Chapter 7 #2
“Yo,” Lucky calls up the stairs, and I turn that way. “Is it okay to give Grayce a bottle?”
Before I can answer, Maddie pushes past me and heads for the staircase where Lucky is peering up from the bottom. “I’ll handle it.”
It’s said in such a way that indicates she wants Grayce, and she wants her now. It’s almost a panicked feeling. I can see by Lucky’s expression, he recognizes it as well. Maddie is overwhelmed and needs grounding.
I follow behind, Lucky stepping aside to let Maddie past. When I reach him, he leans in and murmurs, “She okay?”
I shake my head. “She’s not okay with any of this. If she had her way, she’d be back in Chicago with Grayce and I’d be nowhere around.”
I find Grayce in Maddie’s arms as she feeds her a bottle while Winnie leans against the counter, chatting away. “You should have been here an hour ago. I walked in and the high chair was half done. Lucky tried to skip a step, so I confiscated the Allen wrench.”
“I’m filing a grievance,” Lucky mutters, then leans in to kiss Winnie on the forehead. “You’re maligning my manliness.”
Winnie rolls her eyes, opens her mouth to jaw back at him, but Lucky cuts her off with a kiss.
Her eyes go soft and dreamy, and I glance over at Maddie, who’s watching the interplay.
There’s no softness there, just skepticism.
I’m guessing she’s not a believer in true love, although I can’t say I really am either.
Winnie turns back to the stove, sliding on oven mitts. “Okay, team—lasagna coming out. Maddie, sit. Feed your girl. Atlas, grab plates.”
We all take our spots—Lucky at the end, me adjacent to Maddie, Winnie moving like she owns the kitchen. The house smells like garlic and tomato and a kind of comfort I don’t usually let in.
Lucky flashes me a look. “Saw the bracket mock-ups. If the standings hold, round one’s gonna be spicy.”
“Spicy I can handle,” I say, keeping my voice even. “It’s the back-to-backs I’m not thrilled about.”
Winnie snorts, dishing salad. “You love back-to-backs. They make you dramatic for interviews.”
“Untrue,” I say.
“Extremely true,” Lucky counters. “He gets that gravelly ‘grind’ voice. Reporters eat it up.”
They’re teasing, and I play along, but my gaze keeps drifting to Maddie, who’s quiet, eyes on Grayce. She’s here but not. A shadow sitting in my kitchen.
Winnie notices. She sets a slice of lasagna in front of Maddie like it might break if she doesn’t place it gently. “Maddie, what do you do? Atlas said you were a social worker?”
Maddie blinks like she forgot we can see her. “Yeah. Child protective services. At least that’s what I did. I had to quit to move here.”
I wince internally, even though her tone isn’t combative. More matter-of-fact.
“Do you want to try that same type of work here?” Lucky asks.
She nods with a wistful smile. “As soon as I can.”
“Sounds like you love it,” Winnie muses, and I’m struck by more guilt that she had to give up her life to come here.
“I really do,” Maddie says, and there’s a sparkle in her eye I’ve never seen before. “It’s so hard but really rewarding when things go right.”
Winnie leans in, her lasagna ignored. “What kind of cases do you see?”
“All kinds.” Maddie’s voice steadies as she talks, like a muscle remembering how to move. “Neglect, custody disputes. I try to be a bridge. It doesn’t always work, but sometimes it does, and you hang on to those.”
Lucky nods, thoughtful. “You must have the patience of a saint.”
She huffs a humorless laugh. “I have a good bullshit meter. That’s probably more useful.”
“God, I like you,” Winnie says, grinning. “If you want to borrow my houseplants for stress relief, I have seventy-two.”
Lucky points his fork. “Not to mention, an emotional support bunny.”
Maddie’s mouth twitches. “That sounds like stress too.”
“It is,” Winnie admits cheerfully. “But neither the plants nor the rabbit talk back.”
I realize at this point, I’d been stuffing my face, but Maddie hasn’t taken a single bite yet. I set my fork down and nudge her shoulder. “Here, let me feed her for a bit so you can eat.”
“I’ve got it,” she says automatically, and I can tell this is going to be a thing. Her trying to take on all the burden.
The only way I know how to handle that is to give Maddie a little of her own acerbic medicine. “Quit being so stubborn. Hand her over.”
Maddie blinks in surprise and I use the opportunity to pluck the bottle away. Grayce’s face screws up, she lets out a warbled cry, and Maddie forfeits the load.
I tuck Grayce in the crook of my arm, slip the bottle back into her mouth, and smile victoriously at Maddie. A quick glance over at Lucky has him staring back with wide eyes. He doesn’t understand the full dynamic, of course, but he can see the battle lines.
Also, I can see he’s stunned over how easy it’s become between me and Grayce over the past few days and he’s looking at me for the first time as a father.
I drop my gaze back to the baby and watch as she makes a grab for my hoodie strings. It’s one of her favorite things to do, and I find myself wearing them more just so she has something to play with. One hand on the bottle, her other fingers open and close with single-minded purpose on the string.
“Strong grip,” Lucky observes. “Future winger?”
“Or a percussionist,” Winnie says as Grayce thumps her heel against my forearm in a steady beat.
And then Grayce squirms, going rigid with that unmistakable face. I don’t smell the delivery, yet I know it’s there.
“Someone needs a change,” I say, standing from the table. Maddie stands too, but I wave her off. “I’ve got it. Stay and eat.”
Maddie stares at me warily, although she slowly sinks back into her seat. “Are you sure—”
“Crash course the last five days,” I quip with a wink. “Consider this my first solo mission.”
I slide around the table and hoist Grayce against my shoulder. She grabs for my hoodie strings again like she’s clocking me in for duty. I press a kiss to the top of her head before I can think better of it and head for the stairs.
Winnie takes up the conversation again. “Where are you from originally, Maddie?”
I wish I could hear the answer. I’d kind of like to know that myself, but their sounds recede as we ascend.
Up in the nursery, the light is soft from a floor lamp in the corner. It’s not enough to let me see exactly what I’m doing, so I flip the overhead switch.
I talk both of us through the procedure—out loud, because it helps.
“Okay, kiddo. We unzip the onesie, pull out the legs, and slide it up and out of the way.” Grayce chews on her hand and watches me.
“Now we remove the offending receptacle filled with baby shit.” I pause, wondering if perhaps I shouldn’t cuss in front of her, then realize she’s going to hear it eventually.
I manage to take the diaper off, wrap it tight, and deposit it in the can.
“Next, we wipe. We get that little butt squeaky clean. We do it efficiently, so we don’t get peed or pooped on.
I hear that’s a thing.” Grayce kicks, grinning.
I keep a hand on her belly, wipe fast, new diaper under, tabs even—no leaks tonight, please—and zip her back into the pajamas printed with tiny foxes.
When I scoop her up again, she tucks her head under my jaw like we’ve done this a thousand times.
And I’m surprised at how right that feels.