by Indra Vaughn
“Oh, Thomas.” And he wouldn’t let that happen. Of course he wouldn’t.
“But what do I know about caring for a baby, Ollie?” He looked so out of his depth that I wanted to hug him. “And even when she’s out after two months, she’ll be the one with every other weekend parenting time. I’d still have him eighty percent of the time. I don’t know what to do. I don’t have any family either, apart from my dad. And he might stop by every once in a while, but it’s not like he can babysit every time I go to work.”
“You’ll take him to day care. And you have me,” I said. “You have us, your friends. We’ll all help you.”
“But you’ve seen my place. It’s tiny! And definitely not babyproof. I have terrible, loud neighbors, and one with a scary dog. I can’t raise a child there. Oh my God. Oh my God, what am I going to do?” He set his beer down and covered his face. I rubbed his shoulders, the nape of his neck.
“You come live with me,” I said, even as I saw the glimpse of a possible future with him blink out. But that was irrelevant. It had been a blip. It could’ve been forgotten in no time. He had other, more important things on his mind now. “I have enough space, and you’ll be closer to work. You won’t be alone with a scary new baby, and my mom will want to help out too.”
Thomas stared at me with his big, brown, teddy-bear eyes. “Ollie, I can’t take you up on that.”
“Yes, you can. And you will. I’m lonely in this house, and it’s far too big for me. There’s plenty of room for both of us and a baby.”
His eyes were shining. “I’m so sorry. I really wanted—”
I gripped his hands and kissed his knuckles. “I know. And it’s fine. Maybe it’s for the best. Who knows? We might’ve ruined our friendship.”
“If a relationship didn’t do it, a screaming baby will.”
“Don’t be silly. I love babies.”
Oh my God, I did not love babies.
A week later Thomas stood on my doorstep, holding a tiny bundle of yellow fluffiness. Only within the fluffiness lay a creature with the lungs of Aretha Franklin. I heard him screaming before Thomas rang the doorbell, and we were unable to say hello as he wailed his unhappiness.
We’d moved in some of Thomas’s essentials the day after he received the “Surprise! You’re a dad!” news, and we’d agreed to leave the rest of his house until we’d given this thing a trial. I really did hope he’d stay. I hadn’t been lying when I said I was lonely.
I’d never really understood the difference. Alone and lonely had seemed like two lanes on the same road when I had Sam’s constant company, but I realized now they were different paths altogether. I didn’t mind being alone anymore. That was a transient state between one filled moment and the next. But loneliness was a presence, a hovering shadow that made my nights darker, my dreams restless, and my days a little empty.
“I thought you said you loved babies,” he told me, raising his voice to be heard. I was pretty sure his frightened-rabbit expression very much resembled mine.
“Uh, I love them in cute clothes as accessories in magazines?” I said, and that got a wan smile out of his tired face.
“Ohhhhh,” my mom cooed behind us. I gave Thomas a resigned look. She bustled down the hallway and fluttered her hands like a beauty queen near tears. “Where is he? Give him here.” She stretched her arms out. I’d never seen Thomas that relieved. He awkwardly passed the bundle on.
“I asked her to stay awhile,” I told him as my mom made embarrassing noises over the baby. He instantly stopped crying. “I hope that’s okay?”
“Okay?” Thomas said, shaking his head like he was trying to dislodge the echoes of the baby’s cries. “You’re brilliant.”
I opened my mouth to say something, caught sight of my mom, and closed it again. After a second I asked, “Are you crying?”
“No,” she sniffed. “Yes. Okay? I never thought I’d have grandbabies. Look how precious he is. What’s his name?”
“Mom, he’s not actually your grandb—” Thomas elbowed me, so I shut up.
“His name is Milo.”
“Oh, I love that. Will he have your last name?”
“Yes.” Thomas’s cheeks stained a dull red. “Liesbeth gave him my last name.”
Mom smiled. “Milo de Ridder. It’s so nice to meet you. I bet you’re hungry huh, little sweetheart?” Without missing a beat she took the diaper bag off Thomas and disappeared into the living room. Easy, like she’d done it all before.
