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“That’s good, if that’s all there is.”
“Do you want a hot drink? Some tea, perhaps? Instead of that tar you drink all the time.” The South American blend that was Strength 5 or whatever.
“Yes, if you’re offering.”
Just as I started to walk away, the baby kicked out a powerful yell.
“Want me to change his nappy?” he asked as I kept on walking.
“Please! Back in a tick!”
I made quick work of the tea and by the time I was back in the bedroom, Eric was jiggling the baby in his arms to keep him quiet, though Logan kept turning his face as if to say, “Where’s my boob?”
Putting his tea on the windowsill, I popped mine down on the bedside table and hopped up onto the bed, taking the baby from Eric. Without even half a thought, I unbuttoned my pyjama jacket and Eric’s face was a picture as he witnessed Logan eagerly latch on to my engorged tit, the glands having filled overnight. Sod it, I’d forgotten to siphon some off after the wine. Well…
Logan was eagerly going for it, the noises kind of embarrassing. It got to the point where Eric didn’t know where to put himself so kept looking out of the window, though gradually we both seemed to realise we’d come this far…
He sat in the chair and didn’t stare, but, he wasn’t avoiding my eye either. He’d seen my breast now. So what? It was a feeding unit for Logan.
(The blush in Eric’s cheeks and the glint in his eye told me it was not just a feeding utensil.)
“Did you sleep well?” he asked.
“Full eight hours, I suppose.”
“Good.”
“What about you?”
“Probably fell asleep around two when the house had finally gone silent.”
“Figured as much.”
Another silence. That time he was watching me as I fed. I could feel his gaze on me as I stroked the baby’s hair and let Logan grab my other boob beneath my shirt, as if to say, “That’s next.”
It was a routine well practised by that point, but Eric seemed fascinated as I took Logan off, gave him some burping time, then passed him to my right breast instead. All the while I kept my modesty as intact as possible.
When the baby had taken his fill, I held him against my naked chest as I walked him around the room, my pyjama jacket still loose around the sides. Logan was so warm and smelt so good, I felt nothing but bliss as I waited for his burps to come up, which they did. Stroking his back and kissing him, he eventually dropped back to sleep and I lowered him back into the cot.
Before I got back into bed, I quickly did up my shirt and threw down my cup of tea, sinking back beneath the sheets.
We looked across at one another.
“What?” he said.
“What?” I said.
We chuckled.
“You’re so beautiful, Flora. You really are. I can see perfectly well now why he might change.”
I smiled graciously. “Might being the operative word.”
He grinned and left the room, shaking his head as he moved out of my maternal space. I closed my eyes and dreamed of those fields I used to run through with Mum, the gardens she planted, the wildflower meadows and the baking I’d come home to after school. Yes, she left her mark on me. Yes, that love never left. It kept me strong.
The men in my life—Caelan, Eric, my own father—never seemed to have had a protective mother in their lives.
How sad.
