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Apparently, an important part of Lex’s therapy was pushing her out of her comfort zone a little at a time. Kind of like stretching a muscle—if you worked her into it slowly, eventually all of the things that would be socially expected of her would come easily.
I was all for the success of the kid, I was by no means an expert on a child I’d spent time with three times at most, and I knew what they were doing was one of the reasons Lexi was able to talk to me as much as she was now, but I had a secret—I liked her like she was.
I like a kid. Huh. I’m just as shocked as you are.
After dropping my car off at my apartment garage, we walked the few blocks to BAD and occupied a table in the back.
It was pretty busy—good for business, so I couldn’t complain—but I could tell the noise and overall activity was starting to become a little too much for Lex. She was agitated and antsy, and both of those made Winnie more and more uncomfortable by the minute.
I frowned as I realized that she wasn’t reacting solely to Lexi’s discomfort, but also to the threat of mine.
She was obviously afraid I’d be bothered, and—shamefully—under any other circumstances, she probably would have been right.
I simply hadn’t had the experience with this kid or any other to understand. But everything I knew about Lex only made me want to know more—and I knew enough to know that anything seen as negative by someone else when it came to this kid, was something far deeper, and way further beyond her control than any of us could possibly understand.
An idea struck me.
I squeezed Winnie’s leg under the table—to touch her, to get her attention, and to fly under the young genius’s radar.
“I’ll be right back, okay?”
Winnie’s eyebrows drew together slightly, but she nodded, her cute black-frame reading glasses bobbing slightly on the bridge of her nose—apparently, she needed them to see the menu. “Okay.”
I scooted out of the booth and headed for my office here at the restaurant. Thatch liked to joke that I sure had a lot of offices for someone who never fucking worked—which was not true, of course. But according to Thatch, his version of the truth was always better.
I flipped on the switch and blinked at the bright light before rounding my desk and opening and slamming drawers quickly.
My manager, Amanda, a cute woman in her midtwenties with rainbow-colored hair, apparently noticed, peeking her head in with a knock on the metal doorframe. “What’s the commotion, boss man?”
I rolled my eyes and shook my head, opening the last drawer and shouting a little in victory when I saw the old scientific calculator right on top.
Amanda raised her eyebrows and stepped back at the unexpected show of emotion.
“Don’t mind me,” I said as I waved her off.
She looked at me as though I were a mythical creature, the discrepancies born of my own habits, but I didn’t have the time or patience to address it.
Brushing past her, I gave a little wave and moved back toward the table where Winnie had Lex pulled close to her side and was speaking softly in her ear.
I slowed my step until it seemed like their moment was over and then sped back up to my normal pace.
“Hey, Lex,” I said. “Look what I found. I used this thing in college, but even then, I didn’t have half the brains you do.”
“What did you major in in college?” Winnie asked as Lex reached out to take the calculator and quickly occupied herself.
I settled back into my seat and smiled at having done something right. Lex was content, and now that she was, maybe Winnie would be at ease too.
When I glanced back to Winnie, she was looking at me with something else in her eye again, but I couldn’t quite place it.
“Electrical engineering. I’ve used it well, huh?”
Life was weird. I wouldn’t have predicted anything about my career—other than the restaurant. I’d known from a very young age that I wanted this, but it wasn’t about me. It was all about my mother.
Winnie laughed but shrugged. Made a show of looking around the packed restaurant. “You look like you’re doing all right to me.”
My gaze flicked between her and Lex. They put more questions in my mind than answers, but I knew one thing that was definite. I felt happier than I had in a long time.
When I met her eyes one last time, I added a wink.
Goddamn, Thatch would be proud.
“Right now, it looks that way to me too.”
“You need a fucking doula, Cass,” Georgia repeated for the fourth time since we’d sat down for lunch at a bistro not too far from the Mavericks’ stadium.
Every table that lined the exposed brick wall was filled with couples and families and people taking a midday break from work, but in our party, I was the only one who hadn’t taken the entire day.
