Chapter 29 – Geralynn
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Geralynn
The Baby Comes On Friday Before Noon And…
My legs instinctively fling themselves over the side of my bed before my brain is fully awake.
My aching breasts leak rivers of warm milk as Roman’s crying gets louder.
I don’t make it two steps out of bed before a dark figure appears in the doorway to my bedroom.
I gasp, not surprised that he’s here but surprised that he woke up with me to feed the baby.
“Hey,” Renzo says in a low voice, the blankets from the couch wrapped around his shoulder. “Roman needs you… And you need company.”
Friends. We’re just friends now, but it makes the thought of coparenting a little less scary now that the reality of having a new baby in the house hit me properly.
I can’t imagine doing this alone and even if I don’t want to admit it, having Renzo step up makes a huge difference.
I didn’t even have to ask and get nervous that letting him into the house meant anything would change between us.
We’re over.
We just are.
He’s not going to be my boyfriend or anything more than the father of my child who earned that role because of the fucked up situation Nicki put us in. There’s no point in romanticizing it.
I keep the baby’s crib in what used to be the walk-in closet. Renzo converted it to a small baby room which connects to the living room so when he’s on shift with the newborn, I can have complete privacy. It’s weird not having him mess with me by calling me mop girl or by smacking my ass.
It’s just a completely different side of him.
When I hold our son, he gurgles and wrinkles up his face in this really specific way that looks just like Renzo when he scowls.
I try not to think about their resemblance.
His eyes flutter open and he starts smacking his lips together excitedly in anticipation of latching on.
Hm, he’s greedy. I can’t imagine how much he’s going to eat if he gets to be as big as his father.
Ugh. I move my shirt aside and free my leaky nipple so our baby can latch on and feed.
His crying subsides once he smells the delicious milk.
It still hurts like hell when he latches on since I’m new to this and so is he, but I only wince a little bit this time before the flow of milk starts.
“Look at him,” Renzo says with a chuckle. “He’s letting it spill everywhere. I’ll get one of the towels.”
He searches on the shelves for one of the towels and when he turns to hand it to me with a smile, I feel a strange flutter that I haven’t felt between the two of us for a while.
“Thanks.”
“Did you get some sleep at least?” he asks, stifling a yawn as he watches me feed without outright gawking at my boob. We’re not shy around each other, and he hasn’t made a move on me, he’s just curious about the entire process. I can’t blame him. Having a new baby is… weird.
“Not much, honestly,” I reply. “It’s weird. I’m a mom. I should feel like a totally different person but… I don’t.”
“Good,” Renzo says. “I don’t want you to feel different. I want you to feel happy.”
I stroke our baby’s head and give him a little kiss while he continues to feed. I love having this precious time with him. With both of them. If I keep looking at Roman, I don’t have to keep looking at Renzo.
“I like the name you chose,” he says in a low voice. It shouldn’t make my heart do a backflip to get Renzo’s approval, but I can’t help but want him to think I chose the right name for our boy.
“Roman Lorenzo Samuels,” he says, practicing our baby’s name. “Although, Roman Taviani would have sounded just as good.”
“Thanks.”
“Can I get you anything? Ice for your nipples after?”
“A glass of water might be nice,” I say sleepily, kissing our son’s head again. “And the ice.”
“Got it,” Renzo says. “Anything you need.”
Roman Lorenzo Turns 8 weeks old
We’ve had our son for eight weeks. His skin tone has darkened up a little bit and his full head of hair has a little bald patch at the back that I cover up with a wide variety of cute baby-sized Carhartt beanies.
I am not the one who gave permission to deliver adorable baby hats within 24 hours of my impulse-buying…
Renzo works during the day, but he comes home at six p.m. every night, rolls up his sleeves and prepares dinner.
I get a chance to hop into the shower while he cooks and watches Roman.
When I get out of the shower, I feel like a person instead of a human milk machine and vomit receptacle.
I get Roman out of the crib once I have my matching tan-colored Nike sweatsuit on and my hair out of my face in a pair of cornrows along the side of my head.
I can smell the parmesan and pasta the second I walk into the kitchen holding our baby. Roman kicks out his legs excitedly as if he knows there’s some delicious food about to pop off.
“Is that cashew de peewee?”
“Cacio de pepe,” Renzo corrects me for what must be the seventh time. He makes this pasta dish pretty often.
“I can’t say all those words.”
“If you want, I will pay for Roman to have Italian lessons.”
Renzo saying all that surprises me. We’ve been doing this just friends thing pretty well for the past eight weeks.
He sleeps on the couch and keeps house like he’s in the military so I can’t even complain about him staying up on the couch.
He does shifts with the baby and even after working all day, he cooks dinner.
Friendship is working out great for us honestly.
“Does he need Italian lessons?” I ask, genuine about the question.
When we blew up the contract, we never discussed how Roman would be raised outside of Renzo stating that he would leave all decisions up to me as the sole custodial parent.
He’s giving me the choice here, but making an offer I didn’t expect.
“If he ever wants to know the Italian side of his family.”
