by Sosie Frost
Nothing good ever came in clusters…unless it was made of chocolate and peanuts.
Cluster feedings? More like cluster fuck.
I was tapped out. Empty. Running on fumes. The well had dried.
But, for the moment, Clue seemed satisfied.
I didn’t know if I could believe her.
Was a baby capable of deception? She certainly rocked sleep deprivation. Loaded diapers. Unfathomable fussiness.
A ham sandwich. That was all I needed in life. But I only had a spoon to spread the mustard, and getting the knife from the dishwasher felt like an inhuman feat of strength. Then again, the mustard also reminded me that I hadn’t checked Clue’s diaper before putting her down for the nap.
It was not worth waking her up.
The only thing in the world better than a quiet apartment was a sandwich made of soft bread, cheese, ham, with just a touch of something tangy.
Of course, I could have used a glass of wine to wash it down, but that wasn’t happening. I traded that fantasy for a goblet of whole milk.
The sandwich made it halfway to my mouth before the baby cried.
The miracle of life. Diapers. Crying. Nursing. Sleeping?
Ha. No.
More crying.
I had it good though. Other mothers probably got discouraged when they hit this point. They remembered a life pre-baby. The food. The sleep. The balm made for lips, not nipples. But I didn’t remember much of anything before Clue. We worked through the insanity together, one fussy feed at a time.
I took her from the crib and plopped onto the couch. Now was the best time to try out a new position to feed her. Most women attempted yoga during their life, but no humping-dog, forward plank, inverted elbow pose compared to trying to make a baby latch while on my side, eating a sandwich.
She’d have to deal with the bread on her head. I needed energy. A handful of pretzels wouldn’t cut it for Clue’s milk extravaganza tonight. I longed for meat. Protein. Something hearty.
Clue got her dinner for the fortieth time today. I aimed the sandwich for my mouth.
The first bite was delicious. The second slid out of the bread.
Splat.
Clue flinched and gave a squawk.
Damn it. A glob of mustard smooshed on her pretty little head.
But she was eating. She wasn’t fussing. And I was so damn tired.
“Here we go…” The sing-song rhythm in my voice wasn’t exactly maternal, more a break of sanity. I ripped off a slice of bread and used the clean side to mop up the blob of mustard rolling off my kid’s forehead. “Now you’re clean. Kinda.”
Clue furrowed her nose. So did I.
My kid smelled like a street-side hot dog vendor.
I sighed. She needed a bath. Maybe that would stop the fussing?
I shoveled the last bit of the sandwich into my face as Clue gnawed away, gobbling up what remained of my self-esteem. Without a name, family, or past, my milk production was pretty much the only source of my pride. These cluster feedings were causing a bit of mental strife.
I sat up, giving her back a little pat. Clue gave me a warning whine—a light gasp that signaled she was warming up for a full-fledged wail. Still hungry?
I poked at the dairy. “Come on, girls. Only eleven more months of this to go.”
Surprisingly, the boobs weren’t entirely titillated by the prospect.
I stood. My button-up shirt fell open. I didn’t care anymore. I’d have stripped off the damn thing if I wasn’t so sure the room’s chill wouldn’t twist the nips and turn the sprayer into a direct stream. Poor kid, gargling at the tap like she was drinking from a fire hose.
One of us needed a bath. As I was only moderately covered in mustard, I decided to let her have it.
“Remember this when I’m old and you’re changing my diapers,” I said. “I gave up showers for you.”
Clue didn’t appreciate the sacrifice. Then again, she had to cuddle next to me. And after eight solid hours of nursing, she hadn’t given me much of a chance to duck into the shower.
However, I had a moment of milk-drunk silence. And I took advantage of it.
I filled the tub and tested the water twice, but the instant her toes touched the bath, our rub-a-dub-fun was interrupted by a knock.
“You wanna get it or me?” I asked her.
Clue smacked her lips. Fair enough.
I wrapped her in a towel and headed to the door.
Shepard.
I hadn’t forgotten about him coming over tonight. Just the opposite.
