Page 16 of My Wife
LIAM
Mercifully,the kid is quiet when I place my order at the bakery counter, but he fools with my baseball hat—my feeble attempt at an incognito disguise.
We wouldn’t have come to this place here in town if I weren’t desperate … and soon to be running late, but I can’t risk being recognized, especially not with the kid.
I didn’t think this through entirely. I blame the lack of sleep.
He removes my hat. As I take it back, he tosses it over my shoulder toward the woman who had the audacity to ask to cut ahead of us.
Wearing that ridiculous gown, she bends over, picks it up, and regards the letter K in blue stitching.
I motion for her to give it back, but the person at the register asks for payment. I give her my card when I realize the kid is quiet, apparently entertained by the sideshow behind us.
Now, she’s wearing my favorite baseball hat. I should be grateful for whatever sorcery she’s working, but she can’t just cut ahead because she’s small and cute … or wearing my Knights cap.
I frown. No, she’s not cute. More like she wandered off a horror movie set in a wedding gown. Yes, she is short. Like just barely over five feet tall.
After I pay, I carefully balance the kid and our items in my hands. Badaszek could have us try to juggle hot coffee, fresh muffins, and a writhing child as a cross-training exercise.
Forget it. He cannot find out that I have a kid. Or does he already know? I go back and forth in my mind long enough for the child to start fidgeting and inadvertently kick me in the groin.
Yeah, I’ve got a real balancing act going on.
The groan I try to conceal as I do my best not to double over could put me in the contending for Cobbiton’s Biggest Weirdo with the woman behind me in line, waving her hands nonsensically at the kid.
I’ll have to talk to him about stranger danger.
As I pour and mix creamer one-handed, my grip on the kid loosens. He wiggles. I set him down to attach the cover to the cup and he rushes across the bakery toward the hallway.
How do parents do this?
A growl rises in my throat. We’ve been here too long and I’m afraid I’m going to be recognized. I’m drowning in toddler training, team commitments, and legal documents. I’m not sure how much longer I can keep my newfound father status secret.
Grabbing our grub, I hurry after the kid, calling for him to stop and wait, but he doesn’t listen. Never does.
The hallway contains two bathrooms and an exit. I try to anticipate his moves as I would an opponent on the ice. If I deke left, what will he do?
He regards me for a long moment and then his chin starts to tremble.
Oh no. Not here. Can’t deal with the crying kid in public.
I say, “I got us some breakfast. It’s time to go.”
Eyes wide like a scared animal, he looks around.
I shift my weight, realizing I’ll have to put the coffee down if I want to pick him up safely. Gazing up at the ceiling, I silently ask,Why is this my life?
The hum of a hand dryer comes from behind one of the bathroom doors followed by a hoot of surprised laughter.
The door flies open and the woman in the wedding gown practically blows into my arms.
In a voice that’s too perky pre-coffee, she says, “Whoa, Nelly with a side of jelly. That thing is powerful. Nearly knocked me over.”
I grunt because she nearly did the same to me. The brief contact we have makes me feel like I’m crawling out of my skin.
She straightens and smooths her hand down her dress. “Excuse me. Sorry. But boy, do I feel better.”
My expression wrinkles as I recall her asking to cut the line so she could, and I quote, “Go potty.”
