by Dixon, Ruby
His lower lip sticks out and he looks as if he’s ready to cry. Then, he looks over at Vaza and puts his arms out.
Definitely starting to feel like a leper.
“Go,” I tell Vaza, before he can volunteer to stay. “But leave me one of your tunics. He likes your scent more than mine.”
4
GAIL
I hang out by the main fire that day, because it’s the best way to meet people. I hug both Harlow and Liz, who are thrilled to have their children back, and we catch up on what’s going on back at Croatoan—who had babies recently, who resonated again, how friends are doing, and where the kits are on their lessons with Ariana. I find myself chattering away even as Z’hren squirms and fusses in my arms. He’s got a strong personality already, my little man, and it’d be cute if his dislike wasn’t directed at me.
I meet several of the new girls, too, and almost to a one, they’re all young and inexperienced with living in the rougher conditions of this world, so I feel I can help out there. I listen politely as a young lady named Devi chatters my ear off about meteorological weather patterns shaping the ecology here while a very pregnant woman named Angie sits across the fire and pokes at it forlornly. There are some interesting dynamics in this new tribe, especially given that most of the women are not mated. I notice that whenever a group passes through camp, they stop by the fire to talk to some of the girls. I also notice that Angie has a lot of attention from the two stern-looking red aliens, which is odd. She’s pregnant, but it’s obvious the daddy didn’t get stranded with her, so there’s a story there. I don’t ask, though. I’m still a stranger. Instead, I listen to Bridget complain about how everyone mispronounces her name, chat with Brooke when she sits down, and watch as Harlow tries to instruct Hannah and Penny on how to clean a dvisti hide that’s stretched out on a frame.
Life goes on around us. Despite the fact that there are a lot of new faces here and new aliens, the energy feels very similar to back at Croatoan. There’s a spirit of helpfulness, of working together, and I love that. This is a community, for all that there are sly glances between men and women and a current of sexual tension that can’t be ignored.
And there’s the beach, which is a nice change of pace from the high-walled canyon the Croatoan huts are tucked into. Here, there’s fresh air and an ocean breeze, and if the ocean’s a little creepy, that’s all right. I don’t plan on swimming. I just like the view. I like the rocky cliffs that remind me of pictures I once saw of Dover. I like how it’s bleak but open, and most of all, I like that the weather here is milder, the snow less blanketing. It’s like this little beach cove is isolated from all of the snowstorms that pound the rest of the land.
This is a good place to raise a family.
My day is full of baby-wrangling, and the hours pass before I know it. Taking care of Z’hren reminds me of when my little Calvin had his endless ear infections as a baby. He was constantly fussy and miserable. He didn’t want to be held, but didn’t want to be put down, either. Everything made him angry, and his wailing and misery followed me constantly. Z’hren is like that, and I can’t make him happy. Like Calvin, I know it takes time and patience, but when I see a few sympathetic looks sent my way, I wish that for just five minutes, Z’hren liked me. That he’d quiet down and see how much I love him and want to care for him.
No such luck.
Liz and the girls she’s teaching show up at the fire in the afternoon and they chop vegetables and meat to make stew in one of the industrial-sized pouches that serve as cookpots in this place. Raashel helps her mother, and Aayla, well, Aayla gnaws on a vegetable before tossing it into the pile with the others. One of the new girls, Tia, looks appalled, but anyone that’s had a baby knows that a little slobber never hurt anything. I take one of the peeled roots and offer it to Z’hren to chew on. Maybe he’s teething and that’s why he’s so miserable all the time.
He takes the root and looks at me, big eyes blinking, and my heart swells with love.
“Hi there,” I whisper to him, and I can’t stop smiling.
He waves the root in the air, and then his little face breaks into a smile, and I feel pure joy. He’s starting to like me. He—
“Hey,” Lauren says, coming up from behind. “How’s Z’hren behaving?”
As I watch, the baby’s gaze follows her and my heart sinks again. That smile wasn’t for me. It was for Lauren. Even now, he reaches for her. She just takes his little fist and gives it a jiggle, smiling at him.
