by Piper Rayne
“I’m a horrible mom-in-training,” I say, tears falling down my cheeks as Brady’s head rests on my shoulder.
“Mom-in-training?” my mom questions.
“Yeah. I mean he shouldn’t trust me with his kid. I took him to the Pier and let him eat all that bad stuff, he threw up and now he probably has some kind of virus because of me. I ruined his son. He’s going to hate me.” My chest racks with sobs and my mom places her arm around my shoulders.
“You were having a fun time with him. Relax. This is completely unrelated.” My mom walks the clipboard back up to Nurse Jackie and then returns to her seat.
“Mrs. Banks,” the lady calls out and I look around to see who the other Banks here is.
“I think she assumes you’re the mom.” My mom nudges me with her elbow.
“Not if this little guy is lucky.” I stand, my mom follows. The nurse heads us back to a room where someone else takes his temperature. They nod and soon we’re being taken into another room. I place Brady on the bed. His body looks so small and helpless.
“Hi, I’m Marie. I’m your nurse.” She looks to Brady. “What’s up, little guy?” she asks and Brady stares up at her, the bright lights rousing him a bit when I laid him down.
She asks me to tell her what happened and I do. I sit on the bed next to Brady, holding his hand and comforting him. She takes the same vitals the other person did, confirming yes, his fever is high.
He looks over at me after she leaves saying the doctor will be in. “I’m tired,” he says and my hand moves to his hair, smoothing it out.
“I know, but we’re going to get you better.” Then I spot my mom staring at the two of us. I’ve been so wrapped up in Brady that I almost forgot she was here. “I have someone I want you to meet,” I say to Brady and his eyes scan the room. My mom rises to stand at the edge of the bed. “This is my mom, Mrs. Hart,” I say. “Mom, this is Brady.”
“Hi, Brady. It’s good to meet you. Now don’t you worry, you’re going to be okay,” my mom assures him. Brady nods and insecurity makes me think he almost believes the words from her mouth more than my own.
The nurse comes in a few minutes later and I see the concern in her eyes. “The doctor has asked that I put an IV in Brady to give him some fever-reducing drugs.” She gives me a small smile and we both know this isn’t going to be a cakewalk.
“What’s an IV?” he asks and my eyes shoot to my mom, who cringes.
“It’s going to make you feel better,” I say, disregarding the question.
The nurse washes her hands, puts some gloves on and sits on the edge of the bed. “Brady, did you want to watch something on television? Your mom can turn it on for you.”
Brady looks at me and I’m waiting for him to tell her I’m not his mom. But he just nods.
I click on the television and scan through the channels until I find some Disney show that seems appropriate and I leave it there.
“Mom, why don’t you come up on the bed and hold him up to you,” the nurse offers and again I glance to my mom, but I do as the nurse directs.
I climb on the bed and Brady has no problem cuddling up into me. In fact, he seems soothed by my close proximity.
She grabs his arm and he looks down at the needle that’s about to go in and starts crying.
“No, no, no!” he says, trying to get his arm back, but the nurse is too strong, which I think freaks him out.
“It’s okay, Brady,” I repeat over and over again as his tears wet my t-shirt.
“Done,” the nurse says a painful minute later.
Brady looks down at his arm and up to me in confusion.
“You know how you sip your medicine out of a cup usually?” I say. He nods. “She’s going to give them to you through there.”
He nods, before his eyes find the television again.
“The doctor will be in soon to evaluate him,” the nurse, who I swear is younger than me, says.
“Thank you.”
Brady watches television and my mom sits in silence while I’m sure a million questions are floating through her mind. Not long after, she turns to me.
“So who is his father?” she whispers.
I glance down at Brady, who’s totally engrossed in the TV show. Now that’s something I have learned… TV and kids equal tunnel vision. “If I tell you, it stays between us for right now.”
Her head draws back and her eyes narrow on me as if to say, Oh, no, Lennon. Not again. “Fine,” she says in a voice that says she’s not sure if she can promise that.
“Jasper,” I answer.
