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Sawyer
Keeping Sydney company over night was no joke. If I thought coming here would allow me to get more rest at night, I was sorely mistaken.
Brandon woke up at three, having an accident in his bed. At the same time, Brody threw up in his bed, so while Sydney cleaned him and his toddler bed up, I took on the task of bed linen changing for a full-size bed that was tucked against the wall. Thank God my sister and brother-in-law were smart and dressed Brandon’s bed with two layers of waterproof and fitted sheets, so I only had to remove a layer and add a clean flat sheet.
I did, however, still have to lean over the bed and over the soiled spot to unhook the far corner, which gave me a slight case of the heebie-jeebies. Like the man that I was though, I completed my task, successfully not touching the wetness and turned to help my nephew get back into bed. Unfortunately, I wasn’t quite prepared for the softly crying three-year-old who stood by his door.
“’sa accident,” he said, tears falling down his cheeks.
I pulled back the fresh sheets and then walked over to my nephew, kneeling in front of the boy. There was no denying this kid was Caleb’s. He was his father’s spitting image, but with the Meadows’ yellow irises.
“I know, bud. It happens.” I reached out to wipe a tear from his cheek. “You ready to get back in bed?”
He sniffled and nodded. With his hand in mine, I walked him to his dresser, helping him out of his soiled night clothes and getting him into clean ones. He was adamant about not putting on a pull-up, which was likely part of the issue tonight, but I was ok with it.
According to Sydney, Brandon had been refusing a nighttime pull-up for the last two weeks and for the most part, accidents weren’t a common occurrence.
He crawled back into the bed that was much too big for him and, after pulling his sheets up and turning on his Scooby Doo night light, I left his room, bed linens and soiled PJs in hand.
Downstairs, I took them straight to the washer, careful to not touch any wet spots. I had everything bundled and held the ball with two fingers and my thumb, tossing it into the washer. When a section of the mass didn’t make it into the washer, I made a face, unsure how I was going to push it in.
Because, go figure, it was the large wet spot that needed pushing in.
With both index fingers, I pushed the mass in, holding my breath as I did so, as well as a shudder at the feel of wet, urine-soaked fabric under my fingers. I quickly stood and turned to wash my hands. Sydney came in with her own mess of fabric and vomit-drenched clothes—the smell alone making me gag—adding them in the extra-large front load washer. She glanced over at me as I had a massive amount of bubbles happening between my hands, making her laugh.
“Thank you for helping,” she said around her enjoyment.
“Thank you for taking on the vomit,” I answered, rinsing my hands and fighting to hold back another gag at the smell that came with her. How she and Caleb dealt with all these bodily fluids was beyond me.
I dried my hands as Sydney started the washer, adding detergents to the top and a capful of those smelly bead things to the drum. “Brody sick?” I asked, leaning against the counter.
After pressing a series of buttons she turned to wash her own hands. I shifted to the side to allow her to the sink.
“He doesn’t have a fever. Probably just ate something that didn’t settle well with his tummy.” She dried her hands and I walked with her back toward the living room where she said, “You sleeping ok in the guest room?”
I really wanted to get back to the guest room to sleep, so I answered, “Yeah. It’s a good bed.”
“Good. We just replaced the mattress and you’re the first to sleep on it. I wasn’t sure if it would be too firm for you.” Sydney settled against the couch and I had the feeling she was getting ready for a conversation, but it was—
I glanced into the kitchen to see the green numbers lit on the double oven. It was three thirty.
Thirty minutes cleaning up wet and dirty kids in the middle of the night?
“I’m going to head back to bed,” I told her before she could say anything else. My sister opened her mouth to do just that but I pointed at her. “Anything you want to say can hold off until the morning.” I was so fucking tired.
I think I slept more at home with cases on my mind. Sleep and little children didn’t seem to mix.
As I neared the stairs though, I remembered something Grace had said, or really, hadn’t said, earlier in the day. “Hey, Syd?” I asked over my shoulder, seeing she was still by the couch.
“Yeah, Soy?” she answered mid-yawn, making me chuckle.
I sucked on my tongue between my teeth, unsure how to ask and just seem like a concerned friend…because that’s what I was, a concerned friend, but Sydney would see so much more in the statement.
She would see what she wanted to see, of course, but what she wanted to see was what I wanted more and more.
“Earlier, Grace said—”
“You like her. Like, more than friends like her.”
