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“Thank you.”
He nodded in response and left the room abruptly.
Libby sighed and shut the door behind him, picking Clara up for her morning feed. The baby would be transitioning to solids soon, and Libby planned to have her fully weaned by six months old. She treasured this wonderful closeness with her serenely suckling daughter. Libby would miss it, but because of her work and the fact that Clara spent half of every weekday in day care, it would be best to get her onto formula. Libby found that she was producing less milk than during the first three months as well, and she wasn’t sure if that was because she’d mentally resigned herself to transitioning Clara to formula sooner rather than later, or if it was because she was already breastfeeding less. Perhaps it was the stress of going back to work. She knew pregnancy and breastfeeding were different for every woman.
The duration of Clara’s feedings had shortened over the last couple of weeks, and she now seemed content with a quick suckle on each breast. Dr. Ngozi had told Libby it wasn’t anything to worry about because Clara was growing and gaining weight.
She had just shifted Clara to her left breast when a soft knock sounded on the door. She reached for a towel and used it to cover herself and her feeding baby before calling for him to enter.
The door opened tentatively, and Greyson’s head appeared first. He assessed her state of undress before stepping farther into the room.
“The water has been ready for about ten minutes. I was wondering if I should add some more warm water to it, since it was pretty lukewarm to start off with.”
“Yes, please, she’s nearly done,” she said, and his eyes dropped to the mounded towel. The soft snuffling noises Clara made when she suckled were the only sounds in the room, and Greyson’s gaze never moved from the gently shifting towel.
“How often do you feed her?” he asked, his voice hushed.
“About six times a day. I’ll be adding solids to her diet soon. Possibly this week. She’s drinking expressed breast milk at day care, but I want to start supplementing that with formula.” She paused before grimacing. “Sorry . . . that’s more information than you asked for.”
“I don’t mind. It’s stuff I want to know. Stuff I should know.”
Clara’s mouth went slack, and Libby, with practiced ease, slid her bra and top back into place beneath the towel before lifting Clara to her shoulder and gently patting her back.
Greyson was watching the circular motion of her hand intently. “Why do you do that?” he asked.
“Burping her. When she gets a little more active, sitting up by herself and moving around more, I won’t have to do this for her anymore. I feel like we’re nearly at that point. She’s constantly trying to roll over, and she lifts her head like a champ. She’s growing so fast.”
His eyes flickered with something resembling sadness or regret before his lids swooped down and he ducked his head to hide his reaction from her.
“I should get back to Harris’s. For my tools,” he said a moment later, bringing his carefully blank eyes back up to hers.
“Tools?”
“I, um, bought some tools yesterday because I thought you may need some help fixing things around here.”
Well, wasn’t that overconfident of him?
“That seems a little presumptuous, don’t you think?”
“Not really, I just like to be prepared.”
“Of course you do,” she said, finding it hard not to sound caustic. But at the same time not really caring if she did. He cleared his throat, and his eyes roamed around the room as he seemed to search for something to say.
“Did you know that Harris rented the house next to Martine’s?” he asked abruptly, and Libby felt her eyebrows shoot straight to her hairline at that bit of information. Tina hadn’t mentioned that at all.
Then again, she thought bitterly, Tina hasn’t exactly been a font of information lately.
But Harris hadn’t mentioned it either. Maybe the subject had just not come up? But it seemed like an odd detail not to mention.
“That’s weird,” she said. “Were there really no other places available?” She couldn’t imagine Tina being too thrilled about it.
“I’m starting to wonder if he didn’t do it deliberately,” Greyson said, and Libby blinked.
“Why would he do that? They hate each other.”
“I think the hate is one sided. Harris has never felt any animosity toward Martine.”
“How do you know that? You and Harris don’t exactly confide in each other.”
“I just do,” he said cryptically, and Libby was tempted to question him further but didn’t want to have a cozy gossip with him. She didn’t want to encourage such familiarity.
Greyson couldn’t stop watching Olivia with Clara. Her gentle stroking of the baby’s back mesmerized him. Despite her modest claims to the contrary, there was a naturalness to her mothering that was beautiful to see. And Greyson wanted to watch and encourage and assist and hold them both close and never let them go again.