A wide smile crosses her lips. “Jacob’s Jasper?”
My Jasper.
“Yeah, Jacob’s mentor, Jasper,” I clarify and her smile widens.
“Oh, my gosh. He’s the little boy.” A surprised look crosses over her face.
“How many times has Jasper been over for dinner?” I ask, curious how well she knows him and also upset that no one ever called me to join them.
“Not for a while. Mostly when Jacob was working under him. It was only a few times and I think Brady might have been two or so at that time.” She smiles, as if this is a fond remembrance.
“How come I was never invited?” I’m upset because this entire time I was prancing around San Francisco a single woman and I could have met Jasper earlier.
“Well, Lennon, you were always so busy.” She shrugs and rolls her eyes. I nod, not wanting to get into drama. “So, if he’s trusting you to watch Brady, I’m guessing you guys are close?” she asks, prodding me for more details.
I eye her and then Brady. “Yeah,” I answer, not giving anything else away.
“Monogamous?” She continues sticking that shovel in the ground, digging for the worms.
“Yes.” I look down and Brady’s eyes beginning to drift closed. “I think I may even l—”
Her eyes widen and the corners of her mouth start to rise.
“Here you go.” The nurse from earlier enters the room and behind her walks in none other than Natalie Banks.
“Thank you.” She nods to the nurse and rushes over to Brady’s side. She feels his forehead, grips his hands and then pulls the blanket down to inspect his body.
“Natalie,” I say, rising to my feet and coming to the other side of the bed.
She looks up. “What did you do?” Her voice is venom and I almost fall back from surprise.
“Nothing.”
My mom, sensing something isn’t right, walks over to my side.
“I knew he couldn’t trust you with him,” Natalie says. I glance down to Brady, thankful his eyes are still shut. “You’re just trouble. I knew it the minute I set eyes on you. All you care about is fun and there’s not a responsible bone in your body.”
I won’t lie, her jabs hit their target and the pain comes swiftly.
“Why are you here?” I ask.
“Why do you think? Jasper called me because he knows you can’t handle this. You might be some fun toy he likes to sleep around with, but don’t fool yourself into thinking you’ll ever be anything more.”
I blink a few times and my mom’s hand lands on mine, gripping it tightly.
“I’m guessing you’re Jasper’s mother?” she asks, while I try to push away the vertigo from being mentally slapped side to side by this woman.
“Yes. And you are?” Her voice is nothing but mean and spiteful.
“I’m Eva, Lennon’s mother. Now, I understand you’re upset that your grandchild is sick, but the way you’re talking to my daughter is not nice nor will it be tolerated.”
I look over to my mom. Color me surprised.
“You raised her?” Natalie questions, her gaze directed at my inked skin.
My mom’s back straightens and she tightens her grip on my hand. “Her father and I did.”
“You stand there looking like you’re proud of her. Look at her.” She wrinkles her nose in disgust.
“Who are you to throw daggers?” I ready myself for a fight, but my mom
squeezes my hand.
“Proud of her? Did you know that she attended Berkeley on an art scholarship? Now, she switched that major to business because she had the guts to find what she loves. She paid off her school loans after she lost her scholarship by tattooing her friends. Figure out how many hours that is in your small brain. Now she’s getting a business venture off the ground all by herself. And that’s just her career. You want to talk personal life? Did you know she sometimes volunteers at shelters, or donates her time to tattoo over the scars of veterans, or how she gives almost every homeless person she passes money, food or a drink? Or maybe we should discuss how she never judges anyone because they’re different or misunderstood. You’d be so lucky to have your son love her.”
Natalie rolls her eyes and a long sigh flows out of her mouth.
“But let me tell you a little secret as a mom with three boys, two of whom I’ve already married off.”
Natalie looks like she could care less.
My mom leans over the bed to double-check that Brady’s sleeping.
“You can’t control who your son loves. And I personally think if he chooses Lennon, he’s one lucky guy. But no matter if it’s Lennon or not, you better be ready to play nice because those women call the shots and if you want a relationship with your son, you sure as heck better not treat her the way you just did my daughter. Otherwise, you can kiss your son and your grandson goodbye.”
