First Came Baby

by Kris Fletcher

  Though in fairness, this wasn’t the kind of me time she had longed for. Because other than the hours of labor, when the world had shrunk down to just her and her body and the midwife’s voice, she had never felt so alone in her life as she did in this waiting room.

  This is wrong.

  The words kept sliding through her awareness. They’d been filling her head for days now, every time she thought of this meeting to start the divorce. Look at the calendar—note the date approaching—be filled with dread. Look in the closet—try to figure out what to wear to the appointment—close the door fast. Look at Boone—listen to him telling Jamie about alpacas—imagine that voice on the phone, interrupting this appointment, telling her to stop. Telling her he’d changed his mind about the divorce. Telling her to come home to him and their son.

  This is wrong.

  She grabbed the folder with the paperwork she’d prepared, double-checking with unsteady hands. Marriage license. Birth certificates. Financial disclosures. Preliminary separation agreement.

  Everything was there. Everything was organized and prepared and checked off the handy-dandy list provided by the lawyer.

  It was too easy. Divorce shouldn’t be this easy. A few discussions, some signatures scrawled on papers and then just a matter of time?

  There should be more...well, she didn’t know what. She didn’t want this to be a long, antagonistic procedure, not for her or for anyone. It was good that she and Boone were being so practical and cooperative. It was very good that uncontested divorces were possible, that no one had to be blamed or smeared or turned into a scapegoat. She and Boone had decades of coparenting ahead of them. This was sensible and smart and exactly what she had known would happen from the minute he had said, “We could get married,” and then added, “Temporarily, of course.”

  She had known this wasn’t a forever thing right from the start. She had sworn up and down that she was good with this, that it made sense, that it was an excellent stopgap measure. This had been for Nana.

  There was no need to feel like she had lost something precious—and yet she did.

  This is so, so wrong.

  She returned to her phone. Pulled up the pictures again, this time truly registering another change in them. They went from all Jamie a month ago, to Jamie and Daddy two weeks ago, to equal parts Jamie, Jamie and Daddy, and Boone. Solo Boone.

  When she’d first started snapping those Boone-alone pics she had told herself they were for Jamie. He needed to see his father as an independent person, not just as the dude with the goofy smile who was always holding his kid.

  Yeah. Because Jamie really needed to see this shot of Boone frowning at whatever he was cooking on the stove. Or this picture of him alone on the porch, hands in pockets, silhouetted against the sunset.

  Or this one of a shirtless, muscled Boone hammering up a sweat in the upstairs bathroom.

  There in the waiting room, surrounded by fake greenery and muted telephones, she looked the photos and herself in the eye and gave in to the truth.

  She wanted Boone to change his mind. From the moment he had walked off the plane, she’d been waiting for him to drop everything, pull her into his arms and announce that he had been an idiot to leave. And if he were to follow it up with a promise that he would never leave again, at least not for longer than a couple of weeks, she would be ecstatic.

  Not for Jamie. Rather, not just for Jamie.

  For her.

  Because somewhere in the past—weeks? months?—she had fallen in love with her husband.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  BOONE WAS READY to sell his soul for functional breasts.

  He’d spent the last half hour walking the floor with Jamie, who had made it abundantly clear that he had as much interest in the bottle as he would have in, say, pizza, or beer, or anything that wasn’t attached to Kate. Boone had promised himself he wouldn’t cave at the first sign of distress. Kate had put on a brave face, but he’d known she was nervous enough about leaving as it was. However, they were rapidly approaching the forty-five-minute sobbing limit he had set for himself when the first tears had appeared.

  If he’d known it would go on this long, he would have set that deadline a lot lower.

  “Come on, kiddo. You’re fine, really. Stop chewing your hand, bud, you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

  Jamie’s response was to look up at him, blink, and crumple once again.

  Singing. Singing had worked last time. The thing was, thirty-plus minutes of howling had driven every tune Boone knew out of his head. He tried to remember the songs he’d heard Kate crooning as she went about her day, but other than wheels and buses and bunnies, he was lost.

  “Maybe something by someone who knows their stuff?” He jiggled Jamie over to his laptop, did a one-handed navigation to YouTube, and clicked on the first playlist that came up. It wasn’t until he heard the repeated doorbells that he realized he was entertaining his son with the soundtrack from The Book of Mormon.

  Oh, that was Father of the Year material, for sure.

  Except—it seemed to be working. The sobbing didn’t exactly stop, but it did dial down a bit. Only for the first song, though. Once the doorbells of the “Hello” song stopped, Jamie’s lip started quivering again.

  “Whoa whoa whoa, buddy. Hang on. You want the bells again?”

  Back to the first song. Back to the chimes.

  Back to a semihappy kid.

  Jamie shoved his fist in his mouth and chewed again, but the most pitiful cries had stopped. As long as Boone kept a solid loop of the doorbell song playing, life was grand.

  “That’s it, buddy. We’re getting this. You’re doing great, aren’t you? You want to try the bottle aga—whoa, whoa, no, don’t cry. I’ll take it away.”

  He moved the bottle out of sight, then stopped as a crazy idea came to him.

