Future mother of my children.
All the words he said tonight. I want to run to Mom and Dad and tell them everything, but as much as Baldo seems to be all-in with me, I’m still hesitant.
He trails his hand under the hem of my skirt and finds my underwear, and I push away all those thoughts for later.
* * *
Paris
Little Micah smiled for the first time.
Syd
Sorry to tell you, but he is two weeks. It’s farting.
Lo
(laughing emoji)
Paris
Come on, I need it to be a smile because I’m going crazy here.
I’ll come over to keep you company.
Paris
I love you.
“Wow, you look—” Baldo starts when Paris opens the door, but I elbow him and he lies, “radiant, sis.”
Her hair is messy, her T-shirt is stained, and her breast is leaking.
She puts a finger to her lips. “Shh, he’s just fallen asleep.”
She tiptoes inside. Baldo looks at me, shrugging, and we follow.
Micah is sleeping in a bassinet by the sofa. Paris stares at him with adoration and then pleads with us.
“Finn went to get wipes. I forgot to put them in the delivery order. Could you watch him? I really need to shower. And get changed. He’ll be down for at least half an hour. I’ll be done in five.”
She trips over her sentences like there’s a prize for hushed speed talking.
My eyes dart between the sleeping baby, Baldo, and Paris, a bit of panic rising in me. I want to help, but like by cleaning her kitchen, cooking her a meal. I don’t know what to do with a baby.
“Sure. You stink,” Baldo teases.
Paris’s lower lip trembles.
“Jesus, I was teasing you. Go take a shower. We’ll watch the baby.” He lunges into the seat beside the cot.
“Thank you.” Paris dashes upstairs.
Okay, I guess we’re going to babysit. Well, it’s not like she’s far away.
“Do you want anything to drink?” I whisper, walking to the kitchen corner of Paris’s open concept day room that is the first floor of her townhouse.
As an interior designer, she remodeled the typical layout and opened up the space.