“Does the Italian side of his family want to know him?” I ask Renzo.
His face softens and then sadness that I swear I’ve never seen on him before colors his face. It’s this mixture of shame and regret that I would have never associated with Renzo if I hadn’t seen him myself. I almost want to pinch myself to double check if this is really him.
“I will do whatever you want, Geralynn. But if you will allow me, I want to know our son.”
Our son. My eyes flicker to Renzo and strange tension between us that I find scarily familiar returns. I did everything in my power to run away from this feeling. I drop my gaze and rock our baby instead of staring into Renzo’s intense blue eyes.
“As what? His… dad?”
I don’t need to ask him if it will be weird for our kid that we aren’t together. It’s always weird.
“I don’t care. I’ll be his Italian tutor if that’s what would make you happy.”
I know we’re entering dangerous territory here, but I don’t care. I wonder if Renzo still means what he said all those weeks ago. That he loves me. I didn’t say it then but now… is everything different? We have a baby together and he’s stood by me this whole time with absolutely nothing to gain.
I don’t have to question anymore if this was all just sex or all just the contract.
I know the only reason Renzo Taviani is in this room with me right now while I nurse our baby is because he wants to be here.
But does that mean he loves me or he’s just found a way to keep me in his life where he wants me while he has what he actually wants somewhere else.
Before I can say anything else to Renzo, Roman fusses and his fussing gets loud as he demands a diaper change before we put him to bed. Everything goes straight through babies, I swear. I treasure the moments I have with him now, but I know I won’t miss those diapers.
When Roman falls asleep definitively, Renzo comes up behind me and puts his hand on my shoulder.
“Get some sleep, mama bear,” he mutters. “I’ll watch him until I have to get ready for work.”
“Are you sure?”
Being unable to react to his closeness is so fucking painful.
But now that Roman is here, everything between us has so much more weight to it.
I don’t want to screw up with Renzo, and I don’t want to do anything that puts my child’s future in jeopardy by messing with his crazy gangster daddy’s heart.
“Yes,” Renzo says. “I can do my job tired. You can’t do yours.”
His voice is strangely sexy when he’s sleepy, but I know he’ll stay awake like he promised because he does this every night he can.
“Okay,” I nod agreeably, not in a position to turn down a chance to take a shower and sleep in the same night. This already feels better than most Christmases I had as a kid. “I’ll sleep.”
“Good,” Renzo says. “Roman needs you rested for tomorrow.”
“And what about you?”
“I’ll be fine,” he says. “This is being a dad, right?”
Those words tug on my heartstrings. I don’t want them to but… they do.
It feels good to get some rest but I can’t sleep very long because Roman is still so new and I have this powerful urge to constantly check if he’s still breathing.
I wonder if that will go away soon. I must have slept at least three more hours because this time when I wake up, I feel strangely rested.
Pretty rare. My sweatpants and sweatshirt are so cozy that it’s almost painful to leave my bed with such warm clothes wrapped around me.
When I open the door, Renzo was just on his way to wake me up.
He’s half-dressed for work and when I see him, my heart sends a painful throb straight between my legs.
He has no right to be this hot with a halfway undone shirt, and messed up hair but…
he is so hot and there’s definitely a pang of guilt I feel for thinking that, even if I can’t help it.
I haven’t seen another man in a long time, so my brain must be completely confused and falsely attributing these warm fuzzy feelings to Renzo.
“I have to leave in ten minutes. Roman is asleep.”
“How did you get him to sleep?”
Renzo and I make eye contact again. The fluttery sensation in my chest gets more intense and then he makes it worse by actually talking. “I sang to him in Italian. Always worked on me.”
“Great. Thanks.”
“Do you want me to pick up banh mi after work?”
I’m nervous about saying yes to Renzo and what that means considering all the shit going on in my body. I hate how I feel right now.
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to,” he says. Our eyes meet again. I can’t seem to avoid his gaze. “I look forward to seeing you after work every day. All my stress melts away.”
I don’t know what he wants me to say. Renzo takes a step towards me and I feel suddenly self-conscious about the fact that I smell like breast milk.
He smiles and for a moment it fades until his hand touches my cheek.
He hasn’t touched me in a very long time and the electricity between us automatically makes Renzo jerk his hand away.
It’s too late. There’s something between us that just activated and I take a step back away from it.
Away from that terrifying place. I can see something so fucking dangerous in his eyes that I should have seen earlier.
“You’re a wonderful mother, Geralynn. I’m really sorry that Nicki forced you to be with me. I wish… I wish everything had been different between us.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not a good person. I might not ever become a good person. But I wish I had been one before… all of this.”
I feel like I should say something, but I don’t – and it makes me feel so confused. I’m standing on business, right? I’m keeping Renzo at arms’ length… even if he’s been the perfect father and I know he’ll never abandon me.
He clears his throat. “I’ve got to go to work.”
“Yeah. Of course.”
He leaves, and I release the breath I didn’t know was trapped in my chest. Not Renzo. He can’t be the one who makes me feel like this. I’m still fighting how I feel…