Georgia claimed to be working from home, and Cassie made her own schedule. But Dean had flown the Brooks Media coop and trekked all the way from Manhattan just for this lunch date in New Jersey. Apparently, he was filing it as an expense, citing sanity and happiness in the workplace.
I’d questioned if he thought that was a good idea, but he’d pretty much waved it off. “Kline Brooks isn’t going to say jack shit about a day date with his wife,” he’d said. I wasn’t quite so sure, but I wasn’t an expert by any means.
“For fluffernutter sake’s, Wheorgie!” Cassie screeched and slammed her palms down onto the table, a wild woman finally pushed over the edge. It took quick hands and reflexes on everyone’s part to prevent our water glasses from tipping over, but other than that, none of us batted an eye.
This had become the norm: Georgia constantly worrying about Cassie and the baby and fixating her neuroses on anything and everything pregnancy-related. I was concerned for everyone’s well-being when Georgia and Kline decided to start a family.
Seriously.
With the way she acted toward Cass’s pregnancy, you’d think Cass was actually her surrogate.
“I honestly don’t think Cass needs a doula,” I offered in hopes I could play Switzerland and stop a full-on catfight from breaking out. “She’s planning on having the baby in the hospital and—”
But Cassie had other plans, chiming in before I could finish my attempt to keep the peace.
“And I’m getting all the fudging drugs they will allow me to have. All of them. I want them to numb me from the neck down. I have no desire to feel this child shoot out of my vagina. I mean, have you seen the size of my husband? He’s huge. And I’m not just talking about his giant schlong. I mean, big hands, big feet, big fluffing head.” She pointed to her belly as evidence. “Look at me! No one should be this big at twenty-some-odd weeks pregnant with their first baby. If the size of my belly is any indication, the fudging doctor is going to need bridge cables to suture up the hole.”
Dean and I couldn’t not laugh at that, but Georgia stayed steadfast in her doula views.
“A doula can still help you even if you get an epidural.” She pleaded her case. “They’ll just be there to guide you through the rough parts, before you’re able to get an epidural.”
I shrank back at the look on Cassie’s face. Dean pretended to scratch the air like an angry cat, and I had to bite my lip to hold in my laugh. “What do you mean before I’m able to get an epidural?”
“Some doctors make first-time mothers wait until they have dilated to four centimeters before they can get their epidural,” Georgia explained.
“What! Four centimeters!” Cass shouted in response, and people inside the bistro started to give us the side-eyed glances that said, What the hell is going on over there? I wasn’t sure whether I should scoot closer and try to defuse the bomb or run while I still could. In the end, the horribly morbid part of me couldn’t stand to miss the carnage.
Georgia, the pregnancy expert, nodded while a slightly smug smile consumed her pretty pink lips. “Yeah, four centimeters.”
Cassie looked at me for help.
It’s your own fault for not leaving.
I shrugged and contorted my face apologetically. “She’s right. Some doctors do make first-time moms wait until they’re past that four-centimeter mark.”
“Oh. Hell. No.” She shook her head maniacally. “Hell fucking no,” she muttered and then placed both hands over her belly and stared down at it. “Sorry, baby, but Mommy is not going to wait until she’s almost halfway to complete and ready to push before she gets some goddamn relief from you trying to claw your way out of my uterus. I love you, but yeah, not happening, little man.”
“And the cursing is back,” Georgia muttered, in my opinion, unwisely.
“You can shut the fuck up!” Cassie snapped back.
Dean’s face scrunched up in disgust. “Can we not talk about pregnancy and uteruses and vaginas? I came here to eat, not vomit.”
“Oh, shut up, drama queen.” Georgia glared at Dean. “This is important stuff. She needs to be prepared.” And then her eyes moved back toward Cass. “And you need to read those pregnancy books I bought you. And ask your doctor questions about delivery. And honestly, you need to really consider getting a—”
Cass pointed at her. “Do. Not. Say. That. Word. Again.”
“Doula.”