“I love your mother,” Thomas whispered, and I laughed.
“Come on, let’s get you settled in. Then you should probably take a nap. You look like death. Do you have any more stuff in your car?”
“What do you think?”
“Okay, fine, let’s go get it.”
We dragged his bags into the house and listened, but the house was silent. I assumed that meant happy baby.
“I picked him up last night. I didn’t get any sleep at all. How do people do this?” He gave me a horrified look. “And more than once. Voluntarily.”
“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” I said soothingly and led him up the marble stairs. We’d given Milo the room at the end of the hallway to the left on the first floor. Mom would sleep in the room opposite, Thomas would have the room beside Milo’s, and my room was on the right side of the stairs. Farthest away from any crying, I thought, but had the grace not to mention it to anyone.
“I really appreciate this,” Thomas said when I showed him his room. “I don’t know how to repay you.”
“Don’t worry about it.” I dumped one of his bags on the bed. All the others had some kind of zoo animal on them, so I guessed they weren’t his.
His face crinkled. “But I do worry about it. I can’t accept this from you and not do anything in return.”
“Thomas, if the situation were reversed, would you leave me stranded?”
“No, of course not. But you’d insist on paying half the bills and groceries and whatever.”
I rolled my eyes and took a bag with a smiling giraffe off of him. “We can sort that out later.” He was gritting his teeth, so I offered him my sweetest smile. “Let’s wait until the bills come, and then decide. For now, relax and enjoy your baby, dude.” I froze in the hallway. “Oh my God, you have a baby.”
He still had that wide-eyed terrified appearance to him, but a slight, wondrous smile tugged at his mouth. “Yeah. I’m a dad.”
I laughed and dragged him toward Milo’s room. “Here, what do you think?” I threw open the door and stepped aside.
“Oh wow.”
My mother had found my small rocking crib in her garage, and she’d given it a good scrub. It was old but sturdy, and pretty in off-white with a fresh blue sheet. “She says it won’t last him much beyond six months. Less if he’s a big baby, but for now—”
“It’s perfect.” He looked around the rest of the room: the cleared dresser at waist height, perfect for diaper changes; the sea life decals I’d stuck to the walls to distract Milo from what I was sure would be unpleasant things to do with diaper cream. The newly made queen bed with soft linens. Mom had even found a comfortably cushioned rocking chair, goodness knew where.
“The bed’s in case you want to stay in this room,” I told him a little sheepishly. “I can imagine you won’t want to leave him alone all night at first.”
“No.” Thomas turned around, and I saw a flicker of that confidence I liked so much return in his gaze. He was a big guy, with broad shoulders and strong hands. I hated seeing him down. It was good to notice the real Thomas returning. All he said was, “Thank you,” and for some reason it made me want to jump his bones. Which, with my own baby crib in the room, was all kinds of wrong.
“All right.” Mom burst in, and we both startled. “Time for you two to do some bonding. Take off your shirt.”
“What?” I squeaked.
She tutted at me. “Not you. Thomas and Milo. Babies are very tactile, and he needs to learn the scent of his daddy. I ga
ve him a bottle and changed his diaper, and he’s about a second away from dozing off. So take off your shirt, lie down, and you can snuggle with your son.”
“Okay,” Thomas said, looking wide-eyed but determined. “But what if I fall asleep? Won’t I roll over and squash him?”
“You’ll sleep very lightly if you do doze off. If it makes you feel better, Oliver or I can keep you company.”
Thomas threw me a look I interpreted as “Please don’t leave me half-naked in a bedroom with your mom.”
I sighed, resigned, as Thomas unbuttoned his shirt. If having bad thoughts with a crib in the room was wrong, having vague boner-like feelings with a baby nearby would send me straight to hell.
“I’ll go get my laptop.”
I had no idea babies could snore. At first I thought it was Thomas, and I thought it was really endearing. Then I realized it was Milo, and just wanted to laugh. Milo made these tiny noises that ended with a little snort, and once I felt sure Thomas wasn’t about to open his eyes again, I looked my fill.