“It’s been a day,” I admit, letting my inflection show it hasn’t been a great one. “But we’re getting there. Is he teething?”
“Teething? Oh, I don’t think so? Not yet?” She shrugs and thumps down onto the seat next to me, sweaty and tired. “Boy. I had no idea hunting was so hard. You want me to take him for a bit?”
“No, I’m okay,” I tell her, and shift Z’hren on my lap. “Vaza with you?”
“He’s showing K’thar how to bleed out the kill. They wanted me to sit down and rest for a bit.” She makes a face. “I keep forgetting that I’m pregnant, so whenever I get tired, I get really tired, and K’thar panics.” She yawns. “The two of them don’t understand that humans don’t normally tromp through snow and hunt our food, so of course we’re tired. The only thing I’ve ever hunted is a sale at the grocery store.”
Across the fire, someone chuckles in agreement and Lauren flashes a smile in their direction.
Z’hren gnaws on the root, watching Lauren, and I feel a pang of worry. He’s clearly attached to her and doesn’t like me. Maybe this is a mistake. No matter how much I love him, how can I take him away from Lauren and K’thar? If he was mine, I’d never give him up.
“Is this okay?” I ask her softly, because I have to know.
She straightens and blinks at me. “You taking Z’hren? Of course it’s okay. We were the ones that suggested it.”
“I know. I can tell you love him, though.” And he loves her more than he loves me.
Lauren smiles and reaches out to touch one waving fist. “He’s impossible not to love. I’m not sure I’m entirely ready for two babies just yet. K’thar and I are still new, this planet is new, and…” She spreads her hands. “Everything is new. I want a chance to settle in to my relationship and the thought of being a mother. It sounds selfish, I know.”
“It’s not,” I tell her with a smile. “I would never think you’re selfish. Not after what you’ve done for me and Vaza.” And I hug Z’hren a little tighter, even though he fusses.
She smiles at me. “I just think he deserves to be the light of someone’s world.”
He will be. “Vaza and I are going to stay here, just so you know. We think Z’hren should be raised around his people. It’s only fair.”
“That sounds wonderful.” And her happy expression is genuine. “I’m glad you two are going to be his parents.”
“I didn’t realize how much I wanted it until it was offered,” I admit. “Then I couldn’t stop thinking about it.” When Z’hren makes an angry sound, I can’t help but ask. “Is he this cranky to everyone?”
“He’s not a big fan of strangers,” Lauren admits. “I think too much has been changing on him all at once. He’s had to deal with a lot of adjustments in a short period of time.”
“My poor baby,” I murmur, smoothing his hair back from his little horns. “You have, haven’t you?” I realize the girls on this beach aren’t the only one with their lives upside down lately. Little Z’hren has lost his mama and changed hands, changed homes, changed climates, and I suspect even his diet is different. No wonder he’s cranky. His head’s probably spinning.
What he needs is stability. It’s what all babies need. And Vaza and I can give that to him, I vow. Nothing’s more important than Z’hren’s comfort right now. If that means he has to scream in my face every day and every night, then that’s all right.
I lean in and give his sweet forehead a kiss, and I don’t even mind when he pulls away.
Much.
* * *
Of course, it’s easy to say that you can be patient and kind and understanding when the child in your arms is quiet. It’s much harder when, day after day, the child keeps fussing and hating you.
I rock Z’hren to sleep and sing him songs. I play with him on his blankets and make sure he gets plenty of food and naps and his leather-clad bottom is never dirty for longer than a moment. I shower love on him and I let him yell in my face, pull my short hair, and fuss for as long as he needs to. He has a comfy basket at the foot of the bed I share with Vaza, and we finally have a tent of our own set up, nestled amongst the other tents of the Strong Arm clan. They’ve made us feel welcome and included, and everyone seems happy that we’ve taken on the role of parenting Z’hren.
Z’hren loves his tribe, too. He coos happily at the sight of N’dek, who spends most of his days by the fire. He plays with J’shel’s long, gleaming black braid and always has smiles for Lauren and K’thar. He even loves K’thar’s weird little bird pet that sits on his shoulder and shivers in a stiff breeze. The silly thing wears a little fur jacket that Lauren made for him and squawks unpleasantly throughout the day. It also seems to love Z’hren, playing at times in a way like a puppy would with a baby.