My mom draws back over to my side and puts her arm around my shoulder.
Natalie eyes me. “I’m sorry, you just aren’t responsible enough to take care of my grandson. One night and look, we’re in the hospital.”
A knock sounds from the door before I can respond.
“Greg,” Natalie coos, walking over to shake his hand.
“Natalie,” he says, shaking her hand and placing his free hand on her shoulder. “Jasper called.”
Greg is about Jasper’s age, maybe a few years older, with dark brown hair and a thin runner-style body. He’s in slacks, a button-down and his doctor jacket.
My mom and I stand there and I can’t help but feel like a third wheel.
“You must be Lennon Hart?” he asks me, holding his hand out. “I’m Dr. Bierdman, Brady’s paediatrician. I happen to be filling in for a shift. Jasper had me paged.”
“Yes. Nice to meet you.” I step out of my mom’s embrace and shake his hand. He gives a bright white-teeth smile. “This is my mom Eva Hart.” I place my hand on my mom’s back.
He extends his arm out to her. “Nice to meet you.”
“Now that all the introductions have been made, what do you think is happening with Brady?” Natalie sits down and grabs Brady’s hand.
Greg grabs the thermometer from the table and takes Brady’s temperature. “His temperature has gone down. Jasper says you gave him Tylenol?” he asks, looking in my direction.
“Yes.”
“Okay, I don’t think this is anything serious, but I’m going to look at his eyes and do a few tests.”
I step away from the bed, as does my mom, but Natalie stays put.
Greg coaxes Brady up and his eyes wander around the room.
“Right here, sweetheart,” she says.
“Where’s Lennon?” He sounds upset so I walk to the foot of the bed.
“I’m right here, buddy.” I grip his foot and shake it a little.
He smiles and Natalie turns her head and gives me the death stare.
Dr. Bierdman does his exam and he definitely has a way about him because Brady’s sucking on a lollipop and laughing by the time he’s done.
“He looks good. I think we just need to deal with the fever. Now, who should I give instructions to?” he asks, looking between me and Natalie.
Natalie stares me down, almost baiting me to dare step up. I look to Brady and realize it’s his decision not ours. I want him wherever he’s going to be most comfortable.
“Brady, do you want to go home with Grandma or me? Daddy won’t be back until tomorrow afternoon,” I tell him and this devilish gleam gets in his eye.
“Can’t Grandma come home with us, Lennon?” he asks.
Damn it.
Mom-in-training note to self: Never let the kid have a say.
32
Brady’s asleep in his bed. Natalie isn’t letting him out of his room, even though after his fever broke he was ready to wrestle. She’s washed his sheets, as well as Jasper’s. Cleaned out the fridge, washed, dried, and folded every stitch of laundry. Disinfected every light switch, door handle and drawer pull. You’d think that’s enough, right? Nope. She’s even dusted and vacuumed—the floor and the furniture, I might add. I mean, who vacuums the kitchen chairs?
What have I been doing, you ask?
Nothing.
I’m done trying to prove my worth to her. It’s Jasper and Brady I’m invested in.
So, I’m sitting on the newly vacuumed couch, clicking through Netflix.
“Don’t you have a tattoo shop to manage?” she sneers.
I stare directly at the television, clicking the buttons on the remote. “Brady said he wanted me here, so here I will be.”
She huffs like a thirteen-year-old girl who was told she can’t get the brand-new jacket everyone else has and stomps down the hall. The sound of spraying bottles bounces back to me in the family room. I laugh to myself because I’m so over this woman even if she is Jasper’s mom.
A half hour later and two clean bathrooms for Natalie, a door opens and small footsteps pad down the hall.
Brady rounds the corner, his smile appearing once he sees me. Grabbing the blanket swung over the chair, he snuggles into my side and I straighten the blanket over his legs.
“Did you sleep well?” I ask, touching his forehead. Lukewarm and a little clammy.
He nods, and I turn the station to the kids’ movie I saw while I was channel-surfing.