I’d distracted myself in every way possible to not think about him. But checking the time was about all I could do while I camped on the couch with Clue. And that led to some dangerous thoughts.
Counting the minutes until a handsome, kind, hero of a man arrived to tease me with a smile and offer any help he could give.
And that was wonderful. And lovely.
And so…terrible.
The things I felt for him were not good to feel—especially while I waited for someone, anyone, out in the world to contact the police and find me.
Clue’s father waited out there. Somewhere. Even if it was three weeks since she’d been born.
I opened the door. My shirt fluttered open.
Shepard hesitated, crock pot in his hands. His eyebrows rose.
“I can’t tell if this greeting is an improvement or a surrender.”
“Oh, this is not a surrender.” I let him inside and buttoned my shirt. Fatigue made toddlers of us all, and I accidentally skipped two holes and popped a button before I’d finished. “This isn’t a physical challenge—its psychological. Clue is cluster feeding, and the books say it’s a growth spurt. She’s training me to increase my milk supply.”
“Oh?”
I pointed to my chest. “So Daisy and Buttercup are working overtime right now. I’m fed. Hydrated. As rested as I can be. If this is the most challenging part of the newborn phase, then I’ve got it. I’ve studied. I’ve conquered. I’m surviving. I can do it!”
“You’ve buttoned your nipple into your shirt.”
Damn it.
That little peeper went numb on me sometime in the afternoon. I untangled the ta-ta and vowed to stay positive.
“But it didn’t leak!” I grinned. “The point is…I’m getting used to this. I’ve even been experimenting.”
He took the crock pot to the kitchen. “Experimenting?”
“I had a few things to figure out in the shower. Flow rate. Volume. Distance.”
“And your findings?”
“Surprisingly entertaining if not thoroughly wasteful.”
Shepard’s smirk wasn’t condescending. The little upturn of his lip hid within his trimmed beard, but it wasn’t a tease.
He was proud.
And I had no idea why that felt so wonderful to me.
Or familiar.
“What did you bring us?” I rocked Clue in my arms. “And can I sleep in it?”
“I made us dinner. Mind if I use your kitchen?”
“You brought me food. At this point, you could ask any favor of me and I’d deliver.”
“It’s a good thing I’m a gentleman.”
Was it? “Not sure I’d have anything to offer that’d please you right now.”
“Just talking to you pleases me, Evie.”
I stilled. So did he.
And the rush of warmth tingling head to toe wasn’t just the milk letting down.
This was every hope and dream, fantasy and thought, wish and loneliness I’d endured for the past three weeks whipping my emotions. If my heart didn’t stop beating in my chest, it’d churn everything into butter.
And then I’d melt just like it.
I took a breath. “Well, if you can excuse this excellent conversationalist for a moment…there’s a mustard stain the size of Texas on Clue’s forehead. I should scrub her clean.”
“How did that happen?”
“Kids these days. They read about some
new facial cleanser on the internet, and they’ll try anything. I told her she was too young for wrinkle cream…she’s still pruned from the womb.”
Shepard didn’t look at me, just stirred the dinner. “What would you do without sarcasm?”
“Please. I don’t have a memory. This is my best entertainment.”
I shouldn’t have given him that smile as I backed away. The I-know-my-shirt-is-wrinkled-my-hair-is-in-a-pony-tail-and-I-look-like-I-haven’t-slept-in-a-month-but-you’re-gonna-look-at-my-butt-when-I-leave-so-enjoy-it smirk.
I glanced over my shoulder in the hall.
I loved being right.
But I hated what it meant.
Flirting with another man while I held a newborn?
Surely there was a circle in hell reserved for mothers with this sort of terrible judgment—the ones who named their kids after cardinal directions or took their newborn to a movie theater.
I flirted.
I should’ve dunked my head in Clue’s bath. At least then I’d have woken up and crashed back to reality.
Instead, I gently set her chubby butt in the water. She crinkled her face and gave a warning cry until I did as she liked, placing a warm washcloth over her chest and belly so she could relax and spa-day her troubles away.
