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Gloria scoffs but says goodbye to Avery and Mason before slipping out the front door with a wave. Avery relaxes against the door, but it’s very short lived.
Mason lets out a noise that I can only describe as a battle cry, and then proceeds to wail while burying his head into the crook of Avery’s neck.
Her brows scrunch together as she strokes a hand over his head and rubs small circles across his back. “What’s going on with you? Are you not feeling good? Do you need mommy’s attention?”
So I might have had good intentions coming in here to help, but it’s been a long time since I took care of my youngest brother. And he wasn’t this little. I may have overestimated my helpfulness.
Thank fuck for the internet.
I’ve got three baby websites pulled up in different tabs, and a whole list of things that could be wrong. I’m sure Avery’s already thought of at least half of them, but I need to try.
“So according to the babybump.net, there are a few reasons little Mason here might be upset. Gloria said she just fed him and changed his diaper, so we know he’s not hungry or dirty. Maybe he’s sleepy? Or has gas? He’s too young for teeth, right?”
Avery shifts him to her shoulder and heads my way, patting his back as she walks. “Yeah, a little too young. It could definitely be gas though. He was a little fussy last week until he let out a fart that rivaled one of my brothers’.” She clamps her mouth closed and blushes again, averting her eyes pretty much anywhere but at me. “Can you get me that white rectangular cloth from the kitchen counter?”
“Sure, Princess. Anything I can do to help.”
With a nod, I turn around and head for the kitchen. Mason is still wailing, and I’m feeling more hopeless by the second. I couldn’t imagine doing this all the time on my own. It’s got to be hard enough on Avery as it is. It’s going to be so much more hectic when she starts working.
And I know she won’t disappear like my dad did. She’ll be there for her son every day.
As soon as I grab the cloth, Mason lets out a gurgled cry, followed by something I don’t have words to describe, and almost immediately quiets.
But not Avery.
She lets out a horrified gasp and I’m almost afraid to turn around.
Best guess, something came out of that baby that I don’t want to see.
But I’m a bad-ass hockey player who won’t be intimidated by a baby… Please let it be something that came from the top half and not the bottom.
Well…
I can’t say I never get what I ask for.
Avery is covered, front and back, in a milky white substance I can only assume is a full gallon of spit-up. My jersey has seen better days, and so has the entire left half of Avery’s face and neck. If I had to guess, it’s all inside the jersey too.
She’s holding Mason away from her body with her mouth hanging open in disbelief, no doubt keeping him clean from the mess covering her.
“Umm. I’ve got the cloth.” I hold it up and take a few steps toward her, really trying not to inhale through my nose, because of course, the closer I get, the stronger the curdled milk smell is.
“I’m not sure that’s going to help.” She chuckles for a second but abruptly stops and makes a face, like she’s holding back a gag.
Which makes me want to gag.
She’s got to get in the shower; no amount of toweling off is going to fix this mess.
I take another couple of steps and grab Mason from her outstretched arms.
Bloody hell.
It smells way worse up close. I wipe his face clean, and once I put him against my chest, he lets out a soft grunt and nestles into my shoulder.
Maybe I’m not as useless as I thought. “You really should go take a shower.”
Her nose scrunches and she makes no attempt to move or put her arms back down at her sides. It’s almost like she’s afraid to make more of a mess, and I’m not sure that’s actually possible.
“I don’t know. I don’t want to leave Mason.”
