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Me: How are you? How’s Izzy?
I’m surprised—and thankful—when my phone vibrates with a response a minute later.
Maria: She’s good after having a whole night sleeping in her crib because, evidently, the baby whisperer stayed at my place last night.
“Who is the baby whisperer?” Lex asks, and I realize she’s standing patiently beside me, waiting for me to let her get to her seat. And, evidently, reading my messages.
I quickly move my legs and she sits down, but when I don’t answer, she asks again. “Uncle Rem, who is the baby whisperer?”
“Apparently, it’s me,” I tell her, but I also add, “You know it’s rude to read other people’s text messages, right?”
“I do, but you made it hard not to look. I could see your whole screen while I was waiting for you to let me through to my seat.” She just shrugs. “You stayed at Maria’s last night?”
“Uh, yeah, I did.” I go with the simplest response I can manage, but when she tilts her head to the side, I know there’re more questions coming my way.
“And she has a baby that you took care of last night?”
“Yes.” I nod. “Her name is Izzy, and she’s a tiny baby. Just a little over six weeks old.”
My phone chimes with another text, and I look at the screen to find a picture of Izzy resting on Maria’s chest, her face lax with sleep. And the words See? All good here. follow.
“Is that Izzy?” Lex asks, still keen on being nosy.
“Yep.”
“She’s really cute.”
“She is,” I respond with a soft smile. “You know, I used to take care of you a lot when you were that small. You were really cute too.”
Lex grins, but then her attention is back on my phone. She points toward the picture. “Is that her mom? Maria?”
“Yes.”
“She’s really pretty,” she says and looks up to search my eyes. “Her face is almost completely symmetrical. Don’t you think so, Uncle Rem?”
This kid. I swear.
“Yes,” I answer honestly. “Maria is a very beautiful woman, some might even say symmetrically so.”
“You should date her.”
I snort. “It’s not that simple, Lex.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s just not. Relationships are more complicated than that.”
“Doesn’t seem that complicated to me. You think she’s beautiful. You like her baby. You should date her.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say because it’s the only fucking way I’ll get out of this crazy loop of conversation.
Thankfully, my tactic works, and Lexi goes back to watching the game. Her eyes are fixated on the field as the Mavericks complete a first down.
While the nosy little eavesdropper’s eyes are busy, I snap a quick picture of her and send it to Maria.
Me: This is where the baby whisperer got all of his baby experience. Though, now, she’s a ten-year-old girl who is apparently noticing that football players have tight butts. Not even kidding. Those words were said to me today, and I think I died a little inside.
Maria: Oh nooooooooo.
Me: Yeah. Talk about a kick in the gut for her Uncle Rem. My sweet, innocent little niece is starting to act like a teenager more and more every day.
Maria: She’s gorgeous. It’s almost crazy how much she looks like Winnie.
Me: Definitely Win’s mini-me.
Maria: Now you should go back to enjoying the game. I promise all is well over here.
Me: You trying to get rid of me?
Maria: LOL. Just go enjoy the game with Lexi.
Me: Before I go, I want to remind you that you promised to call me if you need help. I’m expecting you to keep that promise…
Maria: I’m rolling my eyes at you right now.
Everyone is rolling their eyes at me today. I probably shouldn’t feel so damn amused by it.
Me: Because you’re stubborn.
Maria: And you’re relentless.
Me: Bye, Maria. ;)
Maria: GOODBYE, REMY.
A soft laugh leaves my lips as I shove my phone back into my pocket.
If I know Maria at all, I know that she’ll do just about anything to avoid asking for help.
Which is why I’m going to keep checking in on her until she gives in, instead of waiting for her to ask.
Tuesday, October 8th
Maria
Sweat dots my brow and my arm aches as I finish blow-drying the last few pieces of my dark hair.
I love my hair, I really do—I’ve been blessed with the kind of thick locks most women would kill for. But let me tell you, it’s no easy feat getting this hair of mine to dry in a practical amount of time, and it’s even harder now that I’m not the only person I have to get ready.
I steal a glance at Izzy in the mirror, still calm and quiet in her bouncy chair—thank God—and then check the clock on the far side of my vanity. With only an hour left until my showing across town, I’m going to have to move double time.
More sweat dots my brow, and I stop mid-brush to fan my face.
