by Anna Martin
I was reluctant—to say the least—to hand over my baby, but he’d been on my shoulder for the past five hours, and if nothing else, I needed to pee.
Zane carefully took Harrison, who immediately started to wail, and started the bounce-and-shush method that hadn’t been working for me for most of the day.
“Go on,” he said to me. “I’ll watch him for a bit.”
“Are you sure? You really don’t have to.”
“You look dead on your feet, Ellis,” he said, rubbing soothing circles over Harrison’s back. “Go catch a couple hours. I’ll keep hold of him.”
I nodded. “Thank you.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Feeling like a zombie, I walked through to the bathroom, splashed some water on my face, then stripped down to my underwear. I could vaguely hear Zane singing softly from the living room, but my brain didn’t want to tune in to that. I crawled into bed, threw the blankets over my back, and fell asleep on an exhale.
Sometime later, there was no way of knowing how long, the bed shifted and Zane crawled in beside me.
“Hmm?”
“He’s asleep,” Zane whispered. “Has been for about thirty minutes, so I put him back in the crib.”
“Monitor….”
“It’s on your nightstand. Go back to sleep. I’ll wake up if he does.”
I pulled him back so I could curl around his spine in a protective embrace, then followed his advice and slept.
By morning I was feeling a little more alive and like the worst father in existence. Zane wasn’t in bed with me, so I could add “terrible boyfriend” to the list of things to feel like shit about. I rolled out of bed and rubbed my hands over my face, the three days’ growth of beard itching my chin. Then I pulled on pajama pants and went about searching for my boys.
Zane was in the kitchen, feeding mashed banana mixed with what looked like yogurt to my son, who was sitting in his high chair.
“Good morning.”
“Morning,” I said, and then I tried the word again once I’d cleared the fuzz from my throat.
“He seems a lot better,” Zane said, aiming another spoonful of banana at Harrison’s face. He got at least half of it in his mouth, and I was silently impressed.
“Yeah?”
“Mhmm. There’s coffee in the pot.”
I blinked, and it slammed right into my chest: I was in love. Not in the same way I’d told Naema the first time I’d met Zane, but real love. My heart stuttered, skipped a beat, then resumed a slightly quicker tempo.
“Ellis? Coffee?”
“Hm? Oh. Yeah. You want some?”
“Please.”
I made a mug for myself and topped up his, then stood just behind Zane’s shoulder. Harrison was wearing a “Look, Daddy, I’m being good” expression that I didn’t trust in the slightest. I kissed Zane’s hair.
“Thank you for last night,” I murmured. “And this morning.”
“It’s nothing.”
“No,” I corrected him. “It’s everything.”
He looked up at me over his shoulder and smiled. The spoon full of Harrison’s breakfast was suspended in midair, and my baby leaned forward, mouth open, trying to encourage it into his mouth. Clearly annoyed that Zane had interrupted any attempts at feeding him, he let out an indignant shriek.
“Sorry, little dude,” Zane said, directing the spoon back.
“He’s eating.”
“Yes.”
“What is he eating?”
“Mashed banana, a tiny little bit of applesauce, Greek yogurt, and some grated nutmeg.”
“Can he eat grated nutmeg?”
“Mhmm. It’s good. You wanna try some?”
I stuck my pinkie finger in the dish and swiped up a bit of the banana yogurt. I could barely taste the spice. It was just enough to stop it being bland.
“Not bad,” I said.
“If I make it for myself I put granola in it.”
“He’s definitely too young for granola.”
“I know, Ellis,” Zane said gently. “That’s why I didn’t put any in.”
“Oh.”
“I owe you a lot, it seems,” I said, abandoning my coffee and leaning down to press slack-mouthed kisses to his neck. Zane arched into the sensation.
“All done,” he said, holding the empty bowl up for Harrison’s inspection.
My son clapped. I fell in love again.
I decided to take Harrison to the doctor anyway, just to get him checked out, even though I was pretty sure whatever it was had passed. I knew that nights like the one I’d had were the reason why two parents were usually involved in the raising of a child. I couldn’t be sure, of course, but my stress and exhaustion were probably affecting Harrison’s ability to calm down and sleep.
We dropped Zane off at his apartment on the way to the clinic, even though it wasn’t on the way at all. He promised to come back as soon as he could, for dinner, maybe, after he’d slept the afternoon away.
The good old parental guilt was kicking in pretty hard, mixing with the bone-deep gratefulness for what Zane had done for us both. He was an extraordinary man; with every day that passed I became a little more sure of that.
There wasn’t much of a wait at the clinic, and I got in to see Azriel too. He had only been a fully qualified doctor for a year or so. His degree in medicine had taken a lot longer to complete than any of the rest of our group’s artistic endeavors. He’d joined us by way of Lupe, his older sister of four and a half minutes, lest anyone forget her dominance. Sometimes it seemed everyone was connected by either family or relationship—some relationships more fleeting than others. Generally, if we weren’t related, we’d slept with at least one other person in our social circle. Sometimes the incestuous vibes were weird.