Oh, to be a baby with her worries. While Momma panicked about grocery shopping and missing persons’ reports, Clue contemplated the important matters. When to next cry. Dine from the right boob tonight…or the left? How to take the next bath in a Jacuzzi tub?
One of the good things about my little Clue? She was an enterprising sort of baby.
If she wanted a bubble bath…she’d make it herself.
“Oh no, Clue!”
The books said Clue was too young to smile yet, but they said nothing about her developing a sense of smug superiority and ironic timing.
I lifted her out of the water. More than soap splattered into the tub, and I regretted pulling her close to me in lieu of wrapping her into a towel.
I thought eight hours trapped nursing on the couch was my reward for creating her life. Nope. Clue’s gratitude splattered down my leg, on my arms, and into the water.
“Clue, why?”
Shepard knocked at the door. “Is everything…okay?”
I turned. Fortunately, Clue’s eruption had ceased. Unfortunately, she sent the rains as a peace offering.
I gave up, letting her do her thing on me because I had nowhere else to tuck her.
Shepard stared in horror. I buzzed my lips and sighed.
“Sometimes I’m not sure if I’m the milk-maid or the diaper.”
“Right now…you’re pretty much gross.”
“Better me than the baby.”
Shepard offered me a towel. It wouldn’t do a lot of good. I wrapped Clue up and surveyed the damage. She’d wrecked her tub and herself, coating us both in a layer of pure misfortune.
This was breast-fed Karma. I’d flirted and hoped to earn more of Shepard’s sexy smiles, and the baby bomb was my punishment.
Very effective.
“I need to rinse her off,” I said. “But now I have to bleach the tub.”
Shepard did smile now. His lips parted.
And his rolling caramel laugh was well-deserved.
“Let’s get her in the kitchen sink,” he said. “Maybe you’ll fit in there too.”
I shuddered. “At this point, just take a match to me.”
Shepard left a wide birth between me and the baby. “You just need a long shower. Good thing I plan to help.”
“You want to help me shower?”
Shepard winked. “If you’re desperate, but I planned to watch the kid instead.”
“Right.” I nervously laughed. “That’d be nice.”
The sink was clean, but Shepard scrubbed the bottom and sides before I let my baby steep in the water. I detoured to the counter, peeking into the dinner he’d prepared.
Soup.
Chicken soup.
“You didn’t…”
Shepard rinsed the suds away. “You mentioned that your grandmother made chicken soup. I thought I’d give it a shot, see if it didn’t jar any more memories.”
I stared at the golden broth. The crock pot didn’t do much, but the savory salty scent was enough to dent the cement vault capturing my memories.
Or maybe it sealed me inside.
I didn’t know.
I didn’t care.
“Rice?” I asked. “It’s chicken and wild rice. That’s what she made. How did you know?”
Shepard tested the water with his forearm before plugging the sink. “I grabbed whatever was in my pantry.”
“I can’t believe you’d do this for me.”
A lock of playful blonde hair teased over his eyes. “I told you, Evie. I’m here to help. Let’s wash up the kid so we can eat. I think this dinner might be the trigger.”
“Really?”
“Somewhere, locked away in your head, is every secret I’m dying to learn.”
“And you think I’d share them with you?”
“Why would you want to hide them from me?”
I hummed. “Isn’t that why they’re called secrets?”
“Only because you don’t trust me yet.” He approached, standing so tall I had to look up to see the honesty in his eyes. “But I’m going to prove to you that you can depend on me. For more than just soup.”
I exhaled, chasing away a shudder of warmth that never should have been.
But it wasn’t because Shepard had whispered such wonderful words to me. It was because I had heard those promises spoken to me before.
Somewhere.
Long ago.
And it was my fault they were gone.
He frowned. “Are you okay?”
I swallowed. “Yeah. Can you put a couple towels in the sink too? Gotta keep the queen comfortable.”
“Sure thing.” Shepard padded the sides and made space for the baby. “What is Her Highness’s name today?”
