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I don’t know if I’ll ever get over the shock of seeing her nurse him, though I try to school my features so I don’t make her uncomfortable like I’m sure I did last night and this morning. I did some research on what is called “wet nursing” while Grayson was napping and found out it’s not an uncommon practice in other parts of the world. My American brain, however, still short-circuits at seeing it done in person.
It also short-circuits at the way Shayla seemingly has no reservations about baring her mouth-watering tits in my presence. It’s the stuff of fantasies, though I wish we were alone, that she was baring them for me instead of just in front of me.
Shayla moves to sit on the couch, leaning back to get comfortable. “I know it’s kind of weird.” Her cheeks blush nearly the same shade as her sweater that she’s pulled up, and she doesn’t make eye contact.
I snort and try to cover it up with a cough, agreeing with her but wanting to put her mind at ease. “Hey, whatever works–works, right?”
“Right…as long as you’re okay with it. I did start pumping for longer than usual at school, so I should be able to build up a bigger supply soon and fill your freezer with a stash that will tide him over when you don’t need me. Then we can wean him onto bottles full-time.”
That thought makes my stomach dip for some odd reason. Grayson seems so content, but it’s probably for the best. It might be weird to us, but to others…well, they might not be as understanding.
Lainey squirms and holds her arms out toward her mother. I bounce her as we cross to the couch, then take a seat next to Shayla. When the mini-angel twists and reaches for her again, Shayla pulls her daughter onto her lap. I avert my eyes and make up an excuse to leave, even though I just sat down, when she maneuvers Lainey and pulls up the other side of her sweater so she can nurse her alongside Grayson, which I didn’t know was possible.
Staring openly in shock the first few times she’s fed Grayson feels completely different than watching her with Lainey, and I don’t want to make her uncomfortable by intruding on their privacy. Well, more than I’ve done so already.
When I stumble over her bags left by the front door, I ask over my shoulder, “Anything you need me to do?”
“There’s a bag with the pumped milk that needs to go in the fridge. And can you set up the travel crib with Lainey’s toys?”
I nod and put the fresh milk away first, grateful for something to do to keep my mind occupied. I attempt to open and set up the travel crib, but I’m left scratching my head when the sides of the crib keep collapsing. I pull out my phone to look up directions.
Shayla laughs softly and then walks me through it. “Don’t worry, you’ll be a pro in no time.”
I smile at the thought, hoping she’s right. Shayla is a godsend as she gives me a crash course on other things I need to know as the evening progresses—best evening ever, by the way—such as how to bathe Grayson safely when he’s slippery with soap—something I thought would be obvious, but isn’t, at least not to me.
By the time it’s fully dark outside, and Grayson is asleep in his nursery, Shayla’s stomach rumbles loudly enough for me to hear. She winces and starts packing up Lainey’s toys. “We should get going.”
Not yet, please, I think. I don’t want this night to end. “Stay, stay. I feel bad that I didn’t think to make dinner,” I say, already moving toward the kitchen. “How about I fix us up something quick to thank you for all your help? I might not be the best cook, but after cooking for myself the last ten years, I know how to make a mean pot of spaghetti.”
She looks at Lainey, playing happily with the remainder of her toys, then through the living room window toward her house, and then back at me. I hold my breath, waiting for her answer.
“Yeah, we can stay. That would be really nice, actually. Thank you.”
I blow out a breath of relief and smile to myself as I pull the ingredients I need from the pantry. Shayla holds Lainey in her lap at the kitchen table, which is squeezed into the breakfast nook, while I boil the water for the spaghetti noodles and slice a banana for her daughter to snack on.
Another first—cooking for a woman and her child—which makes my heart thump hard in my chest, thinking of what it would be like to cook for them every night. I finish plating our food once it’s ready and cut up Lainey’s noodles into smaller pieces like Shayla asked me to do, then join them at the table.
We sit in silence, probably both trying to think of what to say now that we have time to relax. I have no clue how to talk to people unless it’s about gaming or work. I’ve always been acutely self-conscious, afraid to do or say the wrong thing. My tendency to hermit myself away hasn’t improved my ability to socialize, especially with the opposite sex.
Now that I work from home, I interact with people even less often than before. The only people I regularly see are my tight-knit RPG group of friends I play with on game nights, though I’m not sure how I’m going to manage hanging out with them now that I have Grayson.
My friend, Mara, who is part of our group, is the only woman—besides Miranda and now Shayla—that I talk to in real life, other than my virtual co-workers and a few phone calls home each year to speak to my mother. Mara has always insisted that our group treat her as “one of the guys”, whatever that means, and over time, I’ve become less and less self-conscious around her. Talking to her while we play, though, is a whole different ball game to holding a conversation with the woman of my dreams. I’m even more afraid of doing or saying the wrong thing that will send my angel running for the hills.
It’s a relief when Shayla breaks the silence and my self-deprecating thoughts halfway through dinner by asking, “So, what do you do for work?”
“I’m a software developer.” I shake my head, knowing she’ll get a kick out of it when I say, “I was so clueless when I took custody of Grayson. Thought I’d be able to get back to work right away since I work remotely from home. Put in my hours while he’s napping or at night after he goes to bed since I read that three-month-olds are supposed to sleep fifteen hours a day. Not a problem, right?”
She snorts and cups a hand over her mouth. “Yeah, good luck with that.”
That makes me snort, and then we’re both laughing until we have tears in our eyes. Even Lainey joins in, though she doesn’t understand what’s so funny. Really, it’s so silly, and I know it’s only because we’re both tired, but it also feels so damn good to let go and laugh again.
“Which is where you come into play,” I say once we finally calm down. “I wouldn’t be able to do any of this without you.”
She blushes and opens her mouth to say something, but Lainey yawns, her mouth covered in marinara sauce, and her eyelids start to droop. I hop up to wet a paper towel and walk around the table to wipe her mouth and hands.
Shayla smiles at me from where I’m crouched in front of them, and I don’t know what makes me do it—I rest my hand just above her knee. My fingertips tingle, imagining grazing her bare skin instead of the light blue denim, and my heart races so fast that I feel dizzy.
For a long minute, neither of us says anything as we hold each other’s eyes. When she doesn’t object to the small touch, I splay my hand and flex my fingers, gently squeezing her lower thigh. I don’t understand why she doesn’t shift her leg away or tell me to back off, but I won’t look a gift horse in the mouth.
