Anger makes my limbs tremble. I don’t even know any of the players in this, so I shake it off and continue setting out everything she has. Perhaps if Mikah can see he has a decent start; he will feel better.
There are two cans of formula, six bottles. On top of the burp cloths there are the long sleeve sleepers that snap all the way up. Way too warm for August in the south so I dig until I find short sleeve onesie shirts. Some pants. The tiniest socks I’ve seen in my life. There are pacifiers inside a plastic bag with the note loves when he fusses. Consider the he in question is still squeaking and sucking on his fist, I tear open the bag and hand him a pacifier, guiding it to his mouth. He latches on immediately and sucks to his heart’s content. While he’s happy, I grab his car seat and lower him down into it and keep it on the floor at my feet. It gives me two hands to use so I can easily empty the rest of the bag. I find wipes and diapers, but he’ll need more. So many more diapers than the dozen she provides with a note of brand and size and weight limits.
Which makes me wonder how big the little guy is. I haven’t even seen his body. He’s been so snuggled in the blanket and since he’s happy, now is probably a good time to check him out. I pick him back up and grab a small travel pack of wipes and a diaper and take him to the couch. I unwrap the blanket from his body and grin at his chubby legs that kick and flail as soon as I lay him down on the blanket.
“Hey there,” I croon, holding onto his chest with one hand so I can prepare everything else. “You’re a kicker, huh? Will you be a runner when you get older? Maybe a soccer player? Hmm?”
I smile down at the little baby with blue eyes so dark I’m sure they’ll change to a different hue. I imagine him growing up, a spitting image of Mikah possibly, but that’s ridiculous.
He could end up looking like his mother for all I know. It’s not like I’ll be around to see him grow up.
Goodness.
“I’m going kind of nutty, Angelo.” I’m rewarded with a gummy smile that peeks out from the edges of the pacifier. I tickle his tummy and then his chest. He squirms, wiggling beneath my hand and pulling his legs up.
“There you go,” I say, tickling him more. He’s so itty-bitty which makes sense if he was born in July. It’s late August, so at most he can only be seven, maybe eight weeks old.
I make quick work of the diaper change, saving the fun of that job for Mikah for later. He’s wearing lightweight pants and socks, so I tug both off and unsnap his plain white onesie, pushing it up to his tummy.
“You’re so cute,” I whisper. I have the sudden urge to kiss his tummy, inhale his sweet baby scent and I barely restrain myself and finish up the diaper change.
Once he’s re-dressed, I lift him back into my arms and relax into the couch, lifting him so his face is again on my shoulder and I run my hand up and down his back. He’s so small, my hand is almost the same size as his back but mostly I love the tiny size of his bottom.
There’s something about babies I’ve always loved and adored. They’re so sweet, just needing love and food and sleep and even though some are difficult, this little guy in my arms seems to be a very relaxed and happy baby.
He burps again as I hold him and lifts his head.
I smile down at him and I’m struck by the beauty in his eyes and wrinkled face with cheeks barely starting to fill out, but man… is he cute.
“Hey there.” I run my finger along his hairline and his baby fuzz eyebrows. He wiggles and I support his neck with my hand. “Are you happy? I hope you’re easy and sleep really well. Sounds like your daddy might not know what to do but I promise, I’ll help in any way I can.”
Not sure how that’s possible considering I have school and work and research, but this little guy is tugging at my heart in a foreign way.
Maybe because I found him. It’s the caretaker in me. I need to know people around me are happy and healthy and my friends constantly tease me that if anyone gets sick, I turn into mom mode and run them chicken noodle soup or have it delivered. I wash their laundry and keep their places clean. I’m the one Maggie calls to watch her cat when she goes to Ohio to visit her parents at Christmas. Occasionally, I do the grocery shopping for Mr. Tolken downstairs when his wife visits her sister in Florida.
Angelo starts kicking his legs and squirming against me, so I stand and rock him again. He seems to like it when I sway back and forth, but now when I do it, he fusses more so I bounce him, walking laps around the condo. I sing him “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” as I bounce and roam, my eyes taking in everything in Mikah’s apartment. The walls are bare and there’s essentially nothing outside the black leather sectional and an oversized black leather chair. There are black metal coffee tables and side tables with glass tops. I cringe at the sharp corners. Then there’s the television stand with the same metal and glass and exposed cords, bundles of them, hooked to what looks like multiple gaming systems with a massive big screen planted on top. It’s a baby hazard palace once this guy will become more mobile.
“You’ll need to tell Daddy those are unsafe,” I say, smiling and kissing Angelo’s head. It can’t be helped. Baby smells are yummy and tempting. “He’ll need to put bumpers on the table and corners so you don’t bang yourself around and get hurt. Yes, he will. We don’t want you getting owies now, do we?”
A snickering sound comes from behind and I freeze. How long has he been there?
I turn slowly. Mikah is several feet away, arms crossed over his chest and head ticked to the side.
“Owies?” he asks and I swear I see him fighting a grin. Or a laugh.
“Well, yes. He can bonk his head on all the sharp corners and get hurt.”
“I do not know much of babies, but I do not think he can move.”
His smile pops through and it’s as beautiful as the rest of him. Mind-scrambling.
“They also grow quick.” I mean to tease him back but his smile falls.
He dips his chin toward Angelo. “I have a friend coming to help. He and his wife, they have kids. Will you… will you teach me how you do that?”
“Hold him?”
“I should learn before he’s able to run away, yes?”
I laugh at his joke, spoken in that heavily accented English and move to him. “Sure, Mikah. I can help teach you.”
Chapter Five
Mikah
* * *
When she offers to help me, I want to pull her into my arms. I have no idea what I would be doing if I would have been the one to hear the baby screaming, and it scares me to think of how long he was crying before Paisley heard him and knocked on my door.
From the memory of when I opened it, now seared into my mind forever, his face was red, almost purple and he had giant tears on his cheeks.
I made that happen by not hearing him. My shower is loud, yes, but apparently, I am a father. I should know when my child hurts. It only makes sense, yes?
I have been a father for less than an hour and I am already failing at it. Which is logical since my own father was not a good dad unless I was excelling on the ice rink. Even then, I was never good enough.
Enough. My lungs burn as I blow out a heavy breath and lift my arms. I do not want Paisley to go. I like seeing her with Angelo, rocking him, talking to him in a sweet voice like he can understand every word and I have no idea how to do anything.