by H. L. Logan
We were going to have to move the car seat from her car to mine eventually, anyway. It would’ve been just as easy to do it in Beasley’s parking lot as here. But Jaz was here now, and as she emerged and I caught sight of the wide grin on her face, I almost didn’t regret letting her come over.
While my Honda’s tires were nearly worn down to the rims, her Camry was practically more rust than metal. With a few snaps and buckles, we’d released the car seat from her car, and by reversing the process, we got it firmly installed in mine.
“You know, we’re both probably going to be driving her,” she said, grabbing a few large shopping bags from the backseat. “We’ll need to get another one.”
I raised an eyebrow. Jaz was acting like Gretchen was somehow her responsibility. And like she was going to be with me for more than a day or two.
“Don’t forget she’s going back to her mother as soon as possible.” I grabbed the bags from her and went up the steps to the door. “This is far from a permanent arrangement.”
Jaz climbed after me, Gretchen in her arms. “Nice place you got here, Prof.”
Both eyebrows went up, until I realized Jaz had only seen the outside. The building looked like a nice Victorian home—three levels high, with a gorgeous façade worthy of a Bronte novel.
I pushed open the door. “Hope you’re ready for a work-out.”
We passed the dim, dusty entrance hallway with the doorways leading to the ground-floor apartments. At the end of a dark corridor, I nodded to the staircase. The two that led up to my floor were steep and rickety, as if the builder had wanted to punish residents for daring to venture inside. Even after three years of living here, I felt as if I might put my foot through a floorboard at any second.
By the top, I was huffing and puffing with the extra weight of the shopping bags. As I should’ve expected, Jaz pretty much skipped the whole way, even carrying Gretchen. She didn’t seem fazed by the eerie gothic atmosphere, either.
“I guess that’s it,” she said.
Yet she made no move to leave, looking around as if she planned to come inside. I gritted my teeth. Politeness would dictate that I offer her a drink, or something along those lines. She had kind of saved my ass today. And if I wanted her to continue providing childcare, it was only right that I try to be… friends.
“You want to come in?”
Her face lit up. “I’d love to.” Inside, she peered around at my ancient “vintage” furnishings and my wonderful view of the parking lot. Her surprise was visible, but she kept quiet about it. Instead, she said, “Gretchen will need a high chair, won’t she? And does she have a crib?”
I let out a sigh as I grabbed two beers out of the fridge. “She’s not staying. She slept in bed with me last night. According to the Internet, that’s called co-sleeping and it can actually be healthier for the child. As for eating, she can do it on my lap.”
Passing a beer to Jaz, I sank into an armchair. This was technically my living area, but with the size of my kitchen—and my normal lack of company—I usually ate here as well. I kicked a few crumbs under the chair legs, unsure why I even cared what my student thought.
“That works,” she said hesitantly. “I just want the best for her. She’s such a sweet little girl. Aren’t you, gorgeous?” She brushed her cheek with the tip of her finger, an affectionate gesture that made me feel oddly empty.
“Sure, when she’s not screeching her head off.” I tipped back my beer, draining half of it in a gulp.
“She’s a baby, Faye. She’ll grow out of it.”
“I hope she’ll be long gone by the time that happens.” Realizing how bad that sounded, I hurried to explain. “Nothing against her, but I didn’t ask for a baby. And I didn’t play any part in making her, either. She just showed up, and I seem to be stuck with her.”
Jaz nodded, adjusting her denim jacket around her shoulders. She wasn’t bad-looking when she went serious like this. There was a certain appeal to her youthful features and her slender frame… although I still objected to the “half-shaved head” thing.
Too bad about the personality. Although to be fair, she hadn’t gone all daydreamy and unfocused when Gretchen was around. It seemed she could pull herself together when it mattered.
“You wouldn’t give her to… somebody?” she asked. “The government, or something?”
I sighed. “The way I understand it, my only option is CPS. I may not have any lost love for this child—” Gretchen’s face twisted up as if she knew what I was saying “—but she’s my blood, and she’s not going into the foster system while I’m here to stop it.”
“So if you can’t get her back to your sister…”
“That’s not a possibility,” I said, more firmly than I’d intended. “She’s going back to Amanda, whether that girl likes it or not.”
Jaz petted Gretchen’s head, and the baby gurgled contentedly. “But…” she started. “Well… even if you don’t want Gretchen, it doesn’t exactly sound like Amanda is the most stable person. I don’t even mean you not being able to find her. I’m talking about her dropping this kid at your door before the umbilical cord’s even fallen off.”
My back straightened, and I set my beer down on the coffee table. “So what?”
“I’m just saying, she may not be the most fit to be a mother.” She grimaced, clearly implying I should keep the infant I’d never wanted. “It’s a shame the baby’s father isn’t in the picture.”
“When I get in touch with her, I’ll find out who he is. He should be paying child support at the very least.” I softened into the armchair, letting its soft plush hug me. “Really, it’s amazing Amanda got this far without this happening.”
Having said all there was to say on the matter, I glanced at my watch. It was six now, which probably meant Gretchen should eat. She seemed to do that constantly.
I got up. “I’ll heat up some formula.”