He’d unbuttoned his shirt but kept it on, and Milo had one side of it clutched in his little fist. The baby had a full, pouty mouth, pink like the pads on kitten paws, and he kept making small sucking motions like he was dreaming of his next drink.
“You and me both, dude,” I mumbled under my breath. I tried to concentrate on a work project I was setting up, I really did, but there was a hunk of a man in my guest bedroom, with his shirt half-off and a baby sleeping on his chest. My eyes crossed so often from the effort not to look away from my screen that I gave myself a headache.
Thomas’s hair hung over his forehead. One thick strand of it tickled his nose and lifted a little whenever he breathed out. My fingers itched, I wanted so badly to get up and move it aside for him.
A date . . . less than a week ago I’d nearly had a date with him. My breath caught in my chest. What do you think of that, huh, Sammy? A date with Thomas. Even if the whole thing had been cut short. I’d never thought it would come to that. Can you imagine us together, Sam? Weird, right?
My heart gave a little lurch, like it expected to jump back to life after lying dormant for so long. Thomas was hot as fuck, so no problem in that department, and I’d always really liked him. But wasn’t that a problem? We’d been friends for so long. Could I imagine being with him? Kissing him? Slipping that soft white shirt off his muscular arms and working my way along his pecs, the downy hair on his chest tickling my mouth as I— Oh God. I shifted in my seat. No problem there either.
But love? Could I do it? Was it even an option if I had to ask myself that question? I looked away when my eyes began to burn. How could I sit here in Sam’s house and feel that way about someone else?
He’d want you to, a little voice told me, but I shook it away as if it were a gossamer spiderweb. Behind me the sun crept past the window, the city noises dull through the triple glazing. So when the wail broke the silence, it was extra startling.
“Jesus!” Thomas went rigid in the bed, from fast asleep to three hundred percent awake in less than a second. I could see his frantic heartbeat thundering in his neck. I jumped up from the rocking chair, shoving my laptop aside, and lifted a crying Milo from his chest.
“It’s okay,” I said. “He’s okay, and so are you.”
Thomas blinked and sat up. “Well, that sent my blood pressure through the roof. How long did we sleep?”
“Close to two hours.” I looked at him. The bags under his eyes were even deeper than before. “Why don’t you grab another hour’s sleep? Mom and I can keep this little fella entertained, can’t we?” Oh God, what am I saying? I cradled Milo awkwardly, head so small it fit in one hand, rump in the other. I held him away from me like I was presenting Simba to his subjects in The Lion King.
“We’ll be—” with a really disturbing amount of noise, Milo filled his diaper, and just like that he stopped crying “—fine. Well, at least we know what woke him up. Was it all those onions Granny Louise fed you?” I held him even farther away from me, and Thomas laughed softly as he snuggled back into bed. “Yeah, laugh it up,” I said as I moved toward the door, because Granny Louise needed to do something about this pile of poop. “Tonight he’s all yours.” And with that sobering thought, I left him to it.
I found Mom heating a bottle in something I probably would’ve tried boiling eggs in.
“He has a present for you,” I said as I wrinkled my nose and held Milo out.
“Oh great, I’ll help you change his diaper and you can give him his bottle.”
“Me?” I gave her a horrified look and put Milo on my shoulder so he wouldn’t hear me putting his business out there. “But he pooped,” I whispered.
“Yes, babies do that. Come along.”
She’d cleared a corner of the table that stood at the other end of the living room. It used to function as our dining room, but I never used it anyway and had set up a changing station there. It was made out of two thick towels and a bunch of diapers and bottles and wipes.
“We should probably get him some better stuff.”
“This will do for now,” she said. “He has a better changing pad upstairs, and soon enough that’ll be the only one you need. All right, put him down.”
Milo had somehow managed to grab a lock of my hair and held on to it with the strength of a tiny ninja, so I counted it a win when I only lost half a dozen hairs. I glanced at my mother.
“Go on.”
