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Leia’s finished the bottle, and I pick her up, chuck the muslin square over my shoulder, and walk with her over to the window. “Look at the mountains,” I murmur. “There’s Aoraki Mount Cook. It’s three thousand seven hundred and twenty-four meters tall. That’s over twelve thousand feet.”
Behind me, Aroha laughs. “You’re going to be a great dad,” she says.
I pat Leia’s back. “She’s not so sure.” She’s snuffly tonight, and a bit grizzly, which is unlike her. I wait for the obligatory burp, and when it comes, I go to lie her down in the bassinet, but she starts crying. “Aw,” I say, picking her up again. “There, there.” I glance at Aroha. “What should I do?”
“Normally I’d let her cry for a bit,” she says, “and she’d probably settle eventually. But maybe she realizes she’s not at home. She’s had a lot of change lately. Perhaps she’s a bit lonely.”
“Shall I bring her over?”
“Yeah, okay.”
I take her to the bed and place her back beside Aroha. She gives her a dummy, then strokes the baby’s head.
I get up and say, “I’ll leave you to it.” I spotted a spare blanket in the wardrobe. The sofa is ultra firm and isn’t going to be comfortable, but it’s the only option.
“James,” she says as I turn away. I look back at her. “Don’t sleep on the sofa,” she says. “The bed’s huge. Come on.”
I hesitate. Should I refuse? Insist on taking the sofa? But the bed looks soft and inviting, and I’m tired. “You’re sure?”
“Of course. No point in being uncomfortable. And we are married.” She gives a mischievous grin.
My lips curve up. “Um… do you mind if I lose the track pants? It’s quite warm in here.”
“As long as you keep your boxers on, we’re all good.”
I chuckle, take off the track pants, then slide beneath the duvet. Turning onto my side, facing them, I prop my head back on my hand, mirroring Aroha.
Leia sucks her dummy, and Aroha rubs her tummy, while I hold the baby’s hand.
“Sing to her,” Aroha whispers.
I start singing Miracle by Foo Fighters, and Aroha hums along, still rubbing Leia’s tummy. When I finish the song, Leia’s eyes are still open, but she’s looking drowsy.
Aroha pulls a pillow down and rests her head on it. She looks like a Greek statue, turned to marble in the moonlight.
“You look sad,” she says.
“I was thinking about the future.”
“And it makes you sad?”
“The thought of you leaving does.”
“I don’t have to leave.”
My heart lifts at the thought.
“I could stay on as Leia’s nanny,” she adds sleepily.
I look at Leia’s tiny fingers. That’s not what I meant.
What did I mean?
I’d like us to be more than boss and nanny.
Friends?
I look at her mouth, and think about kissing her. No, I want us to be more than friends.
