I feed Rose a bite of egg to stall for time. It’s a tough question. I’ve never had disposable income, and anything extra I have these days goes to Rose. “Um...I don’t know. A vacation, maybe? Somewhere warm? But I don’t really need that.”
“It’s not about what you need. It’s about what you want.”
“I want Rose to be happy and safe,” I tell him honestly.
“Of course. But, baby, you suck at this game. Come on.”
“Okay, fine,” I roll my eyes. “One day, all to myself. No work, and maybe a few baby-free hours. Not that I don’t adore her, but…”
He puts his hand on my arm. “I know you adore her. But a few hours to yourself is definitely reasonable.”
“Then yes, that’s what I’d pick. A few hours alone to read a book or watch a movie. How about you?”
“That’s easy. Another chance with you.” He leans forward, dropping a kiss on my forehead before taking our plates away. I sit in stunned silence as I watch him toss the trash. Can I really do that? Can I let him in? I want to, but it’s so hard to trust someone with not only my heart, but Rose’s.
Just as he turns in our direction, a couple of college girls approach him. They’re cute in their sorority sweatshirts and leggings. They giggle and flirt. Knox shakes his head and points in our direction. That should make me feel more secure, but all I can wonder is how long it will last.
Chapter 20
Knox
Babies cry a lot.
This isn’t news. Everyone knows this. Hell, I’m a total novice and even I knew this.
But I always figured they stopped.
So far, Rose hasn’t stopped.
It’s a quarter after five and Willa left twenty minutes ago. My sweet baby girl has been doing her ear-shattering impression of a dying alley cat ever since. I’m holding her close to me, bouncing and shushing as we pace back and forth. We tried the swing for a hot minute, but that was a hard pass. I checked her diaper, but it was dry and clean, thank Christ.
Her face is streaked with tears, as is my hoodie. And her tiny little fists are all balled up. Willa said she just ate, but maybe she’s still hungry? Or maybe she hates the thought of being stuck with me and desperately wants her mama back.
It’s probably choice number two, but I don’t have a magic wand or a time machine. I do have a little baggie of breastmilk, but I’m supposed to save that for bedtime.
Well, desperate times call for desperate measures and all that.
“Hey, Rosebud. No worries. Daddy’s gonna warm up your baba, ok? But maybe don’t tell Mama we dipped into the stash early though, huh?”
I warm up some water and set it on the counter. Still holding a screechy, squirmy Rose, I carefully open the baggie and pour the contents into a bottle. Willa told me this stuff was liquid gold, so I’m being extra careful.
“Ok, Rose, doesn’t that look good? Just hang tight and let me put the cap on, ok?” In her first deliberate act of defiance, she shrieks and flails her arms, knocking the bottle over and spilling breast milk everywhere. If I wasn’t so panicked, I’d be proud. My girl does what she wants, not what’s she’s told, and I love that. What I don’t love is that the finite food supply is now in a puddle on the counter.
Fuck a duck.
“Whoa, slugger. Chill with the arm, huh?” I tell her as I futilely swipe the milk toward the edge of the counter and back into the bottle. Half of it goes on the floor. Shit. And let’s hope the counter was clean…
After I mop the floor using my bare foot and a paper towel, I drop the securely closed bottle into the lukewarm water and hope for the best.
“Ok, Rose. We got this. While your baba warms up, let’s look for your giraffe, huh? Mama said you love your giraffe.” Rose is still crying, but I swear she pauses for a second just to give me the stink eye. “For real. I know you launched it across the room the last time I gave it to you, but...it’s gotta be here somewhere….aha!” Holding my baby girl steady in one arm, I reach into the couch with the other, pulling the giraffe from his hiding spot between the cushions. I give him a quick shake to dust off the crumbs he’s been sitting in, and hand him over. A pacifier is attached to the giraffe’s nose, so as I hand it to her, I coax it toward her chubby, angelic little face. Said angelic face is bright red and streaked with tears. She grips the giraffe’s body like it’s a lifeline, and for a moment, I feel a swell of hope. Maybe that’s all she needed. And I’m her dad and I knew she needed it.
As if punctuating my moment of self-congratulation, Rose throws her arm back and chucks the giraffe across the room once again.
“Ok, no giraffe. Message received.” I’m still bouncing and shushing as we pad our way back into the kitchen. “Let’s check that baba, huh? Maybe you're a hungry girl?”
I test the bottle's temperature by dripping a drop onto my wrist. Seems warm enough, though I have fuck all to compare it to. But it’s not burning my skin or freezing it, so I’m calling that good.
We settle on the couch, and I prop Rose on the Boppy. She’s still pretty ragey, but it’s slowing down, I think? Or maybe I’m just becoming immune to the noise.