I thought she could do with enjoying herself a little less, but pried the snap buttons of Milo’s onesie open. I didn’t realize how hard I was concentrating until he kicked out and caught me right on the chin. “Ow! Okay, buddy, I’m working as fast as I can. How about you do some talking and keep us entertained, huh? Can you say, ‘Hi, Uncle Ollie’?”
Beside me, Mom snorted and shoved me gently. “Get on with it, because he’s about two minutes away from a meltdown. He’s hungry.”
“How can you tell?” I managed to push the onesie up and started in on the diaper. Oh God. With as little contact as possible, I pried the Velcro loose.
“See those sucking motions he’s making? That means you’re running out of time fast.”
“Okay.” I folded the diaper down, looked, and made a weird berk noise. “Oh, that’s nasty. Milo, you’re going to have to have words with Granny Louise about those onions.”
“Aw.” My mother pressed her hands to her bosom. “You really think he’ll call me Granny?”
I shrugged. “Who knows? But seriously, Mom. The smell. Do something.” I was about to gag, and she finally took pity.
“Oh, step out of the way, but the next one is yours. You use the scented wipes for number twos, and you can use the others for number ones.”
I only then noticed the two different brands. “Why?”
“Because the unscented ones are better for the environment.”
“Milo’s mom thought of everything,” I said as my mother dealt with the diaper as if she did it every day. Maybe it was one of those skills that, once acquired, never went away.
I took the moment to look around my living room. Mom had pushed the coffee table against the wall, and on my soft rug lay a colorful little mat with two arches over it. Toys and plastic mirrors dangled down. A little bouncy chair sat beside it. There was a trunk of soft toys by the TV. On my table sat a basket with fresh onesies and other things I couldn’t identify. It didn’t look like Sam’s home anymore. I pressed my hand against the tightness in my chest and resisted the urge to sweep it all into a bag and return the house to its usual, tidy shape.
“Just because she has postpartum depression doesn’t mean that she doesn’t love her child, Oliver. It’s very serious, but she will get better, and she will want her child back.” She closed Milo’s onesie. “So you shouldn’t get too attached.” She lifted Milo and smiled at him. I didn’t think it was me we needed to worry about. “I bet you’re hungry, huh, little boo?”
On cue he started crying, and she handed him over t
o me. “Go sit. I’ll bring the bottle.”
“But—” I began, uselessly. She was already gone. “Well. It’s you and me and—” I glanced at the couch where a fat stuffed toy waited “—a yellow pig with a belly button.” Milo cried harder, and I awkwardly sat, trying to curl him up into my arms in the way I’d seen other people do with babies. The noise he made grated on my nerves. Like Thomas said, it was the kind of sound that made my blood pressure rise. I tried to keep calm and took a steadying breath. “Shush, little fella, you’re going to wake Daddy. Uh.” My eyeballs nearly fell out of my head when Milo began to nuzzle my shirt, right where my nipple was. “Dude. You’re not going to find anything there. No, that’s just wrong. Stop it.”
“Babies do that, Oliver. It’s instinct. Here’s his bottle. Now you make sure the nipple is always full of formula. If he swallows air, his tummy will hurt. When he’s halfway done, gently pry the bottle loose, put him over your shoulder, and pat his back until he burps. You might want to put this towel underneath first.”
“Okay. You hungry, little man?” He lifted his tiny fists and waved them around. I took that as enthusiastic agreement and put the bottle to his plump little lips. Immediately he latched on and began to suck. Gosh, his eyes were blue.
“See? Piece of cake,” Mom said, and she patted my shoulder. I squinted at her. Did she look a little misty-eyed?
“Hey, wait! Where are you going?” I asked as she began to move away.
“I’m going to take a nap,” she said, and left me all alone.
It was a good thing I remembered the towel, because he burped up what looked like half his bottle. “Aw.” I gently patted his back as he squirmed. “Are you going to go hungry now? Do you want some more?” I put him in the crook of my elbow again, folded up the towel, and tossed it as far away from me as I could, because holy crap, how could milk that had gone down a second ago already smell so sour?