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Mick gives zero fucks—his expression makes that clear. “And you’re three weeks late on this month’s rent. I ain’t runnin’ a charity.”
“I know that. I do. But if I could just have a little more time—”
“You’re not working, so how is more time gonna help?”
I hold his gaze imploringly. “I’m working on getting legal custody of Avery, and when I do—”
Mick puts up a hand. “Time’s up, Winter. I’m sorry.”
A spark of fury ignites inside me at his complete disregard for my situation. I’m a good tenant. “I’ve lived here for four years, and I’ve never once been late on rent.”
Mick hikes his brows up. “Yeah, ‘til you just stopped paying it altogether.”
“I just need some time.” My heart pounds as the gravity of actually being evicted from my apartment sets in. “I’ll give you free…I mean, your girlfriend or wife or mom, or whoever, free hair services. Color, cut, anything.”
“I don’t need a fucking haircut, Winter. I need cash, now. Twenty-four hundred bucks.” He shakes his head, brow furrowed with frustration. “I’ll take off the late fees if you can get me two grand by tomorrow.”
It’s official—I’m about to break down in front of my landlord, further proving that I definitely don’t have that much money. I can barely afford food right now. Two grand is an impossible dream.
His expression softens. “I’ve got a mortgage on this place, okay? I can’t afford to let you slide any longer. Do us both a favor and get your stuff out in the next couple weeks so I don’t have to get the cops involved.”
“Jesus, Mick.” I shift my approach. “Have a heart, will you? You’re gonna put a baby out on the street? She’s only five weeks old, you cold bastard.”
“There’s a homeless shelter a couple blocks over.”
“I am not homeless.”
Mick points at the notice on my door. “Get the fuck out, Winter. Sorry it had to come to this.”
He turns and leaves. I close and lock the door, still absentmindedly swaying Avery gently to soothe her. My heart is still hammering wildly from that interaction.
“We’re just slightly screwed, little lady,” I say in a singsong voice.
She quiets, as if waiting to listen for more. I’ve found during my five-week crash course in parenting that she likes it when I talk to her this way, no matter what I’m saying.
“I wish your mama was here,” I say, my throat tightening. “But it’s just you and me now. You and me against the world, baby girl.”
I put her in her baby bouncer and fasten the straps around her, using my hand to rock it up and down lightly. She screams in protest and I exhale hard before unfastening the straps and picking her back up.
Avery loves to be held. I rest her chest against mine, her little head peeking up over my shoulder, and carry her the short distance to my tiny kitchen, patting her back gently.
“So we’re homeless,” I say, trying to keep the terror out of my voice. Can babies smell fear? “And broke. But the good news is that your mom already paid for the attorney to draw up the custody paperwork for me to adopt you. All we have to do is get your deadbeat dad to sign off and you’ll be all mine.”
She makes a cooing sound and I melt.
“Then we need to see if I can find some work. I’ll have to bring you with me, though, so no ear-splitting screams.” I close my eyes and breathe in the sweet scent of newborn baby. “But we’re gonna figure this out.”
I look around my tiny studio apartment as I carry Avery over to the twin bed against the wall. I lay her down and start unsnapping her sleeper so that I can change her diaper.
“We officially only have one diaper left,” I say brightly.
Avery looks at me, her bright blue eyes carefree.
“That means we’re one giant poop blowout away from being completely out,” I remind her. “I’d use the cloth diapers, but we can’t take those to the meeting with the attorney later, because then we’d have stinky diapers in the diaper bag.”
I button her pale yellow sleeper back up and pick her up, cuddling her.
“I guess it’s time for me to sell that last handbag,” I say sweetly. “You’re worth it. I can just put my stuff in your diaper bag when we go out.”
Avery whimpers, so I cuddle her closer and walk into the kitchen to throw away her used diaper.
“We might be meeting your sperm donor today,” I singsong as I keep walking. “But you can just ignore him. I’m going to. He’s as cold as they come. You won’t be anything like him, though. Once we sign these papers, we’ll be rid of him forever.”
Avery’s head drifts down onto my shoulder. I keep walking but stop talking so she can rest.