“I’ll change her diaper.”
Jaz followed me into the kitchen and laid a towel on the table without asking. Not that there was much of anywhere else to do it, but it didn’t seem the most hygienic.
With a sigh, I decided to wipe it down later. Disinfectant—one more thing for the neverending new-baby-owner shopping list.
Although we were both occupied with our tasks, Jaz didn’t take the opportunity to shut up. “You know, I’ve never used a baby-changing station before,” she said, sanitizing her hands. “It was pretty easy to figure out, though.”
“Doesn’t seem too hard,” I snorted. “I’m sure I’d handle it fine if I ever need to.”
“And I’m sure you will need to, considering…”
I slammed the microwave door shut. “Not my baby.”
“I know, I know. Sorry.”
She had her hands full with Gretchen, and I reminded myself again of what a favor she was doing me. Even my own mother, this kid’s grandmother, wouldn’t do this much for the baby.
My friends would help me, if I ever got over my pride enough to ask for assistance. But I doubted they’d offer more than a few hours of babysitting here and there. Jaz’s immediate readiness to take on a full-day commitment was something completely different.
I leaned against the wall while I waited for the microwave to do its work. “So how’d Gretchen deal with the mall?”
She fastened the clean diaper around Gretchen’s bottom. “I think the noise frightened her a little.”
She was about to go on when a knock came at the door. My brow furrowed, and I tensed.
“Are you expecting someone?” Jaz asked.
I forced a smile. “No. Let’s ignore it.”
“Why? It doesn’t have to be some Mormon missionary just because you don’t know who it is. Can you really not think of anyone who might be at your door right now?”
I could, but I wasn’t about to tell her that. Even if we’d almost been having a nice chat, my personal life was absolutely none of her business, especially when it came to who I assumed was at the door
.
“It might be Amanda,” she said. “Let’s go see.” When I only glared in response, she grabbed Gretchen off the table. “If you don’t want to open it, I will.”
I gritted my teeth. This fucking busybody… “Leave it alone, Jaz. It’s fine.”
She didn’t seem to be listening, so I raced after her… just not fast enough to keep her from opening the door.
The welcoming smile on her face disappeared as she saw the visitor was neither my sister nor a white-shirted missionary. I hung behind her, bracing myself for the shitshow that was about to happen.
“Who are you?” Jaz asked the woman who stood in the doorway.
The woman was pleasant-looking this time, if a little short for my taste. Her face was weather-beaten, her hair greying—I couldn’t judge, it wouldn’t be long until I was there myself.
Jaz’s eyes widened, and I followed her gaze to the handle of a paddle sticking out of the stranger’s purse.
“I’m Christine, from Craigslist. And that’s the sub I’m supposed to be dominating tonight.” The stranger pointed to me. “A better question is, who are you?”
5
Jaz
Clutching Gretchen to my chest, I took a step back. That bumped me into Faye, and I jumped forward as if I’d been burned by a hot stove.
My head was spinning. Faye was a lesbian? So I had a chance… except apparently she was going to sleep with a woman from the Internet tonight, and not me. Could it have been me if I’d happened to put up a Craigslist ad?
“I’m so sorry,” I muttered. “I’ll get out of your way. I’ll take Gretchen, and you can—I mean, I guess she should stay here, so I don’t know how you were planning to—”
“Stop, Jaz.” Faye silenced me with those two syllables. “You need to leave,” she told Christine.
“What? But we had so many plans. I was really looking forward to the part with the whipped cream.”
“I don’t have any, so leave.”
Faye sounded serious, but I spoke softly to her anyway. “Seriously, you don’t have to cancel this because of me. At least give her a chance. She came all the way up those stairs…”
Christine looked from me to Faye, her expression alternating between confusion and hopefulness. Her hand hovered over her handbag as if she was about to pull out some whipped cream now.
“You don’t understand,” Faye told me. Turning to Christine, she said, “You didn’t talk to me on there. In fact, report the person that told you to come here. It’s a fake.”
If she was serious, she’d been pretty quick at figuring out what’d happened. What if she was planning to have sex with this woman, but got embarrassed and lied?
Whether it was with me or not, I liked the mental image of her covered in whipped cream…
“I drove an hour to meet you,” Christine said. “You’re honestly telling me I should turn around and go home?”
“It’s okay,” I whispered to Faye. “If you want her to come in, I understand. We’re all adults here—I understand everyone has needs. Don’t let me get in your way.”
“You’re not in my way!” Faye’s exasperation was written all over her face. “You, leave. You, get back inside and stop thinking I have any desire for this person to be here.”
Christine sulked some more, but after another vehement rejection, she backed away and left. Slamming the door behind her, Faye cursed softly.
Funny, only a day ago I’d never thought I’d hear her swear. Now she seemed to do it all the time.
“You seem to have a knack for catching me at embarrassing moments,” she said wearily, taking Gretchen from me as she collapsed onto the sofa. “You’re probably wondering what all that was about.”
“Just a little.”
She snorted, apparently able to see I was actually burning up with curiosity. “It’s my ex,” she said. “We broke up a few months ago, and it wasn’t exactly amicable. In fact, it was downright nasty. Think Ted Hughes and Sylvia Plath, but without driving each other to suicide.”
