Angelo fusses again, kicks at my chest with his tiny feet and his face scrunches. “I think he’s saying you’re wrong. Can you come help me?” I lift and drop the contraption in my hand. “I was trying to get him in this carrier but it’s twisted and not working.”
She laughs softly. “Sure. Can you give me ten minutes? I can be over as soon as I get this” —she circles her face, pointing with her finger— “off my face and get some clothes on.”
I’ll take her in the robe. Mentioning that will probably get the door slammed in my face.
“Ten minutes?”
“I’ll make it seven.”
Thank goodness. Ten minutes seems like forever. “Thank you.”
Chapter Eight
Paisley
* * *
My resolve to stay away from Mikah crumbles as soon as I see him. I almost yanked the door open and kissed him myself when I saw the way he grinned down at Angelo through the peephole. I’ve spent the entire weekend trying to ignore him, which is in a direct internal war with my crazy desire to want to help him. I have spent entirely too much time at my door, squinting with one eye in hopes of catching the smallest glimpse of him.
I might need a new life. At least a hobby that doesn’t involve stalking the hockey player in real life and on the internet.
Because yes, I’ve done this as well. I’ve tried telling myself it’s pure curiosity. I mean, who is this guy that is with a woman and then gets a baby dropped off at the door. And why would he trust her?
I consider all of this, not questioning why I’m willing to scrub my face before my face mask is done and throw on some cute, but still relaxing clothes, when I’ve planned for today to be a day where I rest and recharge. Something tells me being around Mikah isn’t going to relax anything. I predict the opposite if seeing him rumpled, looking exhausted, and possibly wearing the same clothes he was wearing on Friday jumpstarts my libido in a matter of seconds.
I haven’t seen any action since last spring, and I’ve been okay with that. Mikah’s accent alone threatens to awaken parts of me I haven’t concerned myself with lately without battery aided assistance.
Unwrapping my hair from the towel I scrunched it up in after my shower, I pull it back into a braid so it looks halfway decent. Then slather on a tinted moisturizer and grab my keys and phone. At the door to my condo, I slide into a pair of leather, flip-flop sandals.
I’m not even at his door when his opens. He’s sans baby, shirt wrinkled, hair a mess and he has dark purple circles beneath his eyes.
A twinge of regret pierces me. I should have come and helped him or at least offered earlier. Still, I hate him a little bit for how he looks when he’s such a mess.
It’s official. Mikah Lutzgo, whose last name I learned from my internet searches, looks good in a suit, sweatpants, wrinkled and overwhelmed, and possibly, no… definitely, better when he’s wearing nothing at all. A visual I still haven’t forgotten.
“Good. You’re here.”
“Waiting for me?” I ask, laughing at the way he sounds so desperate. I can’t lie to myself. I like that he’s desperate for me, even if it’s for baby help.
“Yes.” He nods and steps back so the door is open but I have to slide and shimmy my way past him. “Angelo is finally sleeping but he doesn’t stay sleeping. And when I came to your place I was trying to figure out how to wear this” —he grabs the carrier from the couch and throws it back down— “but I can’t… I can’t twist and get everything right, I don’t think. And I’m not sure I’ve showered, or eaten, and I reek.” He stops. Stares at me and I swear a pale pink rises on the tips of his ears and his nose. Scrubbing a hand down his face, he mutters, “I can’t believe I’m talking about my smell.” When his eyes pull back to mine, he sinks his teeth into his bottom lip and shrugs. “I need help. Can you?”
I mean… I can help him with the shower… gladly… but I’m certain that’s not what he’s asking. Which is a shame.
“I’ve got him.” I gesture to the tiny, sleeping cutie-pie in the swing. “Go do whatever you need. Shower. Take a nap if you need it. I’ll take care of everything out here.”
Relief makes his shoulders fall but then his thick, blond brows pucker. “Are you sure? I haven’t left him…”
We’re dealing with a rather large unknown. Hannah’s words come back to me. They’ve been difficult to forget since she said them.
“I’ll stay here, in the living room. I can handle this while you do what you need to do. When has he last eaten?”
“Two.” He goes to the kitchen counter. The mess I left from the diaper bag has been cleared and in its place is a notebook. I follow him while he picks it up, flashes me a page and sets it back down. “I’ve been keeping track. Hannah says it can help me get him on a schedule, figure out when he’s hungry or tired. She bought me a book to help too, but I haven’t been able to read it.”
The chart he’s created is intense, filled with every diaper change, a W or D circled on various ones, sometimes both and I assume they stand for wet and dirty.
He’s so sweet.
“How are you doing?” I ask, resisting the urge to trail my finger over this chart. We did something similar at the daycare where I worked. Parents want to know everything about their babies when they aren’t with them.
I like he wants to do it when he is with his baby.
“It’s a lot of work.” He brushes a hand down his face and sighs, shoulders slumping forward. “Would it make me a jerk if I say I understand why Angela did this? Why she didn’t think she could do this?”
“No.” It’s the truth. I can’t imagine what it’s like to be a parent, but I do remember how exhausting taking care of babies is. To be thrown into it without warning or any knowledge or preparation, I imagine is terrifying. “No, I don’t think it makes you a jerk or a bad person. You’re overwhelmed. This is a lot. But you seem to be doing well.”
A quick scan of his condo shows the swing and other larger items have been assembled and are set out. There is an open box of diapers in one corner along with a rolled up mat. Several blankets drape over his furniture. A large plastic container of baby wipes on his coffee table. I smile when I see the bumpers on the corners of the table and television stand.
“You look like you have everything you need. The rest will take time and practice.” I flip my hands in his direction and shoo him away. “Now go, shower. Sleep if you need it. I have this and we can talk more when you’re done, or we don’t have to talk at all.”
“Talking to you helps me feel better.”
A rush of warmth like a tidal wave slams against me, covers me down to the tips of my toes. “Th… thank you. That’s very sweet.”
He smiles. It’s timid but it changes and turns more serious, almost contemplative as his gaze slides down the length of my body. “Be back.”
As soon as he’s gone, I take a few minutes tidying up the living room. The blankets are folded and draped over one armrest. I gather a few diapers that have been rolled and taped close but didn’t quite make it into the garbage can that’s overflowing, so I dig in the cupboards in the kitchen and under the sink until I find where he keeps the extra and I change out the trash, taking the full bag to the hallway and set it outside his door. I can throw it in the dumpster receptacle at the end of the hall when I leave later.