  Two shakes of the bottle, and there were a few drops of milk on his thumb. He brushed it over Jamie’s lips.

  “Maybe you need to taste skin, too, huh, Jamie? You have a refined palate that can’t be fooled by—”

  One little mouth fastened around his thumb. One little human vacuum cleaner switched on.

  “Holy—good God, kid. And your mother has that attached to her...”

  But Jamie had figured out that he was being fooled. And he was far from happy about it.

  Things couldn’t possibly get worse, so Boone slipped the bottle into the open and protesting mouth. Maybe it was because there was milk on the nipple already. Maybe it was because the doorbells were still chiming in the background. Maybe it was because Jamie had finally decided that something was better than nothing. But this time, he began to suck. Just a couple of times at first, punctuated with enough stops and sobs to convey the message that he was seriously pissed off about this development, but he drank.

  The relief that washed through Boone left him looking for a place to sit, fast. He lowered the two of them into a kitchen chair, adjusted his grip around Jamie’s stomach and kissed the top of his son’s head.

  “That’s my boy,” he said softly. “That’s my Jamie.”

  Jamie grunted but continued eating.

  “Okay, kiddo. That’s the end of the song. Shh, I’m gonna start it again, don’t worry. You’re not watching the screen, are you? Mind if I check my email?”

  Receiving no protests, Boone carried on.

  “Let’s see. We have some ads for real estate investment. Yeah, their marketing department needs to work on refining their search skills, don’t they? Something from Jill—oh, it’s just more stuff about Fashion Week. Okay. And what’s this?” His pulse jumped a notch. “Hang on. I applied for a consulting job with these folks. That was... Oh.”

  Thank you for your interest in our organization. Unfortunately, at this point we are unable to...

  He closed his email, just stopping himself in
time before he accidentally ended the music, as well.

  “That’s the third one this week, Jamie. I’m not even getting interviews.”

  Like you seriously expected anything different?

  He knew there were other jobs out there, that he could surely find something to boost his pitiful income. He had years of experience helping mold Project Sonqo into the established organization it was. There had to be other groups, other charities that would be willing to pay for some of that expertise.

  But logic was having a hard time making itself heard over the steady drumbeat of not helping, not helping, not helping that was even louder than Jamie’s cries.

  * * *

  KATE WAS DRIVING home in a slight daze when she realized she had made the mistake of going too long without something to drink. It hit the way it always did, in the form of a wall of fatigue. Luckily for her, she figured it out when she was just a couple of blocks from Bits and Pizzas.

  Five minutes later she walked through the door, waved to Allie and Nadine behind the counter and headed straight for the cooler.

  “Oh, wow,” she said after draining half a bottle of water in one never-ending swallow. “That was seriously overdue.”

  “Someday you’re going to listen to me and set an alarm on your phone to remind you to drink every hour.” Allie’s tone was that potent mix of exasperation and ridicule that only sisters could pull off.

  Kate wanted to protest but figured it would be a waste of breath, what with the way she was going through more water than Sea World.

  “Where’s the cutest little guy in the whole world?” Nadine asked.

  “Home with his dad.”

  Nadine crossed her arms. “So it really wasn’t a virgin birth?”

  “Seriously, Nadine?” Allie grabbed more water and a ginger ale from the cooler. “Come on, Kate. Let’s hang out in my office for a minute.”

  “I don’t want to drag you from—”

  Allie rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. It’s the middle of the afternoon, there’s three people here, and Nadine knows how to yell if she needs me. Right, Nadine?”

  “I don’t know, Allie. You might be setting the bar too high.”

  “Also, if anyone did give Nadine trouble, she would sass them into submission while waiting for help.” Allie pushed the drinks at Kate. “You want a slice?”

  “No thanks, I’m—”

  “Nadine, could you please bring us a couple of slices of the house special?”

  “Sure thing. But it’ll cost you an extra hug from Jamie next time he’s here.”

  “Deal,” Allie said, while Kate listened with astonishment.

  “Did you really just use my baby’s affections as a bargaining chip?”

  “Damn straight,” Allie replied with cheer while pushing Kate toward the back rooms. “So, is this your first time leaving the munchkin with Boone?”

  “Yep.”

  “And your first outing is to my place? I’m honored.”

  Kate was on the verge of telling her the truth—Well, I actually went to the lawyer, but then I figured out I was in love with Boone. So even though I kept the appointment because I was already there and I have to talk to Boone about it all and everything is a mess, it might have been a colossal waste of money—then decided she couldn’t do it. Not yet. For one thing, it was all too fresh and new. For another, Allie worried enough already. There was no need to give her more reason to fret and fuss.

  “That’s right. You were the chosen destination.” She waited for a beat while Nadine scuttled in with slices on plates, set them on the battered metal desk and saluted Allie on her way out. “So. You and Cash. Have you told him about our plan?”

  “I have.”

  “And?”

  “He’s disappointed, but he understands.”

  “Well, yeah. You’re awesome. Who wouldn’t want to have you around nonstop?”

  Allie blew her a kiss. “He likes the thought of me being with you, though. Said something about that working to his advantage.”