And of course Z’hren loves Vaza. He lights up every time my mate picks him up. Vaza’s a great daddy, too. He wakes up in the middle of the night when Z’hren’s fussing and changes him or rocks him without a complaint. He hunts down eggs when we find that snowcat makes Z’hren’s tummy upset. I couldn’t ask for a better partner.
Which is why when I have a meltdown in the middle of the night, I feel like a jerk.
5
GAIL
Z’hren wakes up—as he always does—shortly after Vaza and I go to sleep. He wails, and I pat Vaza’s arm.
“I’ll get him,” I murmur. “You go back to sleep.”
Vaza just grunts and rolls over.
I cross the tent in the middle of the night and pick up Z’hren, clucking at him. “Now, now,” I murmur, hefting him in my arms. He’s a big baby, being fully sa-khui—or sakh, or whatever the island people call themselves. I make a mental note to ask K’thar tomorrow.
Z’hren hiccups, then wails in my face. One little fist smacks into my mouth with surprising force, and my lip splits, bleeding down my chin.
“Shit.” I juggle the screaming baby in my arms, mindful of the fact that it’s an encampment and when he wakes up, he wakes up everyone. Tonight he’s in no mood to be quiet, his voice thunderous with displeasure. I change his furry nappy, swiping at my bleeding, throbbing lip as I do so. “It’s all right, little man. Let’s not cry, okay?” I murmur, my voice singsong and low like a lullaby. “Let’s get you changed and fed and back to sleep, all right?”
He continues screaming, heedless of my words, and flails his little arms furiously.
I pick him up and offer him a snack, which he flings away. I grab one of his favorite roots to gnaw on and hand it to him. It’s peeled and ready to go, but he doesn’t want it, either. He just wants to cry. I’m so frustrated and tired and defeated that I feel a moment of utter despair.
Vaza gets out of bed, stumbling over to my side. “Let me help, my Shail, before he wakes the entire camp.”
“I can do it,” I tell him, frustrated, but he takes the baby from my arms despite my protests.
Z’hren hiccups, coughs, and then his crying settles down into nothing as Vaza tucks him under his chin and strokes his back.
It hurts. My lip hurts and my heart hurts and I feel like a monster for a baby to hate me so much for no reason at all. I’m tired and miserable and a baby’s been screaming in my face for the past week, and my nerves are shot. I burst into tears, burying my face in my hands and weeping.
“Shail?” Vaza murmurs, astonished. In all the months we’ve been together, I’ve never wept like this. Weeping when leaving behind Kate and Summer is different than sobbing out my misery.
But I’m just so…sad. I want this more than anything. I love Z’hren already, and seeing his little face makes my heart light up. I want to be his mama.
He just doesn’t want me, and that is utterly crushing.
“I just need a minute,” I tell him, trying to compose myself and failing. I’m tired, I’m sad, and most of all, my heart hurts. I haven’t done anything to make an infant hate me, but for some reason, he can’t get it into his head that I want nothing more than to love him and take care of him. Instead, he screams like I’m killing him every time I approach.
“What is wrong?” Vaza sounds so worried, even as he jiggles the baby, trying to calm his crying. It’s a whole tent full of wailing tonight, it seems, and that just makes me feel even worse. I want to help take care of Z’hren, but I don’t dare try because if he screams any louder, he’s going to wake the entire encampment, not just the Strong Arm clan who is set up nearby. “Shail, speak to me. Tell me why you cry.”
“I’m t-tired,” I manage, even as Z’hren hiccups and tugs on Vaza’s long, gray-streaked hair. “I’m tired and my baby hates me.”
Vaza reaches down and caresses my head as if I’m a child, and I lean against his big leg, utterly defeated. “He is just a kit, my beautiful one,” he murmurs. “He will soon realize who loves him and who is always there to pick him up. Do not let it hurt your heart.”
“Easy for you to say.” I swipe at my eyes. “He doesn’t hate the sight of you.”
