Chapter 24
Zane
The thing I love about art is that no one can tell you how to do it.
You don’t have to stand a certain way. You don’t have to use specific colors. The lighting can change, and it will still create something beautiful. Flaws are seen as flare instead of downfall. And it ages well. Better than wine or cheese, or even love.
I lock the door to my office even though there’s never anyone else here.
Well, Bentley is here, but he’s in his room sleeping.
I have the baby monitor with me just in case he wakes up.
Ashlyn is out with Demi, so I have a moment alone.
A moment to paint. A moment to decompress and circle back to myself.
Not a lot of people know I paint and sketch.
In fact, other than Caleb, I don’t know that anyone knows.
I’ve always kind of kept it to myself. It’s an outlet for me.
Something I don’t have to change for other people.
I don’t have to share it if I don’t want to.
I’m not hiding it. I’m just holding it close.
Because unlike modeling, it’s not for anyone but me.
In a way, it’s a part of me that no one else gets to see.
In a world where my whole life and everything about me is constantly under stage lighting, having something like that is invaluable.
The painting I am working on right now is…
complicated. It’s set on a black canvas.
A seascape of sorts. I don’t usually do landscapes.
I’m more of a body and portrait person. But when I started this one, the ocean just kind of filled the space on its own, and the sky evolved from the horizon.
And the male figure took shape in the middle of it all.
No face. No clothing. Back to the audience, just staring out over the water.
At first, the water was tranquil. The sky was light. But then, as I went deeper, it grew darker. Cloudy. Torrent. Now, as I sit here with a brush in hand, I’m finding that the waters aren’t so tame.
The baby monitor crackles, and the sound of Bentley stirring fills the room. I stop, pausing the brushstroke, and stare at the baby monitor. Like if I don’t move, he’ll go back to sleep, and for a moment, it goes quiet again.
I dip the brush into gray, swirling it with blue until it creates a deep gunmetal color. As I create a wave in the background towards the horizon, the monitor crackles again. This time he isn’t just stirring, he’s fussing.
I sigh, closing my eyes for a moment in the hope that he will soothe himself. I would love to have another moment. When that doesn’t happen, I open my eyes again, brow furrowing, and stroke the brush to the canvas, bringing the wave closer to the shore. Closer to the man. Closer to me.
Bentley is wailing now, and part of me just wants to turn it down…or off. I know I can’t do that. So instead, I put my brush down and pick myself up, padding my way back to the nursery.
The door is cracked, and I walk inside. He’s lying on his back crying real tears. I can’t imagine what could be so terrible about being a little baby, lying in a comfy crib, with people waiting on you hand and foot.
“You got it pretty good from my point of view,” I say. Not that he can understand me. Not that he would care if he could.
Yeah, except his mom left him.
I feel like a dick for saying that, regardless if he understood or not.
“You want your pacifier?” I ask, picking it up.
I don’t know a lot about babies. I don’t know how long naps should be.
I don’t know if they fall back asleep once they wake up.
But I do know he seems to like the pacifier, so I pop it into his mouth.
He suckles it for all of one and a half seconds before spitting it back out, and then the crying resumes.
“Alright, the paci is a no-go,” I sigh. “On to trick number two.”
I pull out my phone and turn on lullaby music. Then I set the phone in the crib next to him. But Bentley only continues to fuss, drowning out the sound.
“Not a music fan, got it,” I say, scooping him up.
As soon as my hand covers his butt, I can feel the saturated diaper. He’s wet, of course. I carry him over to the changing table and lay him down, then I grab the wipes and a diaper, and a bottle of powder. Then I attempt to unbutton his pajamas.
“Jesus,” I mumble as I undo the snaps. “How complicated do they have to make it?” It’s more confusing than the hooks on a bra. Not that I’m new to that. But I am new to this. Also, he’s flailing around, making it even harder.
When I finally have his legs exposed, I pull on the Velcro of the diaper. “Alright, let’s see what we have going on in–yo!”
