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I should be really freaked out that someone I don’t know was in my house, doing all of this set-up while I slept. But mainly I’m just grateful and um, a bit turned on at the thought of this mysterious stranger who is trusting me with his daughter and wants to help me care for her. It’s true that I need all the help I can get. I set the note on the table and blow out a breath. This is fine. Her father was here, setting up her supplies. He even left her prepared bottle warming in the new food dispenser. How can I be angry at such gifts? I still cannot believe I didn’t hear anything. How could I have slept through the crib and changing table being set up? And the food dispenser being changed out? It seems impossible, but it happened.
“Okay, baby, I’ll just focus on how to take care of you.”
And try not to think about your daddy and how he must look.
Okay, time to carry on. I continue to look up on my tablet videos of how to change a diaper, while I feed her. There’s so much to learn about taking care of a baby.
An hour later I manage to get the both of us cleaned and dressed.
Lyla is freshly changed and in a cute outfit I picked out for her from the choices in her dresser. Her fingers are back in her mouth. She doesn’t need a pacifier; she likes to just suck on her fingers.
I’m wearing my typical outfit of comfy pants and a warm, long-sleeved shirt. Nothing fancy for around the house. I pulled my hair back into a ponytail and now I’m ready for the day. I put Lyla on my lap and keep her with me, those soft wings pressed against my chest, as I try, with one hand, to sit at my desk and tap at my screens and connect with my clients and let everyone know I’m on an emergency break. I have work I’m supposed to be doing, but it will all have to wait. I give my work friends I do writing sprints with a vague response for my need for a “break” but tell them not to worry, I’ll be back soon.
I’m a freelance writer—my articles appear in many of the top vid magazines in the four sectors—and I’m sad that I won’t make my deadlines, but my clients all know me—I wouldn’t be doing this if it wasn’t an emergency. The last three years I’ve met all deadlines, early in fact. This is what I’m known for! The editors will be able to push out their own deadlines or hire other beings in time to make their publication dates. I just hope they will all rehire me when I’m able to return. I’ve spent the last few years getting beings from a variety of species to accept a human in their midst as an equal, a professional with the knowledge to write at this high level, and I’ll be sad if this is a setback to my career. It’s a good thing I’ve been saving currency, just for an emergency like this, so I can live in between assignments.
I tap over and check on my account just to make sure how much currency I have, and I almost fall out of my chair. “Lyla, someone has left me a million credits!”
I look down at the baby and she looks back up at me and scrunches her nose adorably.
“Oh wow, I think your daddy left currency so I can care for you?” I do not even understand. This is too much. How can I ever spend this much? “If your daddy is so rich, why does he need some stranger to take care of his baby in the middle of nowhere?”
An uneasiness squeezes my chest. Oh jeez, he’s on the run. That’s the only explanation. And maybe this currency is his ill-gotten gains? I’d originally assumed Lyla’s mother was maybe in the midst of an abusive relationship, or was having a financial catastrophe of some sort, and needed temporary help, but for whatever reason didn’t want to reach out to the authorities and get mired in their bureaucracy. But he’s rich. He’s so very rich he should be able to hire a nanny and throw currency at this situation.
He’s in trouble. This winged male is hiding his baby with me and he’s not letting me see him or saying anything else in case I’m questioned so I can truthfully say I know nothing. This is like something straight out of a vid show. Or that fiction book I’ve been trying to finish and finally submit for publication.
I know I should be scared, because if he’s in hiding and he’s brought his baby for me to care for, then I’m going to be a target too when whoever is looking for them finds them. This only stands to reason.
I look down at Lyla again, at her precious face and those tiny hands and feet and the curve of her soft wings. “I’ve got you,” I tell her, and then bend down and plant a kiss on the ridges on her forehead. I’m getting so very attached to this baby in a very short amount of time. This is very unexpected. I don’t even have pets—why would anyone think I’d be happy to care for a baby? I should be horrified someone dumped their infant on my doorstep for me to care for, but instead I’m happy she’s here. Her weight in my arms, and her fresh baby scent, and those wings on her back, and the way she gazes up at me with such trust and innocence…it just feels right. She’s so cute I just want to kiss and nibble on one of her tiny arms.
I know, weird. But I can’t help it, I feel a rush of affection for this child that is blinding in its intensity. And no, I’m not angry at her father for pulling me into his troubles. He still needs my help, and I’m going to provide that help. And not because he left me a million credits, but because it’s the right thing to do.
I go back to the front room and place Lyla in her basket again, this time with a tiny rattle for her to squeeze in her fist that she seems to like.
I sit on the floor and cross my legs and bring Lyla down next to me, along with my lap desk and the fabulous quill, ink and blank parchment Lyla’s daddy left behind. I get settled, ready to write a response to Lyla’s daddy, but first I bring the paper up to my nose and inhale, loving the scent. This is so old-fashioned, it’s fun. No one communicates this way anymore, with ink and pen. I’ve only seen this on vid shows about ancient times. I dip the tip of the quill into the ink well and then I carefully start to write in the Gravian language, which has become a universal language of commerce and diplomacy among the citizens of the four sectors. I’m asking for two more items, which I feel zero guilt about considering I know her daddy is filthy rich.
Thank you so much for all you have done for us. All of the supplies are lovely. Lyla and I especially appreciate the crib, the changing table and the brand-new food dispenser. Please do not worry about the currency, it is not necessary, I have plenty of currency saved to use in case of emergency. I am able to stop my work for a while and instead care for Lyla. But if I could ask for two more things? I have seen these on the vid channels for new moms and they are very popular items:
A bouncer
A nursing pillow
Sincerely,
Evie
I placethe letter down on the Traq table, in the exact same spot where I found the first letter.
I spend time with Lyla,playing with her, feeding her, and changing her diapers. Eventually I decide to try and nap alongside the baby. I place her in her basket next to me on my bed. She sleeps a lot and I’ve learned that it’s best to try and sleep when she does.
I wake up in the late afternoon because I hear a faint noise. I swear it’s the swish of feathers. I roll over and catch a quick glimpse of wide, red shoulders and white wings retreating from my bedroom. My eyes widen and a flutter of excitement rushes across my stomach.
“Your daddy’s here, isn’t he?” I whisper to Lyla.
I pull her into my arms and race down the hall, but there’s no one in the house. We’re alone. I pause to check the Traq table and I see that my note to her daddy is gone, and a fresh, clean parchment has been left behind, with a single message:
Thank you, female. I will get you all you need.
I smile and place the letter against my chest, secretly sniffing it because the entire house smells terrific again. I bend down and pick up a large, white feather off the floor, evidence that he was here. I rub it between my fingers and show it to the baby. She kicks with happiness when I brush it against her hands and her cheeks. Darling. She knows it’s her daddy.