“Because I smell familiar and I look familiar. I am big and horned. You, my pretty one, are small and human he does not know what to think of that.” Vaza tweaks my ear. “It will be all right, my heart. Be patient.”
I know he’s right. I know it. But my heart just hurts. I never thought of myself as a bad mama. Heck, if anything’s defined me, it’s loving and caring for others. Even when I didn’t have a child at home, I still nurtured—coworkers, friends, anyone that crossed my path would be coddled by Mama Gail. Since landing here, I’ve held and comforted so many babies, pressing kisses to their faces and rocking them for hours on end while their mamas were busy. I love children.
I especially love Z’hren, but the feeling isn’t mutual. “It’s not fair,” I manage, and then grimace in the darkness because I sound like I’m whining. Heck, I know I’m whining. I can’t help it, though. I look up at Vaza and see through the faint glow of his eyes—and Z’hren’s—that the baby’s cuddled against him, relaxed as if Vaza has always been his father.
It’s so unfair.
“He will come around,” my man reassures me. “You told me before of your Cal-fin. Did he never fuss as a kit?”
“Calvin?” I snort through my tears, aching at the memory of my sweet boy and his smile. “Are you kidding? He was the crankiest child ever. There wasn’t a bug going around that he wouldn’t catch, and he would just get so damn angry at the world.” I think of my baby boy from so many years ago, remembering the feel of him in my arms as if it were yesterday. “If it wasn’t colic, it was an ear infection, or sinuses, or some other nonsense.”
“And was he easily comforted?” Vaza asks, his hand caressing my cheek before he lifts it, and in the next moment I hear the low thump of his hand on the baby’s back as Z’hren starts to fuss again.
“Easily comforted? My Calvin? Hell no.” I shake my head, remembering. “The only thing that ever made him stop fussing when he felt bad was the boob. Sometimes he’d just nurse for hours, not really drinking but just needing the comfort…”
My words die away.
I blink.
I’m an idiot. “Oh my lord. Smack my head and call me a fool, Vaza.” I jump to my feet, excited. Of course.
I’d forgotten all about nursing and skin to skin contact. I’d forgotten that nothing made Calvin settle quicker than putting him to my breast and letting him soothe himself to sleep with some suckling. Z’hren is mine, but I haven’t been treating him like he’s truly mine. There are no bottles here, and Z’hren’s still young enough that I imagine he remembers what it’s li
ke to nurse.
“I…do not wish to do that?” Vaza says, clearly bewildered. “Why would I hit your head and call you names? I adore you—”
“It’s an expression,” I tell him quickly, and take the baby from his arms. “I’ve just been distracted, that’s all. I know what he needs.” And when Z’hren immediately starts to fuss, I open the front of my tunic, exposing one small breast, and slide him into nursing position.
I don’t put him right up against my breast—I want to see if he reaches for me, or if I’m crazy. I don’t have any milk, but maybe, just maybe, this’ll be enough to comfort him.
My heart flips over in my chest when he immediately nuzzles against my skin, seeking out my nipple. He latches on a moment later and I can feel his tiny mouth working, trying to drink. New tears come to my eyes and I stroke his cheek as memories flood through my mind, of holding Calvin like this and just feeling so at peace with my baby at my breast.
Z’hren whimpers, tugging at my nipple in frustration when no milk comes out.
“Shh, little man,” I murmur, gently stroking his hair. I suspect he’s not really all that hungry. He just wants to be held. He wants comforting.
He wants his mama.
He latches on again, trying hard, and Vaza watches quietly, kneeling next to me. His hand brushes over my arm, as if he wants to be part of the circle. I smile at him, wanting to touch him but needing both hands to hold Z’hren, who’s heavier than any human baby. Within a minute, maybe two, he settles down, his sucking slowing down and his breathing evening out. He’s back to sleep, and my heart is full.
“He wants to nurse,” I murmur to Vaza. “But I don’t have any milk.”
“Go to the healer in the morning,” he tells me, all confidence. “She will be able to help.”
“Are you sure?”
In the dim light, he shrugs. “What can it hurt to ask?”