through my skull and activated every panic response I had. I looked at Andrek, holding myself together.
“What did I do?”
“You’re anxious,” he said, moving closer. “She feels it. Here.” He placed his hand over mine on the spoon, steadying it. “Breathe. Center yourself. Think of something calm.”
I tried. I thought about the moons I’d seen last night, serene and distant. Pip’s crying overrode my senses, and all I could feel was the crushing certainty that I was failing before I’d even begun.
Andrek took the bowl from my hands, and within thirty seconds, had Pip calm and eating. The difference was stark and humiliating.
“It’s the first day,” Andrek said, but even his patience sounded strained. “Pip needs time to adjust to you.”
I wasn’t sure I had time - not if every single interaction went like this.
By day three, I’d made a non-comprehensive list on my tablet of everything I was doing wrong.
I held Pip wrong. My body was too tense, and my arms didn’t curve enough to support her back. I fed her wrong, usually too fast, because I didn’t wait for her to swallow between bites. I chose the wrong toys or didn’t understand how she arranged them so I played with her wrong too. I even breathed wrong around her, too. Maybe I was too human.
“You’re overthinking,” Andrek said after I’d spent twenty minutes trying to get Pip interested in a puzzle she loved yesterday. Today, the moment I touched it, she turned away. “Children can sense when you’re forcing it.”
“I’m not forcing anything,” I snapped, then regretted it when Pip’s crying intensified. I handed the puzzle back to Andrek. “I’m doing what you told me to do, and nothing is right.”
“I told you to be calm. Don’t put on a performance.” He picked up Pip, who buried her face in Andrek’s neck. Something ugly and sharp twisted in my chest.
Jealousy. How the hell was I jealous of a child’s bond with their father? God, what was wrong with me?