I’d always gotten along with Az; he was so chill it was hard not to. For his shift at the clinic he’d decided to wear jeans with a rip in the knee, his dreads tied back with a piece of dirty string, and a T-shirt with a picture of an upside-down lizard, bearing the slogan “Coma Chameleon.”
He greeted me with a hug and a leer. “So, you’re fucking Zane? Congrats, dude. I heard he’s a hard guy to pin down.”
“So, my son’s sick,” I said, trying to bring him down to my level of gravitas.
“Mhmm,” Az hummed. Harrison was in the process of trying to rip my hair out, so I didn’t really blame Az for not taking me seriously. “Let’s have a look at him, then. What’s wrong?”
“I couldn’t get him to sleep last night,” I said. “He was screaming and fussy and hot but not feverish.”
Az got me to sit down on the bed with Harrison on my lap as he quickly went through his vitals.
“Is he eating okay?”
“He is now.”
“Cool. Lift his shirt up for me?”
I’d always wondered if doctors carried stethoscopes just for show. Nothing I’d seen in my life so far had dissuaded me from that opinion. Harrison was clearly not pleased about having the metal pressed to his chest and expressed his displeasure by kicking me in the knee. Repeatedly.
“He seems fine,” Az said. “Does he have any allergies?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Hay fever?”
I paused for a moment. “Oh, fuck.”
“Yeah. If you or his biological mother get it, he’s more likely to.”
“I used to, when I was a kid.”
“There you go. There’s a chance he’ll grow out of it. Or it might not be that at all. I can give you a prescription in case it flares up again?”
“That would be great.”
Azriel sat back at his computer to tap out the scrip, and I calmed Harrison down from his terrifying ordeal with Rory the dinosaur, who had come along for moral support.
“Tell me to fuck off if you want….”
“Fuck off.”
“Nice,” Az said. “But the fine state of New York will give you a free STD test for being a gay man with an active sex life
. If you want one. Since you’ve got a new sexual partner and all, you might want to take that?”
“How do you know Zane and I are having sex?”
“Dude, you’re definitely getting some. Something—or someone—has pulled the stick out of your ass. Or put one back up there. Am I wrong?”
I considered not responding, although that was more likely to fuel the flames than kill them. And there was the promise to Zane that we’d both get checked to confirm we were clean.
“Yeah, all right,” I said with a sigh. “But it’s fine. I’m happy to pay for it.”
“Cool. I’ll just take some blood. You wanna put the kid somewhere else for five minutes? I can get someone to come in and watch him if you like.”
“Let me put a blanket out. He’ll be fine on the floor,” I said, setting Harrison down and giving him free rein over my backpack, with all its fun zips to play with.
Az snapped on a pair of latex gloves and fussed with all the stuff he needed to take blood. I was used to the process, having donated a few times before. It didn’t affect me too badly, and I was happy to sit back and watch Harrison (rather than the needle) while Az took a few vials.
“Great. All done. They won’t send the results to me. They’ll text you if it’s all clear or call you back in if we need to discuss anything. Don’t panic if they call you—it could mean there was a problem at the lab, or the sample wasn’t good, or whatever.”
“Okay,” I said. “I did have a test when we were planning for Harrison, and I got the all clear.”
“And how many sexual partners have you had since then? Don’t give me that look, Ellis. I’m asking as your doctor.”
“Two,” I said darkly. “Oliver and Zane.”
“I fucking knew it,” he said with a little fist pump. I glared at him.
“Joking,” he insisted, holding up his hands. “You should be fine. We’ll be in touch.”
“Thanks.”
I tucked the prescription into my pocket and swept Harrison up, shouldered my backpack, and shook Azriel’s hand.
“Good to see you, man.”
“You too. Take care.” The fact that he was a doctor stopped his words from being mindless platitude and turned them into a request.
I had a couple of errands to run while I was out, so when we got back home I set Harrison down to play and pulled out the file that contained all the information about his mother.
Holly had been everything we were looking for, and she’d come along at just the right time. She was a mother of two of her own children and had been a surrogate once before, so she was familiar with the process.
I’d clicked with her immediately, which was such a relief, since she was so perfect on paper. As part of the surrogacy process she’d put together a file with all her medical history, and I settled on the sofa with it on my lap, ready to flick through.
It didn’t contain a whole lot. I just wanted to check for any mention of allergies. I was sure we were probably told at one point, but I never remembered stuff like that. We were given so much important information at the time, and I barely listened to half of it. I was more concerned about the impending baby.
There wasn’t anything in the file about allergies, except to cats, and we already knew about that. It wasn’t likely to be hereditary. I loved cats but Ollie didn’t, so he wasn’t bothered about the possibility of his son being allergic to them. It was a good excuse for him not to let me get one.
If I ever moved out of the city, I’d vowed to fill my home with animals.
The afternoon flew by as I cleaned the apartment and answered some e-mails, all while trying to get Harrison to eat his lunch. I clearly didn’t have Zane’s skills in either cookery or coercion. Most of it ended up over me or the floor. Since he’d eaten a decent breakfast, I decided not to get too stressed out and let him play, with a plate of food within easy reach if he wanted it.
I sent Zane a text asking him to text me when he was awake and saying that I owed him dinner, and got an immediate response.