“I’ve tried a couple. Abby. Tasha. Martha.”
“And?”
“Still Clue.” I smiled as she rested on my arm. The water soothed her, and Clue closed her eyes. “She doesn’t mind the nickname.”
“You’re doing a good job.”
I arched an eyebrow. “You aren’t covered in the unmentionable.”
“That…stain? That’s just her residual cuteness.”
“Her cuteness has one hell of a range.”
He handed me her soap and watched as I massaged the suds into her dark hair. “Once you’re done, I’ll put her down for you. You go hop in the shower.”
“I can do it.”
“I’m starving.” He helped to trickle water over Clue’s toes. “Let me wrangle the kid. You relax in the shower. Then we’ll eat.”
Was it that easy? That comforting? He promised me a shower, and it was like a gift I never knew I wanted.
“I wonder if this is how it would feel.” I instantly regretted speaking.
“How what would feel?”
I sighed. “If I had…no. Never mind. It’s dumb.”
Shepard didn’t look away. “Tell me.”
“If Clue and I had our family.”
I squirted a healthy amount of soap on my hands and aimed for her pudgy little cheeks and fingers, toes and rolls. Too bad I couldn’t scrub those dark thoughts out of my head.
“It’d be like this…” I said. “Dinner would be ready. Someone could tuck her in. I’d have a chance to get a shower. We’d be a family.”
Shepard held out Clue’s bath towel—grey, fuzzy, and with a hood that gave her bunny ears. He spoke with a confidence I envied.
“You are her family, Evie. And she’s yours. You two will never be alone.”
“Okay.” I pulled her out of the water and bundled her up. “You say that now. But tell me? Did you find anything? Someone who reported their wife missing. Someone who wondered about a lost pregnant girlfriend?” I quieted. “Tell me someone is
out there searching.”
Shepard was quiet. I arched an eyebrow.
“You’re a bad fairy godmother, Detective Novak.”
“Good. I’m trying to be Prince Charming.”
“I don’t need a dragon slayed. I just want to know if someone is missing me.”
“A man would have to be crazy if he didn’t miss you.” Shepard tugged on Clue’s towel, wrapping her tighter before taking her from my arms. “And he’d do crazy things to find you.”
“This is where you ask me to be patient.”
“And this is where you refuse to listen.”
“What would you do?” I asked.
He studied the baby—her little pudgy cheeks and closed eyes, snuggled so tiny and safe in his arms.
“I’d turn over every rock, search every street, call in every favor. I wouldn’t sleep, wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t give up until I found you.”
My words quieted, soft and tentative. “I meant…if you were me.”
“Oh.” Shepard sheepishly smiled. “I’d get a shower and enjoy a couple minutes of peace before dinner.”
“You have a way with the ladies, don’t you?”
“I can give ‘em what they need.”
“A shower and a nap?”
“A quiet house.”
“You’ll watch the baby?”
“Absolutely. And as a bonus…” He lowered his voice and licked his bottom lip. “I also do dishes.”
“I love it when you talk clean to me.” I edged towards the bathroom, but I pointed to Clue. “You know how to diaper and dress a baby?”
“I’m also certified in infant CPR if you’re worried.”
“I wasn’t until you said it.”
I squeezed Clue’s hand and hurried to the bedroom, picking out a new pair of clothes without bothering to ensure the socks matched. Why waste time when I had a freebie shower beckoning me?
The water steamed, hot and perfect. I didn’t wait for it to adjust before jumping into the stream. Cold or scalding, it didn’t matter. My arms freed from the baby, aching the new mommy muscles of my biceps and triceps. I cleansed my body of everything sticky and listened only to the quiet pitter-padder of the water.
It was Heaven.
But the quiet wasn’t as comforting as I imagined it. Sure, Clue had settled, and Shepard wasn’t shouting for me. Everything seemed okay.
But anyone could put a diaper on a baby—even I had learned how. Dressing one was a little harder. She tended to flop around a lot, and sneaking the shirt over her head could be tricky. But Shepard was a detective. He could deduce his way into a solution.