Just as I pull the front flap of the diaper down, he pees, spraying me right in the face. I cover him up again and wait a second while wiping my face with the back of my wrist.
“You done?” I ask. “Geez kid. How big can that bladder be?”
It’s not the first time I’ve changed a diaper, but I am definitely not in practice.
Obviously, I make all the mistakes in the book.
I tug the old diaper out and he pees again before I have a fresh diaper under him, so I will have to clean the pad on the changing table too.
When I finally have a new diaper in place, I have it on backwards.
Since I am pretty sure it’s supposed to latch in the front, I have to flip it back around.
And of course, he pees again. Because why wouldn’t he.
“Listen, bud,” I say. “If you have anything left in you, let’s get it out now.
I am pretty sure it should take less than half an hour to change a diaper, you feel me?
” I ask. But as the saying goes, you should be careful what you wish for.
Because just as I say that, he goes again, and this time it’s not pee.
“Good…god,” I say, stepping back. I cover my nose with both my hands before stepping closer again. I can’t leave him unattended, but this little guy could clear a room. “Alright,” I nod. “You win.”
I grab the front flap of the diaper and tuck it under his butt. Then I lift his butt up and grab no less than three wipes and get to work.
“This is all from milk and bananas?” I ask while breathing only through my mouth. That’s not much better.
After he’s nice and clean, I pull the dirty diaper out and grab a fresh one, praying the third time is the charm. “Alright,” I say, looking around. “Anything else?”
I spot the powder and figure, why not. I turn the top and give it a good shake, but nothing comes out.
“Come on…” I mutter. Because while I am trying to figure out the rocket science that is taking care of an infant, nothing seems to be working in my favor. I shake it again, and nothing happens. So I give it a squeeze…while it’s pointed at my face.
A cloud of baby-scented powder sprays me, and I cough, nearly choking to death.
“Alright,” I say as I wipe my eyes and secure the diaper back on him. “We’re done here.”
Somehow, I manage to get him snapped up and scooped up. I head into the kitchen to get a bottle.
With him in one hand, I use the other to fill the bottle with warm water and two scoops of powder. Then I give it a good shake, test the temperature, and ease the nipple into his mouth. He fusses around it for a minute before finally accepting it and starts chugging away.
“There we go,” I say. “Food solves everything, right?”
He guzzles away for a while, and I let out a sigh. I don’t know how she does this. I don’t know how anyone does it. It’s like Ashlyn has a magic touch. She makes it all look easy. I seem to make the easiest tasks hard. Except for feeding him. That I can do–
“Shit,” I let out as he spits out the nipple and spits up all over my shirt. Then he starts crying. I cradle him upright, wondering if maybe he ate too fast. He burps and more spit up comes out, dripping down the back of my shirt too. “Alright well, I guess that answers that.”
I take him with me into my room and lay him in a safe spot on my bed. He’s too busy wailing to do anything else, and it gives me time to yank the soiled shirt off and toss it in the laundry. Then I scoop him back up and go in search of a burp cloth.
“How about we hold off on the milk for a while, yeah?” I ask. I throw the cloth over my shoulder and stand in place, rocking him back and forth. It doesn’t seem to be helping, but I’m not really sure what else to do at this point.
I’m not sure what to do in general. I am so out of my league here.
I have no idea what I am doing, and that’s a feeling I’m not used to.
I’m used to feeling in control. Stable. Like I have all the answers.
Used to pleasing people and making them smile.
Whether it’s in the lens of a camera or sitting across from pretty girls at the bar, I know how to act.
How to talk. But this…this is a language I don’t speak.
And as Bentley cries, I feel like I’m failing.
“No,” I say out loud. “I’m not failing. I can’t.”
Bentley is my son. Wild as it is. The test was positive. The timeline lines up. Hell, the little guy even looks like me. And since his mom is AWOL, I’m going to have to step up. Even if it means failing a lot while I figure it out. He needs someone. A parent.
I just hope I can be what he needs.