I like eating dinner.
If you want to eat it here, I’m cooking.
Want me to bring anything?
Lube?
For dinner?
For dessert ;)
I’ll see you in about thirty mins.
I laughed to myself and set my phone aside. Thanks to Harrison’s happier mood today, the apartment was in a much better state; good enough for guests, anyway. I quickly browsed through some movies online and bookmarked a few we could put on and not watch.
Even though I’d seen him earlier in the day, I wanted Zane back with us again. He lifted me in a way I never thought possible. It felt right to have him around.
He arrived with a bottle of white wine, held aloft like a prize.
“Awesome,” I said and dragged him inside so I could thoroughly kiss him. He tasted like mint and heat, and I licked out the last drop of flavor before releasing him.
“That was some hello,” he said, and I grinned.
“Hello.”
He held up his other hand, where he had been hiding a fresh bottle of lube. I laughed then, right from my belly, and decided he was even more wonderful than I’d first thought.
“What’s for dinner?”
“It’s called ratatouille. It’s a layered vegetable dish with tomato sauce. It’s really good.”
Zane touched my cheek lightly and smiled. “I know what ratatouille is, baby.”
“Oh,” I said, blushing. “Good. I’ve got mozzarella to go on top, but I wasn’t sure if you eat cheese.”
“I do, sometimes,” he said. “Not eggs, though.”
“Okay, good to know. I also made sourdough garlic bread.”
“I thought I could smell something,” he said, planting his hand firmly on my hips so we could sway together.
“I’ve been making sourdough for ages. It’s really good. You can keep the same starter and use it over and over again. My mom has a sourdough starter that’s years old.”
“Cool,” he said. “Where’s Harrison?”
I nodded toward the living room. Zane rose up on his toes, kissed my jaw, and wandered off to find my son. They sounded delighted to see each other again.
The ratatouille was easy enough to make, and I’d already done the hard work. All that was left was to put the cheese on top and bake it. With the bread cooling on the counter and not needing my attention, I opened the bottle of wine and poured two glasses.
Zane was on the floor with Harrison between his knees, the two of them playing with a stack of bricks and trains. I set his wine on the coffee table and perched on the edge of the sofa to watch them.
“Lupe called me earlier,” Zane said, tipping his head back to rest on my knee.
“Oh?”
“Yeah. She invited us for dinner one night with her and Az.”
I laughed. “That sounds good. But you should know, Az only wants to give me hell. When I took Harrison to the clinic, he took blood from me to do a full STI screening.”
“That’s hilarious. He did mine a few days ago.”
“But because of confidentiality, he’s not allowed to tell either of us that he’s done it for the other,” I said as the realization dawned on me.
Zane grinned up at me from the floor. “Brilliant. We shouldn’t let him know that we both know. See if we can make him crack.”
“You wonderful little evil genius,” I said. I leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “I love it.”
“I’ll let Lupe know you’re in.”
Zane played a good game of trains, but I could tell Harrison was getting tired. I wasn’t sure how he’d react to being made to go to bed when his new favorite playmate was around. There was only one way to find out.
“I’m just going to make up his bottle,” I said, and Zane nodded.
“Okay. Do you, um, read him a story before bed?”
“Sometimes.”
“I’ll find him one.”
There wasn’t e
xactly a shortage of stories to pick from on my bookshelf, and I kept Harrison’s picture books on the bottom, so he could go to them if he wanted. Zane had a nice voice, and I wanted to listen in to whatever he chose.
I’d perfected making the formula almost in my sleep, so the process didn’t take long. I still hovered before walking back to the living room, though, wanting to catch whatever it was Zane was reading. He’d picked the story about the penguin with two dads, and my heart gave another painful thump in my chest.
It was a picture book, so Zane had Harrison on his lap, the book held in front of them so Harrison could see the illustrations. Zane narrated and also pointed out things in the story, just like I did.
He caught me watching and gave me a smile before returning to his story. Harrison looked enraptured. I went back into the kitchen to finish making up the bottle, then took it to the sofa to sit with them.
“Ready, baba?” I asked when Zane closed the book and set it aside.
He reached his hands out to me, and I smiled as I pulled him close.
“I won’t be long,” I said to Zane, who nodded.
Harrison went down quickly, not even finishing half his bottle before succumbing to sleep. When I went back out to the living room Zane was curled up with my copy of Harry Potter. I sat down on the couch and pulled him to me for a kiss.
“That was quick,” he murmured.
“Yeah. I think he likes you reading him stories.”
“I like doing it.”
I kissed him again, then went back to the kitchen to serve up dinner.
Chapter 6
“You don’t have a TV,” he said as I carried two plates through to the living room.
“No,” I said. “I don’t even notice anymore. Here.”
“This looks amazing,” he said, sliding to the floor to put his plate on the coffee table.
I rarely sat on the floor to eat and decided to live wild and join him down there.
“Why not?”
“Why not what?”
“Why don’t you have a TV?”
I sighed. “Not sure, really. Oliver took the one from in here when he left, and I never got around to replacing it. The screen on my computer is big enough that if I want to watch a movie or something I just pull the couch around and watch it on that.”