Page 51 of Say You Love Me

Our lovemaking became polite.

And I despised him for it.

But it will all be better now that she’s been born. Things will return to normal. Hudson will stop treating me as though he’s scared he will break me. He will talk to me again and not the swell of my stomach. He will love me.

She smiled at Hudson last night. He was cradling her in his arms, cooing at her and rocking her back and forth and she just looked up at him and smiled. I told him it could have been wind, but he insisted it was real. All day, I’ve been trying to get her to do it again, for me, but she’s refusing. She has a stubborn streak.

Even now, as I lean over her bassinet, speaking to her in babyish tones, tickling her little fingers and toes, she just looks at me solemnly, as if she knows the power she gains by refusing her smile.

I don’t hear the door open. I don’t hear Hudson’s shoes plop to the floor or him creep into the living room, so I startle when his deep voice sounds.

“Did you miss me?” he says to Calla as he leans down to pick her up. He holds her high in the air, gently rocking her from side to side, babbling nonsense words until an ear-splitting grin covers her face.

“Hey.” I let her latch onto my finger, wrapping her chubby knuckles around it. “That’s not fair. I’ve been trying to get her to smile for me all day.”

Hudson laughs as Calla shakes my finger back and forth. Her other hand waves in the air until it crashes into his mouth and he blows a raspberry on her skin, gaining another smile. Her eyes are fixed on him as though he’s the only thing that’s worth looking at in the world. I know how she feels.

Walking over to the couch, he lays her on his lap, his hands cradling her head for support. “What’s for dinner?” He doesn’t even look at me as he asks the question, he’s too wrapped up in her.

My steps are heavy as I walk into the kitchen and open the fridge. I stare at it wordlessly, scanning the contents. It’s stacked high with pre-prepared meals, all of which have come from Lori. She’s cooked so many, I won’t have to think about what to have for dinner for weeks. I shuffle the plastic containers around, looking for something appealing.

“Sweet and sour meatballs?” I call out.

Hudson doesn’t hear me. He’s too busy talking to Calla, telling her about his day in a tone that belies the monotony of it. I walk behind him and slip my arms over his shoulders, looping my hands around his neck and pressing my cheek to his. The stubble of his beard scratches.

“Sweet and sour meatballs?” I ask again.

“Sure,” he says. “Sounds good.” He places his hand over Calla’s forehead. “Have you taken her temperature lately? She feels hot.”

Reaching over him, I press the back of my hand to her skin. She feels normal. Warm, but not too warm. I laugh and press a kiss to his cheek. “You worry too much.”

He sits forward, pulling away from me. “I don’t think it’s possible to worry too much, do you, baby girl? Do you think it’s possible?” He shakes his head and holds her upright so he can nuzzle against her stomach. She grabs for his hair, fistfuls of it spiking between her fingers. “No,” he says. “It’s just not possible, is it?” He laughs as she tugs, not willing to let go of her grip on him. “Will you help me?”

I untangle her fingers from his hair, prising each one gently, but my gentleness doesn’t stop her face from screwing up or her bottom lip from wobbling.

“Here come the waterworks,” I say once I’ve finally released Hudson’s hair from her grasp.

“She’s probably hungry.” Hudson holds her out to me.

The fridge starts to beep. I’ve left the door open.

“I fed her less than an hour ago.” I walk into the kitchen, grabbing the container of meatballs before shutting the fridge door.

Hudson follows behind, a screaming Calla in his arms. She’s in full meltdown mode. Her face is twisted. Bright red stains mark her cheeks. Her thumbs are locked tightly in her fists and she’s shaking so hard, she’s almost stiff.

He holds her out to me again. “Something’s wrong.”

“Nothing is wrong. She’s crying.”

“But why?”

I shrug. “It’s what babies do.” I pop the container into the microwave and press defrost.

“She needs her mother.” Hudson pushes her toward me again.

I sigh and take her from his arms, but her crying doesn’t stop. In fact, it seems to get louder.

“You should feed her,” Hudson says.

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