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I shake my head. It can't be.
But it is.
Another step, and I can see there's something in the bottom of that box. My heart pounds harder as I kneel down, lift a flap up, and find myself peering down at a tiny, red-faced, wailing human.
There’s a Post-It note tapped to the bundle. I bring it nearer to my face and frown as I read, This one's for the two queer lovebirds. Pastor says he wants a big fam.
I see spots as I stand back up, blinking down at the tiny, scream-stretched face.
Holy fuckshit. This is one hell of a move by the Big Guy Upstairs.
The rain starts falling harder, and I scoop the little guy—or girl—up.
"It's okay, baby. We're gonna figure something out."
8
Vance
Wow. Holding a baby is just not the way I thought it would be. For such a solid little bundle, this one is still somehow sort of…floppy.
And so distressed. Like, screamy. I've never seen anything like its little round, red face with wrinkles on the forehead and its little, thin-lipped mouth stretched open in a primal fuck-you-all yowl.
"Hey now, buddy-o..." I hug it closer to my chest and try to bounce on the balls of my feet as I stand in the hall just inside the door where I found its box. "It's gonna be all right. Whoever left you here is a real piece of work, but we'll forget about them for now, yeah? Mmhmmm...that's right."
I remember hearing somewhere that they—babies—like it when you walk, so I start walking—toward Luke's office. "I don't know who leaves a baby on a cold and misty day. That's pretty crummy. So maybe it's good that they left you. Get you someone better. I don't know if we can keep you, but somebody can.” I nod down at it, as its distressed wails die into a milder sequence of half-hearted screeches. “Mmhmmm...that's right."
I sound like a moron, but the little thing is blinking up at me and, at some point in the last point five seconds, has stopped screaming.
"What do you think, do you want to be two men's baby? That sounds pretty crazy to me. I don't even know for sure what's going on with us. But maybe Pearl could take a little critter like you."
As I say those words, my chest aches; I don’t know why. The baby shocks me when its little lips tug upward like it's smiling. "Oh, damn, baby, that's some pretty cute shit right there. You like me? Your Uncle Vanny? You wanna have some gay uncles? Cause we can do that for sure."
I look down the hall and then around, in case someone is watching—other than the cameras, of course. At some point in the future, someone—probably Luke—is gonna have a field day with this footage. As I’m worrying over my image, the critter starts to cry again.
"Well, dammit, baby," I murmur. "You want me to, what? Just talk and talk and talk? All day? Huh? You want me to talk all day long?"
The crying stops in confirmation. The little thing is making pitiful whimper sounds.
I try adjusting his or her head, propped in the crook of my recently surgerized elbow. It seems strange to hold a baby in that arm, which is still weak, but I’ve been warned against moving the other shoulder.
"Damn...those little sounds are pretty sad. Maybe we should just be happy. Hakunnah matata...isn't that what they say over there at Disney?" I sing-whisper, "It means no worries...for the rest of your day-ay-ays! It's a problem free...philo-sophy....hakunnah matata!" I grin for the baby, spreading my hand out behind its back, which I'm shocked to find is not that much bigger than my hand is.
"I can't keep singing,” I tell it. “I sound ridiculous. People will stare at me, and you know what? I think they're already staring every time I step foot in here, so more staring...I don't know about it."
Dammit all! The little scream machine turns up the volume as I hang a left onto a different hall, where there’s a meeting room door ajar.
"Baby, baby,” I whisper. “If we scream our way through the church, I can tell you for sure there will be a lot of...notice. And that will just be...I don't know. Fodder for gossip or some such shit. Do you wanna be fodder for gossip? Your other daddy, I don't think he needs more gossip." My face actually heats as I realize what I just said. "Your other uncle. We're not daddies. Not yet. If we are, we're just the sexy, screw-me kind of daddies. We're still young guys. You understand that, right? We can’t even agree on how to properly store an apple."
The baby stops wailing abruptly, but he or she looks troubled.
"You're a bald baby. Did you know that? Not a stitch of hair up there. Looking kind of like a little old man." I peel the blanket—which at first looked white, but now, in the light, I realize is pale yellow—back, revealing a white outfit that's got snap buttons up the front.
