Page 131 of Surprisingly Us

With my hands encircling her sides to lift her, I sit back down on the couch and set her on my knee. She’s stiff in my arms and the crying continues.

“Fuck. I wish you could tell me what’s wrong.” I remember how Lettie had held one of them in his arms earlier and bounced up and down, producing a giggle. “Do you want to bounce?”

There’s no answer, only crying.

“Okay, here we go.”

I bounce her up and down on my leg.

“We’re bouncing now. You can stop crying.”

Her cries start to ease up and are slowly replaced by a vibrating giggle.

“Buh-buh-buh-buh-buh.”

I’m entranced by the gurgling laugh that escapes.

“We figured it out, didn’t we?” I smile and I swear she smiles back. “Maybe this isn’t so—” I don’t get the words out before the baby projectile vomits all over me.

I sit there, baby vomit sliding down my neck and chest. It’s warm, and thick, like somebody dumped a bowl of oatmeal on me.

“Lettie!”

“Yeah?” she calls, coming down the hallway toward us. “Oh, what—”

“It threw up on me.” I inhale, then gag on the scent of baby vomit.

“Oh, no, you poor thing,” Lettie says, her soothing voice making me feel a little bit better.

Except Lettie doesn’t fuss over me; instead, she scoops up the vomit baby, so she’s holding both babies now, and starts back down the hallway.

“What about me?” I say to the empty room, my arms extended, palms to the ceiling, the vomit starting to dry on my skin.

It’s clear nobody cares, so I stand and follow Lettie to the babies’ room. She’s there with one baby sitting in a seated contraption while vomit baby, who barely got a drop on herself, gets a full outfit change.

“We’ll get you all changed up. Nice and clean,” Lettie coos to the baby.

“And what am I supposed to wear?” I ask, motioning to my soaked shirt. “This is vintage Valentino.”

“You shouldn’t have worn it to babysit.”

“I didn’t know we were babysitting.” Lettie tricked me into being here. Well, joke’s on her, she’s got three babies to take care of now.

“Grab a t-shirt out of Hunter’s closet.”

I don’t make a move.

“What?” she asks.

“That seems weird.”

“You’re being silly. It’s just a t-shirt. Besides,” she wrinkles her nose, “do you want to smell like vomit for the rest of the night?”

I move slightly to the right and get a big whiff of baby vomit from my shirt. “No.”

Lettie makes a waving motion for me to get moving.

In Hunter’s closet, I find his t-shirt drawer and wade through the selection, finding several Princeton crew shirts before I settle on a light gray Lake George t-shirt.

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