  “What did he mean by that?”

  “I’m not sure. I asked him, but he just laughed and then...um...” Allie raised her eyebrows, Little Miss Innocent. “He got distracted.”

  Distracted. That seemed like the word of the day. Because Kate was certainly incapable of focus. Well, on anything except going home and putting Jamie down for a nap and getting a little distracted herself.

  Because her whole reason for keeping things platonic with Boone was to stop herself from falling for him, but she had done that anyway. So what was the point of continuing to deny herself?

  “Oh, and you can’t change your mind now, because I broke the news that I wouldn’t be renewing the lease. Shattered my poor landlady’s heart.”

  Kate had been trying to protect her heart. But now, everything that lay ahead—Boone’s departure, the divorce he probably still wanted, his insistence that he wasn’t made for a real family—pointed to a guaranteed broken heart in the very near future.

  “I’ve even done some packing. Some stuff is going to Cash’s, but can I start moving things into your place?”

  And since she was already in love...and since she was going to get hurt, no matter what...what, precisely, was the point of separate bedrooms?

  “Absolutely.” She picked up her pizza, already anticipating the pleasure that awaited her. “I’d say it’s definitely time to get moving.”

  * * *

  KATE KEPT QUIET about her change of heart for the rest of the day. Very, very quiet. The last thing she wanted was to tell Boone she’d changed her mind, only to decide that making love would be a mistake after all.

  Well, actually, the last thing she wanted was to have to wait until nighttime before she jumped him. But leading him on was a close second.

  She decided to use the interminable hours to make sure of her decision. It didn’t take long. Any doubts were swept away in the late afternoon, when she left Boone in charge for a few minutes. When she returned, she found him balancing Jamie in one arm, while with the other hand he “helped” Jamie hammer in a nail.

  “That’s it,” Boone said. “You’ve got it. Soon you’ll be fixing things all by yourself.”

  Neither of them had any idea that she was watching, so she let herself soak up the sight while she could. In those moments, two things became very clear to her. The first was that she didn’t think it was humanly possible to love anyone more than she loved the two of them.

  The second was that Boone was lying.

  Oh, not deliberately. She had no doubt that his past had led to all kinds of reasons he feared parenthood. But after spending years watching teachers and parents interact with children, she could spot a natural with no problem. Boone had it. No one could go from being afraid to touch their child to this moment—in this short a time—without having that solid core of caring and comprehension of what kids needed. Boone had all the instincts to become an excellent father. He just had to believe in himself.

  Easier said than done, she knew.

  But once she had reaffirmed that she truly loved him, the rest of the equation was a no-brainer. If she had only a few weeks to be the family she wanted to be, then she wasn’t wasting another night.

  The one decision that remained was to figure out how to get things going.

  An hour later, paintbrush in hand, she debated. She could take the direct approach: put Jamie down for the night, walk up to Boone, and say, “Hey sailor, want to have a good time?” There was a certain simplicity that appealed to her.

  But while her body was all for anything that would reduce the distance between upright and horizontal as fast as was humanly possible, her heart resisted. In many ways this would be their first time. She wanted it to be memorable, filled with as much wonder and laughter as their initial close encounter of the awesome kind.

 
The answer came to her as they finished dinner.

  “I think I got more paint on me than on the walls today,” she said, as casually as she could manage. “How about if you give Jamie his bath while I grab a shower?”

  First hint, delivered. She knew it had hit home by the way he glanced toward her and then dragged his gaze away, so slowly and forcefully that she knew he was imagining her beneath the water, the same way she pictured him in the clanking upstairs shower. Slick skin and firm muscles and a whole lot of soaping going on.

  “Sure,” he said, but she heard the thread of need in his voice and grinned. Only to herself, of course.

  She made a fast lunge around her room before she hit the shower, gathering a bucket of bath supplies which she carried out to the kitchen.

  “Here you go,” she said. “You guys have fun.”

  Boone kept his eyes steadily on Jamie as he said, “You, too.”

  “Oh, I will.” She sighed. “It’s been months since I was able to have a shower without worrying about someone waking up or crying in his crib. I intend to take full advantage of it. There are parts of me that haven’t seen a loofah since I don’t know when.”

  Was it wrong to revel in the way he closed his eyes and breathed in, sharp and fast?

  She sashayed out of the kitchen and made a beeline to her bedroom and the tiny en suite bathroom, where she immediately stripped and jumped in. She hadn’t been kidding about the paint. More than that, she wanted every bit of skin to glow, to smell the way it had that first night—not like powder and spit-up, but like primrose and promises.

  Thoroughly scrubbed, she turned her attention to her nails. The purple streak might be long gone from her hair, but she could still rock the Electric Violet polish on her toes. She left the water running as she worked, sending a mental apology to every drought-stricken part of the world.

  “Just this once,” she whispered. “Just so he has longer to imagine me in there and get truly desperate.”

  Toes properly pimped out, her next task was her hair. It was, alas, too short now to pull off the cinnamon-bun effect. But she could still fancy it up. The rhythm of a French braid came back to her fingers quickly.