“Brady.” Natalie comes in and her shoulders slump before she rushes over, snatching up the thermometer on her way over. “Sit up,” she demands.
Brady does and she takes his temperature. In both ears, I may add.
“Oh, good. Your temperature is down.” Appeased, she goes to the kitchen. “I’ll make you some soup,” she says.
“I want chicken nuggets,” he whines.
“No, you need soup.”
“Shouldn’t we just make sure we feed him?” I speak up and her eyes narrow on me from behind the breakfast bar.
“Let me handle this, Lennon,” she says, so I turn around and shrug to Brady.
“I’d let you have chicken nuggets,” I whisper.
Was this the right move? Probably not. But since when do I ever do the right thing?
“Grandma.” He sits up on his knees and peers over the couch. “I want chicken nuggets and fries!” Jasper would probably have a fit if he heard the way Brady’s raised his voice to an adult.
I cringe internally, thinking I shouldn’t have talked to her like that. Respect and all that bullshit.
“Brady, chicken nuggets and fries are not what you need right now.”
He plops down on the couch, crosses his arms and stares at the television.
“I should have just said you,” he says, his voice angry.
This time I keep quiet, not wanting to rock the boat even more.
Minutes later, the bowl hits the counter and a spoon is being dug out of the drawer.
“Brady,” she says. “Come eat.”
Brady rolls his eyes, flings the blanket off him and stomps over to the counter.
“Gross,” he mumbles, staring into the bowl.
“Oh, stop it. You’ve eaten this a million times.” Natalie busies herself at the sink.
I walk over and sit down next to him. As much as I would hate to give Natalie a compliment, the soup looks good. And smells amazing. The ding of the oven goes off and she pulls out a fresh loaf of bread.
My mouth waters, but I pretend not to be interested as it sits on the counter, perfectly shaped, the aroma fi
lling up every crevice of the condo.
“Would you like a bowl, Lennon?” she asks, her voice the epitome of niceness with that twang of, Try it and I drop a large sack of poison in it.
“That’s okay,” I say, staring off toward the door, wishing Jasper would walk in.
“Come on, Lennon,” Brady whines, his spoon swirling around the broth, not scooping any of it up.
I look down at the little guy, run my hands through his thick hair that’s just like his father’s.
“For you… sure.”
He smiles and I give serious thought to whether Natalie would actually poison my soup.
Natalie begins to grab a bowl, but I rush over and take my own, ladling my soup up myself. She smiles, noticing Brady watching our interaction.
I sit down next to Brady again, while Natalie cleans as usual. I dip my spoon and bring the broth to my mouth. Okay, the woman’s got skills in the kitchen.
Shit. This is what Jasper grew up with. I’m totally fucking screwed.
“Try it, Brady. Your grandma makes good soup.” I nudge his arm and he rolls his eyes like I’ve seen his dad do more than a few times, but he scoops some up and brings it to his lips.
Natalie peeks over her shoulder and I want desperately to tell her I complimented her soup for the sake of the kid and not her, but I exercise self-control.
I cross my legs so I’m facing Brady while leaning over my bowl and eating small amounts of my soup in case I need to eat the whole bowl to actually keel over from Natalie’s poison. I’m kidding. Sort of.
A better surprise happens. I hear a key jiggling in the lock from the other side. My eyes shoot to the microwave clock. It’s only three. Jasper isn’t due until eight. Brady’s ears perk up hearing the same thing and we’re like two dogs waiting by the door with our tails wagging at max speed for our master.
I’m not sure I’ve ever wanted to see Jasper more—well, except for the first time we met. Who am I kidding? I’d knock Brady over and stomp on him if I was that kind of girl. Thankfully, I’m not.
Jasper enters, his suit jacket open, his tie long gone, a suitcase rolling behind him.
Brady’s off his stool in a second, running to his dad and throwing his arms around his dad’s neck. Jasper’s arms lock around his son’s waist, bringing him up to hold him to his chest. His large hand splays across the back of his son’s head as though he can’t get close enough.