I frowned, not seeing the connection. “So your ex…”
“Thinks it’s some kind of hilarious revenge to send horny women from Craigslist to my door.”
My arms felt empty without Gretchen in them. I folded my hands awkwardly as I sat in the armchair Faye had vacated earlier.
Faye’s tone made it clear she was telling the truth. So much for my tiny shred of hope. Actually, the entire queer female population had lost out tonight. Even if Faye would never look at me twice like that, I’d sure liked the idea that she could be batting for the same team.
“So it’s a prank? Your ex thinks it’s funny to imply that you’d be gay?”
Now Faye gave me a funny look. “Well, no. That wouldn’t be much of a joke.”
“Because being LGBT isn’t funny?” At least Faye wasn’t homophobic.
“No, because my ex is a woman. I am gay.”
“Oh-h-h-h.” I probably sounded a little too excited about that. And it didn’t help when my traitorous mouth decided to open up and say, “Me too.”
All Faye said in return was, “How lovely for you.”
But—and I swear on my grandmother’s grave that I wasn’t imagining it—she looked at me differently after that.
* * *
On Friday night, my friends weren’t too amused when I told them I might have to miss the open mic night to babysit.
“The fuck?” Andrew asked over the phone. He was already at the bar with Sven and Farrah, and I could hear them complaining in the background. “You always come. How much are these people paying you to skip it?”
“No pay,” I said, moving the phone from my ear to check if a text had come in.
“It’s a family thing, then?”
“No…” I drew the word out for the time it took me to cross my bedroom from one end to the other. “It’s just a thing.”
“And you really can’t get out of it?”
I checked for texts again. Nothing from Faye… yet. What if she texted at ten needing me to take care of Gretchen? “I haven’t actually been asked to do it yet, but I want to be available.”
“What the fuck!” Andrew’s volume dropped, and I realized he was holding the phone away from his mouth as he told our other friends, “Jaz’s on standby in case she gets a babysitting call.”
“Look, I’ll explain,” I said.
“Over some drinks when you get here?”
One final check for a new text. “Yeah, fine. I’ll be there in twenty.” I could always leave if Faye needed me.
“Make it ten,” Andrew said threateningly.
I got to the bar exactly eighteen minutes later. I wasn’t going to let anybody push me around.
The first group of amateur poets was only halfway through, so I slid into a seat next to my friends and listened. The poetry wasn’t bad this time. You never knew what you’d get. Some nights, there was some pretty cringe-worthy stuff.
The final guest finished reading a long, emotional poem about his dad’s mental health issues, and the crowd erupted in cheers.
I stood up to head to the bar when Andrew’s arm blocked my path. “You’re not going anywhere until you tell us what was going on earlier.”
That reminded me to glance at my phone again. “Nothing.” And there were no new messages, either.
Sven and Farrah circled around me, crossing their arms. “Doesn’t sound like nothing.”
“All right, fine.”
These friends were all masters’ students, too. They’d understand wanting to impress a thesis supervisor. Keeping the explanation as brief as possible, I filled them in on what was going on.
Except they weren’t as understanding as I’d expected. After glancing at the others, Farrah took the lead. “This doesn’t sound terribly good for you,” she said carefully. “Dr. Erwin’s in a bad spot, but expecting you to babysit without pay? Seems to me like she’s taking advantage of you.”
“No, no. I offered.” I thought for sure that’d clear
up my friends’ objections… but it didn’t.
Sven had a less diplomatic approach than his girlfriend. “Are you fucking stupid?” he yelled, his accent coming out stronger than usual. “You don’t work for free. Only a stupid person does that.”
My face heated, and I wished I’d managed to get that drink. “I was only trying to help. I told her from the start I’d charge her eventually.”
Farrah gave an encouraging nod. “Yes, I think this would be a good time to start.”
“And what is this bullshit about waiting for her to text you?” Sven barreled on. “She needs to tell you in advance if she wants you, not text you at the last minute. This is basic workers’ rights, my friend.”
With no beer to fall back on, I coughed a few times instead. “She’s never texted me at the last minute,” I said. “Not so far. But she might!”
Andrew looked at me quizzically. “So what, you want her to ask you to work for free on a Friday night?”
“Well, no… but is it so bad if I want to hear from her?”
The three of them went silent, and I knew I’d said too much. They looked at one another as if wordlessly electing a spokesperson. Please let it be Farrah.
It was Farrah. “You’re saying you like her?” she asked, peering closely at me. “Like her, like her?”
I barely inclined my head, but apparently that was enough for the three of them to start shouting. I pulled back, unwilling to hear what they were saying.
Farrah shushed them with a wave of her hand. “Jaz, this doesn’t sound healthy. Not when it comes to your thesis supervisor.”
A woman ascended to the stage, a sheaf of papers in her hand.
“Let’s talk about this later,” I said. “The next poet’s coming on.”
I didn’t see how this situation was so unhealthy. And I hadn’t had time to tell them she was into women. Did that make a difference? It meant I was only a little out of my mind to think I might have a shot.