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It was a bit early for dinner, and pancakes were nearly sacrilege, but there we were. So, my daughter sat watching from her highchair like an umpire at a tennis match, while I made some banana pancakes. I really couldn’t account for her fascination with sweet, heated carbs, but it happened a bit too often to be a coincidence.
I did my best to balance the food groups by putting in extra eggs and always including fruit in some format. She never really seemed to mind, or much notice. She cheerfully devoured almost anything I put in front of her with voracious glee, while still maintaining an average weight. Like a pint-sized, female Jughead Jones.
In the third miracle of the day, the fates seeming to like me more than usual, nearly all the food actually got into Gen’s mouth, and subsequently her belly. Keeping the post-meal cleaning to a happy medium. Not least because I had a folder the rough size of a cinder block to get through sometime before doomsday.
So bath time was brief, and before long, I had her bundled into her PJs.
“Ready for bed, honey?” I asked, after a particularly epic yawn.
She nodded, already rubbing her eyes. It came as no real surprise, but I wanted to make sure we were on the same page. The less fuss and trauma, the better.
Scooping Gen into my arms, her head against my chest, I carried her to her crib and pulled the blanket right up under her chin.
“De Brahms?” I asked, stroking her hair.
“Uh-huh.”
“Bonne nuit, cher tresor, ferme tes yeux et dors,” I sang the French lullaby softly and Gen settled down even further into the mattress.
I only made it halfway through before she’d dozed off, breathing slow and deep as she always did. I put down the pillows carefully to make sure she kept on her back. Paranoid, yes, but I made no justification or apologies for it. Gen was the best thing in my life at that point, and I wasn’t about to let anything happen to her.
I’d never really planned on being a mama bear, but these things could really sneak up on you.
Getting the file to my home office without hurting anything, I flopped into my desk and popped a caffeine pill, getting ready for another all-nighter.
The cover slid open, taking the compete pages with it, still leaving a whole lot to get through before dawn. Of all the flaws it was possible to have, perfectionism was one of the most damaging.
A chime sounded at my computer and an instant later, a face popped up on the screen. “Hiya.”
“Shit.”
“Hello to you too,” Kate said from the screen.
“How did you do that without dialing.”
“I have my ways,” she said with a wink.
“Just don’t pop up at me like that, okay?”
“Promise.”
“To what do I owe the interruption?”
“Just wanted to see how you were getting along with the new case.”
“I’d be doing better if I could get to it.”
“Really? Because I forgot to give you the notes Ann typed up. Or, more accurately, Ann did, to be fair.”
Fairness didn’t have much to do with it, but I was still glad at Kate’s persistence, spooky as it could be sometimes.
“Yes, that would be great, thanks.”
“Emailing now,” Kate said.
Were it anyone else, I would have thought the little salute she gave was sarcastic, but Kate didn’t have the talent.
The notes came a few minutes later in a printable pdf. Running off a copy for future reference, I reviewed the copy still on the screen in an attempt to get the gist before diving in any further. Usually, the best way to go, particularly with the difficult ones.
It was another film case. A semi-autobiographical drama involving a fictionalized version of the experience the writer/director went through as a child solider in Rwanda. Experiences that included some content a particular protest group is pressuring the state to censor. The fact it was based on reality apparently making no difference.
It would be difficult but should be winnable. Assuming the bastards didn’t back out again.
Niles “Big Man” Veek would no doubt stride right in, decked out in his stupid, sexy tweeds and knock it out of the park. Just one way his life was so much easier than mine.
I’d heard he was a single dad, which gave me a bit more sympathy, but even them, it was so much easier for men with kids to advance, not having the same stigma as single mothers. Like if you have a baby but no partner, you must be some kind of whore. Dads taking any sort of interest in their own children were celebrated as heroes.
Closing my eyes, I focused on my breathing and tried to put the dragon back into the cage. I didn’t know that about him. In fact, I didn’t know anything. Except how incredibly sexy and successful he was. It wasn’t really fair to judge him based on such a limited criterion. That was what my brains was shouting in any case. My pussy was once again in full rebellion, seeming to like Niles very much indeed.
