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“How comforting.”
A baby starts to cry toward her room. Her shoulders drop and that smile she was wearing earlier is long gone. Her blue eyes look dull. “I don’t know what’s wrong with her,” she admits. “I normally nap with her during the day because she’s up most of the night, but as soon as I get her to sleep, she starts crying. Konnor tries to help but keeps bringing her back, thinking she’s hungry. I feed her every time. She can’t possibly be hungry unless I’m not producing enough milk. Maybe I should buy a pump to see. I haven’t yet because I read not to pump too early. She’s dry. I just need like an hour of sleep. I’m so tired I could cry.”
I think back on when Delaney was a newborn. It’s been a while, but it’s hard to forget because it seems like she cried more than she didn’t. Her having colic is what made me tell myself I was never having kids. “Are you watching what you eat?”
“Um, okay . . . I know it’s going to take a while to get my figure back but I’m not gorging on junk either.”
I can’t help but stare at her like she’s lost her damn mind. It would take a special kind of prick to be referring tothatafter a woman gives birth. “I’m not talking about your weight, Presley. I’m talking about what’s coming through your milk. Certain foods can cause gas easier than others.”
Her mouth makes an O. “That makes so much sense. Every time she eats it’s like the fussiness starts over. I have some gas drops.”
“Do that,” I answer, downing the last of my coffee. She gets up and exits the kitchen, leaving me alone again. I stare off at the wall, thinking, remembering a time when my sister was exhausted and just needed any amount of sleep, especially when Dustin was at work.
Don’t do it. Don’t do it. Not my problem. Fuck, I’m going to do it.
I sigh, my feet already carrying my body toward the garage. When I come out, Konnor and Maddox are both practicing one of our new songs. I walk to Konnor’s corner, grabbing his acoustic off the stand since mine is in California. They both stop playing, their eyes on me. When my eyes meet his, I raise it by the neck. “Mind if I borrow it for a few minutes?”
“Go ahead,” he answers without asking questions.
“Thanks.”
When I start walking back toward the house, Maddox calls out, “Where are you going, dickhead? You’re the one that told us to come out here.”
“I’ll be here when I get here,” I answer, just before opening and closing the door, shutting them out.
I make my way down the short hall that branches off the master suite, a half bath, and the nursery that was added on for Kylar. I follow the noise into Kylar’s room, my eyes landing on Presley bouncing and shushing the baby. “You have something more compact than a crib?”
She looks at me, then the guitar in my hand, and her face softens. “I have an electric rocker. It’s more like a cocoon.”
“Get that.”
She glances down at the whining baby briefly. “It’s in my room.”
I set the guitar down in the chair. “Bring her here.”
She hands me the tiny bundle of lavender with black hair that I’ve yet to hold. It’s nothing personal, just a different situation than Riggan’s kid, and I’m a guy. He’s been my best friend as far back as I can remember. It’s expected for me to be in his wedding and be Uncle Landon to his kids.
It takes me a second to get her positioned carefully where her head won’t bob around. She curls up in my arms, her knees drawing into her body. It used to amaze me when my niece and nephew were babies how flexible they were. It didn’t seem natural. They could curl up until they were almost a complete ball. It looks so uncomfortable.
Presley returns moments later, carrying something that looks exactly like what she described, and then plugs it into the wall close to the rocking chair. “Go lay down,” I tell her.
She stands straight, looking uneasy. “Are you sure? I’d feel guilty. I know it’s not your resp—”
“Go lay down,” I repeat, sterner this time. “In California, you were determined for us to be friends. The only thing you should feel guilty about is not asking the people closest to you for help when you need it. I have it covered, but I don’t like an audience.”
Her eyes well up with tears. “Thank you. I just need an hour.”
She turns and leaves the room, almost in a sprint, probably counting down in her head how many minutes is remaining on her mental timer. When I hear her door shut, I relax.
I extend my hand down the length of Kylar’s back, already patting it with enough force to lightly jar her but not hurt her. After a few minutes, she passes gas; likely the drops kicking in. I rub her back in circles, staring down at her. After she releases the third one, her face evens out and her whole demeanor is calm.
Each time I’ve held a baby like this that night with Paxtyn and the pregnancy tests comes back to me. I remember that dream she had. For the longest time, I’ve been bitter at girls, because guys aren’t the only ones that cheat. I didn’t want any semblance of a relationship, because the one relationship I thought would never fail did. I was positive Ididn’tever want this, but now, it’s easier to imagine. A remake of Paxtyn at some point is appealing. God, what an entertaining life that would be. I have enough experience that I shouldn’t be complete shit at being a dad, especially by then.
My chest starts to feel heavy when a pair of small, colorless eyes lock with mine. She’s not whining anymore. She’s as cool as a cucumber. I slowly walk to the little rocking thing and bend over, inching her down in it. There was already a receiving blanket spread out inside of it in a diamond shape.
When she’s nestled inside, I swaddle her in the blanket and grab the guitar off the seat before sitting down. I shove the ottoman out of the way and pull the baby rocker toward me, between my knees. As I position the guitar on my lap and pull the strap over my head, I read the buttons on the unit until I have her rocking back and forth.
She watches me as I pull out my phone and hit record once it’s laying on top of the chair’s arm. I pulled her close because I remember they can’t see far this little. As my hands position to play, memory reels turn in my head, starting with Paxtyn kissing me and telling me she loved me out of the blue last night, and within seconds, I let go. Strings get strummed in no particular order. Chords create a sequence that sounds good.
